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Corey Nov 2018
If I could spend every summer night outside,
in the grass or on the roof of my car, I would.
The way the air lingers is magical.
I never want to leave it.

But there's something about a winter night–
the haze of the faint orange glow–
when it arrives, it's so welcome.
It's a kind of quiet that summer nights don't have.

The silent descent of snow.
Krishnapriya Jul 2018
My heart is soft today
Thinking of the suffering
Of all those who are near
And those who are far
The known and unknown
Living beings everywhere
in pain - in their body and mind
Deep within in their souls
in any kind of tears
fears, trauma, heartache

I raise my eyes to heaven
Pray for light to surround them
The fragrance of love
Succor, consolation, respite
Now and forever more
i saw an ambulance go across the road from my house early this morning. May all live in the space of peace, free from suffering. All things are possible in God. I pray for that. Thank you for reading. So,so,so appreciate it. :)
the last word falls
like a mountain on a dove
a shadow on a child
a bullet through a rose
and no-one knows
quill rests between cold fingers
the ink
is dry
Poetic T Feb 2018
Elapsing into cognitive repercussions,
               a thought never one to fade.

Always an afterimage
  burnt on to the psyche
           of delicate dewdrops clinging.

Within a consciousness
              that never  evaporates
just lingers in a reflection of it hanging

Like its waiting to suffocate
           but the breath of reality
                              gives it respite.
long ago
we lay quietly in the aftermath
of an exhaustive period of rage
the eye
of this terrible storm
rendering a peaceful moment
'don't ever leave me'
you said
in such a pitiful whisper
that I almost believed you
such a haunting, calming plea
that I knew at that moment
I'd never forget this night
even if it be our last
Penchie Limbo Feb 2018
I’d like to run…
Away from the madding crowd
Where I feel trapped and alone
In a world full of people.

I’d like to escape, if only for a while,
From where I feel like a stranger
In a world that I used to belong,
That used to feel my home.

I’d like to go to a distant place
Where I could be alone,
Even for just a moment,
That even my thoughts could not find me.

I am a strong woman,
But I am exhausted.
I’m tired of fixing
Everything that is broken.

Giving everything to everyone
Until nothing is left for me.
I’m tired of giving love
But not getting love back in return.

I’m tired of being kind
To people who are ungrateful.
I am tired,
But I am not giving up.

I just need a place of respite
To heal my aching body,
Restore my soul,
Recharge my spirit.

Loving can be exhausting,
But loving is what keeps me going.
I’m going away from the madding crowd
To find myself from where I thought I’ve lost it.

©Penchie Limbo
Dakota J Dawson Jan 2018
The beast mortified inside
Breast aflame about to burn
Inside he dies

Where the black flower
Blooms into anew
He will seek respite

For past sins
Old grievances
Poured into a summer blue

His *** meaningless
Spite cracks the whip
Plurality the dinner knife

Sanitation foresaw
Without the forceps
Boarding on a foregone conclusion

The spring mattress
Made broken
No time for resale

His' cage, not a solitude
Words obtuse and unabused
Love is his knight

Shining and gleaming
Scornful without hate
Shameful but sane

His burden
The heart
Colliding with the bar
Cynthia Jean Aug 2017
Each day as our trials wash o'er us
We glean the comfort He gives
We yearn for respite from mourning
For His promise
of songs in the night.

cynthia jean poems
one of those answers to prayer
D Holden Jul 2017
"Just five minutes more" is the cry.
Playtime has been interrupted by the familiar "hurry up."
Vocabulary common to every parent:
"You've had ten more already. Time to get out."

Why do they insist? My needs never win the battle.
Why is my fun spoilt with this never ending list of demands?
"Oh, it's not fair" is yelled in anguish and responded to by further rebuke.
The severity of consequence based on their ambiguous countdown is increasing;
a thread of the "Thinking Spot" will no doubt soon follow.

A few grumbles are followed by silent protest,
albeit underpinned with a threat of childish tantrum.
It's time for the family meal and this standoff has but one resolution.
Isolated relaxation time is over.

The timetable of the young child at the door demands no less;
the parent must vacate their ten minute bath.
Christian Bixler Feb 2017
in summer, soft
in lights dying, this still pool...
here rest my heart
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