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I said I would always be there for you,
but at some point
I stopped sleeping with my phone on ring
Poetic T Sep 9
Her legs weren't stairways
to heaven, for these ladders
       were anything but safe.

Pulled fibres collected
Victims to be caught upon
                    her wondering lusts.

For the best poison was that
   which took time to kill.
   And her bite was anything
   but fast acting upon her prey.

She never charged as much as
      those who were below her class.
              For she was scorned before.

And those who chose her beauty over
         instinct, only had themselves
                                                to blame.

For her man, was a walker of corners,
                      catching eyes of cheap thrills.
       His gift to her was a ring and a death sentence
                                                                        of A.I.D.S..

And now she passes the gift given without consent,
        to those who would choose a vine vintage soured
by gangrene grapes.  They'll all taste her sweetness,
     only to poisoned by its taste after swallowing  it.
An ad in the LA Times
Pictured a jewelry store in Beverly Hills
Somewhere off Wilshire
A golden band modeled after an Egyptian original
Mother wanted it and so we went
We sat on tuffets of crushed velvet and
She bought it
replacing her wedding band
Which I never did find.
It was pretty but
what other significance this meant
regarding her husband she did not tell

She was struck walking on an off-ramp
on the 10.
Heading east?
How did she get there?
I asked her in the hospital
On the gurney she shook her head
And said she didn’t know.
That’s Alzheimer’s for you.
The ring is gone.

Father took his off well before she passed
and left it on the top of his dresser.
Décio Aug 29
refine me
until i’m edges only
and then wear me on a ring
PoserPersona Aug 25
Riches begot with credit stock
Power bestowed with golden crown
Glory bequeathed with laurel wreath
Marriage beseeched with diamond ring

I hold you 'til the morning dew
Slight modification to my preceding poem with essentially the same meaning, but it changes the tone from pessimistic to optimistic.
PoserPersona Aug 24
Riches begot with credit stock

Power bestowed with golden crown

Glory bequeathed with laurel wreath

Marriage beseeched with diamond ring

All things beheld 'til evening red
the ring of your name
echoes into my heart
and reminds me of the irony
that when I think of your name
all I picture
is a ring
Shofi Ahmed Aug 8
You’re nothing but a rose
I stepped on the thorn
and came out
to be your nightingale.
It’s all yours all in all
just give me a call!

Nothing can hurt me more
then when your shadow
isn’t in the shadow of mine.
Without you my rainbow
has no colour.
But if you come back you will  
find the earth in bloom
You will see the sun is in a dew
Come back, like you do
smelling of rose.
Just give me a call.

I heard you say
the sun is out basking
down on the blue sea.
I wonder what more
I am missing
with my limited vision!
But when you ring
the bell on my door
I can see the sunrise
in the little peephole.
Come now, just give me a call.
raewyn Aug 3
it's the height of this summer, and we sit hand-in-hand
wishing on futures that can't come to pass
the sand 'neath our toes is as warm as the sun
kids laugh like we did when we were still young
the salt on the breeze blows in from the sea
and sometimes i think it's enough, you and me.

we talk about nothing, everything, life:
your secrets, my daydreams, our favourite skies
next summer, you say, we can go somewhere new
but we always end up in our spot, me and you.
the birds can expect us, by now
ah, this place:
like there's nothing on earth but just us, face to face.

next summer we're back, and the waves say hello
(you wink, for they're privy to what i don't know)
"here's something," you say, "just to show how i feel--"
it's a ring, nestled deep in our sandcastle's hill.
and under the burgeoning light of the stars
at last, this place knows we will never be far.

how can we? now this spot has both of our hearts.
V Exeter Jul 21
"Fighting"? More
like a sparring match.
My sister
and her fiance
scream and beat
the gorilla breast,
with virulent words
and our ancestors'
bleached bones,
while we explore.
Poke and prod and
with precision.
Unified in
our convictions,
the blows we strike
are used to diffuse
the strain of our distance.
Once the wounds open,
we shirk the patches
and mend from within --
always to further Us.
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