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Gudden Nov 2015
At least after 22 hours of my constant calling, SMSing and Emailing
You did answer, " Am busy"

You don't how good I felt,
To see your reply...

Am so happy.. Am so happy...
I love you still so much, my dear guy...
Now, Someone's thus busy guy..
Love you gladiator..
effie ebbtide Sep 2015
That open window on the bus,
that purple hue of the dawn sky,
is just as it is.

Those repeating lyrics,
those melodies which never irritate,
whispering through earbuds,
are just as they are.

That hotel I stop at,
that sea salt pool,
its warmth in coldness,
its missing chlorine,
is just as it is.
A weird longing feeling made me write this.
Dan McGowan Jul 2015
I long to repeat that thing I never did before
Mike Essig May 2015
The slightest brush
of melancholy
tinges the evening:

that time of day
when ghosts awaken

and memories stir;

that time of day
when thousands
of lives lived
lean into now.

Where are you,
bright eyed lover?

I need a
gentle boost
to lift me above
this roar of silence,

this emptiness
that fills the
twilight.

Come to me.

Sing me songs
until smiles return
and we will smile
together.
   ~mce
And speak in that private language...
Theodore Bird Feb 2015
Tepid summer nights and
     holes in the soles of your feet.
Holes in your wrists, no?
Soft fluttering of dusted eyelashes and
     the pale pink of morning sun as you turn your cheek.
Blushing like a schoolgirl, no?
***** fingertips on dirtied skin and
     toothy smiles, moth-eaten pillowcases, stale whispers.
*'Pour susurrer des mots doux', non?
Theodore Bird Feb 2015
stupid living boys
     and their hummingbird hearts.
stupid dead boys
     and their lingering stares.
supermarket polaroids,
     cold apartment poetry,
faded glassy eyes,
     ***** fingernails.
Timmy Shanti Feb 2015
En el mundo que nos rodea
Hay y frío y tanto calor;
Mucha gente de alma fea
No queriendo ponerse mejor.

Y a ti - ¿Qué te falta lo más?..
Es blin-blín o trapitos o pasta?
Una vez que rogares ¡Basta!
No podrás volverte atrás.

Yo te digo así - ¡No tropieces!
Y elige con quien andarás.
En el mundo que nos rodea
Más feliz y mejor te pondrás.
Noandy Feb 2015
Drag my eyes and dig my hope
Arrange the corpses and lit the flowers
Ruin our poetry and forsaken divine journeys

Lavish our time in varnished vanity
Incinerate the path you walk upon,

though nothing could come to any light—
Go find the hearts you had murdered.

The wind blew your tongue; colder your tears
Your dancing fingers and palms still talk of sun
And soon saturated your old ash driven hair
Into raindrop roots of forestry rhymes

Some of the rhymes were of your smile
Colored only by a single weary verse
To unravel the waves of your 7th ghost
which was
Just a picture for us to caress—

In the absence of sly soul and slacking slashes.

The pictures shall never fit the wooden frame
Carved by the sharp words you wrote by the heat
And the sympathetic sword you caress before the pages
Of travelling letters never yet to come.

And so I ask,

How long have my eyes been fasting
Drifted away from your grim outline
Questions I ask, is this an omen or mere silence
To welcome the storm I have yet encountered?

Ah,

Rustling wind shall tell no more
You would never have your hair and shadows back
Agonizing the pain we never had
None will have our verses and our wandering

Oh,

And I should learn to forget
Learn to regret
Learn to heed
Learn to bleed.
Phee Wotton Jan 2015
He didn't want to be saved,
He wasn't meant for love.
She wished she could have been the one to save him,
She was meant for millions of things.

So, what is left?
Once she's stopped striving to keep it together,
After all the commotion her boundless love had brought into her life, was put to an end?

Memories, sweet like sorrow,
Floating upon a tear.

Of the most beautiful eyes she'd ever seen,
Of the times they lay curled up in bed,
Absinthe poured into coffee cups,
Taste of tobacco, laughter, the rich colour of the night,
Their bodies hugging, dancing, melting together.

He didn't listen to her favourite songs,
He was those songs.
He didn't like poetry,
But he was able to raise a voice within her,
A voice singing the most beautiful poems.

He made her feel happy, and protected, confident.
He surpassed her wildest dreams,
Undone and drunk off alcohol of being.

She owes him her love for life,
The ability of letting herself go
And show her soul to the world
For what it is,
Unafraid.

They weren't meant for each other.
Bound to meet, but also to be torn apart.

But all of this will stay with me, forever.
Don't forget me,
My dear Raven Angel.

Forever yours.
This is something very personal I've written and also my very first contribution to this website. Hope you like it. :)
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