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Danielle Aug 2021
My nights have never been so fragile
until my words traces my heart
and tears filled up its meaning—

this is how a little shipwreck
can sink me.

I hope you know  
how much I wanted to tell you
how beautiful the stars
as you are.

How I attach you on every story I know about the sea
and how much light you fill in me, I couldn't bear to lose it.

My words will always find you
and will lingers in me;
you have always been a part of it.
I've been crying on "Reaching out" so I made a little words on it.
Jemariku menari di atas aksara.

Kemari sayang,
nanti malam aku akan ceritakan pertarungan antara Putri Cina dengan Amir Hamzah,
dan Pangeran Bulan yang tak pernah datang.

Tragedi Sampek yang menjelma kupu-kupu disusul kekasihnya.
memilih abadi dalam dunia baka,
ketimbang hidup 100 tahun bersama lara.
aku akan tutup dongeng malam dengan kisah kita yang abadi dalam dimensi khayal.

"Selamat malam."
Mary Frances Oct 2018
Understand and know me
not just by reading
the summary and the prologue.
Read all the chapters
until the last period
where I bared my heart.
We've been judged by other people but they haven't read everything. All they know are the things being passed on from one mouth to one ear. It would really help if they will take the time to read everything before they make judgments.
EmperorOfMine Aug 2018
Oh Summer Tree, oh Summer Tree
So many things you get to see
Oh Summer Tree, how big are thee
I wonder what you can tell me...

"thєrє íѕ ѕσmєthíng thαt í mαч hαvє

α ѕtσrч ѕєttlєd ín mч crσwn

  mαч thч ѕσul вє quєnchєd wíth thíѕ tαlє

ít'ѕ quítє thє ѕtσrч ѕσ prσfσund"

There used to be a boy quite sharp
He lived inside a place like hell
However, he'd not fall apart
That's something everyone could tell

Another boy afar away
Who lived inside a darkened land
He almost gave his life away
But light from kin had used their hand

The boy of hell was well quite known
A pretty one of rumors told
No one knew what he was in for
You would think someone's soul was sold

The darkened boy with eggshell skin
He lost all but his saddened mom
She melancholy from her grief
He was the one who reached the calm

The boy of hell had hellish kin
One from drug kings, one from fight queens
He saw it all when mother worked
Under the ground in ****** scenes

The mom of dark hated her son
The one who got to live a life
She left him for the streets and drugs
Still there, yet somehow out of sight

Hell boy did hate his upbringing
He did not want to be like them
For school was his way to winning
No way he could live in that realm

This is where dark boy had lost it
And this is when he tried to fade
Light’s hand gave him a wake-up call
Granny, from the states hell boy stays

Hell boy conquered a tough challenge
Till one of fire ignited
His mom and he was asked to leave
Dad’s greed came from what he sighted


"lєt mє tєll чσu thíѕ hєrє ríght nσw

чσu knσw thє ѕtσrч єndѕ nσt hєrє

thє tαlєѕ tσσ lσng, wє muѕt dívídє

wє ѕhσuld ѕkíp tσ nєw pαrtѕ tσ tєll"

Oh Summer Tree, oh Summer Tree,
Can you go on, please keep telling,
I want more, yes, your stories sear,
I wonder how did they get here,
We will move on, not here but there,
Part 1 will come when coasts are clear.
I wouldn't see the point in continuing this story if no one likes it. We'll see, but it's up to if anyone even sees this.
harlon rivers May 2018
"From every wound there is a scar, and every scar tells a story.
A story says, I survived." - Fr. Craig Scott

... a tribute to a fallen brother ― R.I.P  Les
... you were with me every step of the way to the top

crampon cleats tickle her bedrock
far below the frosty powder dusting;
released from where her majestic peak
parted yester night’s obstinate clouds.

the alpine atmosphere
first chilled and then plummeted
as the starlight glistened;
illuminated ice crystals sparkle
like diamonds in the rough.

I am overwhelmed
by the peaceful aura
surrounding me.

watching how
mark the snow
a lucid,
stirring awareness
of my existence;

a conscious moment,  
extraordinarily deepening
the realization of being.

harlon rivers ... May 24th, 2013

the poem above is notes turned prose poem...still stirring from a moment remembered. We were best friends from the neighborhood just shirt of 20 years.  When we were teens, skiing, we used to look up to the tip top of Mt Hood and say: "someday we'll climb up there together and look back down here from the top";  four years later i saw him drive away down our gravel road for the last time ― you never know which goodbye is the last ―

This is a piece inspired by climbing a snow and ice packed, 12,000 foot dormant volcano in the cascade mountains of the Pacific Northwest.   The original, that this is intended to be an intro for, is "Beyond the Telegraph Road"
Edited to say: Thanks for the encouragement Laim...without it I may not have shared the rest of the Memorial day story here at HP...
harlon rivers May 2018
" Don't walk behind me; I may not lead.
Don't walk in front of me; I may not follow.
Just walk beside me and be my friend." - Albert Camus

                 ~              ~               ~    

The telegraph road circled through the foothills,
rising towards the majestic mountain high
It’s been a long and twisting passage soon forgotten,
with the pavement abruptly dead ending,  
just below the timberline

The dawning blue heavens look so much closer now
Just a step away from standing within reach                                  
The birds uplifted on the telegraph wire rest atop me;
perched on the final material traces
disregarded by a digital world

My awakening soul is ascending beyond
the distant alpine meadow horizon  
At the threshold of an untrodden wilderness wonderland,
climbing up above the meandering clouds

It’s exhilarating to look back and know
there is no turning back around;
I’ve never been higher
and can never get back down

What unknown frontier lies in wait before me now?
Just on the other side of the impossible dream?
The last step forward to find the next step beyond the bounds
There is not that much that changes,
when we just repeat the same old song

The atmosphere’s thin air leaves me gasping for wings
Like dust and ashes free to soar with the tempest breeze
If only time would sever these loathsome ties that bind
The ones that enchain the weight of this load unto me

While understanding the pace to a long journey’s rhythm
The only barometer you have to trust is in your heart
Adaptation is at the core of freedom's survival
But it feels almost like running away  

I have felt the fear of falling with nothing left to lose
I’ve climbed as far as flesh and bones can reach
I've come this far always feeling subtly afraid
It has been a great distance back from the beginning;
knowing I must take these last steps alone.

Understanding it was love that brought me here
Naturally tugs at the spirit in my soul encouraging me on
I'll keep searching for the shining light of guidance
Listening for a voice that softly beckons me home...

written by:    harlon rivers ... May 24th, 2013
Authors notes: a prose prologue;

5/26/2013 Edited to delete the back story:    ...thank you for reading.
Lily Apr 2018
Everyone has a story, a reasoning behind
Their actions, their words, their thoughts.  
They have a prologue, which sets the scene,
That reveals important things if you bother to read it.  
Their first chapters are important,
Telling you the basic things about
Their personality and sense of self.  
Most people read these chapters,
But the further you get in someone else’s story,
More people lose interest, willing to keep the story,
To put the book on the shelf, but then
They forget about it. Or they just don’t care.  
The last chapters, which bring us to
The point that the person is in their life right now,
Are the ones that are the least read,
Except by those who are closest to them.  
If you truly care about someone, you will
Read their story from beginning to end,
Word for word, line for line.  
Yet there is danger in knowing a person’s story.  
Whilst reading someone’s story, you could
Fall in love, like a soft breeze on a warm day that
You hardly notice, but when you stop and
Think about it, was there all along,
And you should never have taken it for granted.  
When that happens, embark on a new adventure,
Creating a new story with them,
Starting with the prologue and not ending until you
Type the final letter.  
Because no one likes an unfinished story.
Sky Apr 2018
turned 25 and thought
gotta go back,
high-time for home

(home-time for High)

took the bus, route 31
to the
moral-less high-ground

(text my sister)

"no ID, aware, i'm going"  

look up. and
here we are again, big city
New City  
south-side, home despots
licking baby bottle pop
soda-can sidewalks

little brown brother
drinking Fanta with friends
smoking hot-***
at Chang's
like apostolic gang
(gang gang)
High's homecoming
(southside Chicago)

inspired by NCT's new song "Yestoday"
go see English lyrics vid
it's lit
Mark's verse
Dian Eka Mar 2018
To Kiss a Picture of You in Mind
To Have a Dialogue Turns Into Monologue
It is All in My Prologue Scenery
Before Bedtime
The Epilogue Says
"Distance, my Dear....."
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