Astral Jan 7
The night is here.
But in some way,
We are not.
It's almost as if sometimes,
Just sometimes,
We begin to feel as though maybe,
We aren't viewing the same stars,
That there are an infinite number to choose from.

And though thy are in thought,
You still avoid the thoughts,
Of how small you are in this vast universe,
And that maybe you and I,
Are not seeing the same stars.
That perspective is all and everything.
That no,
That beautiful blue star you see so brightly,
Among the millions of others,
Only seems to catch my eye for a moment.
A fleeting glimpse of what would be,
Could be,
Can be,
Won't be.

Yet still dreamers dream,
Thinkers think,
And sleepers sleep.
Because all in all,
Not everything will have some deeper meaning,
Some great devotion,
Some unknown message
That is screaming itself from the rooftops and the mountains.
That maybe a poem is just that,
A string of words with seemingly poetic rhythm.

So as time continues moving,
And 4D creatures in a 3D world continue breathing,
May we all continue counting stars that are in the past,
And continue breathing the air that's been with us for centuries,
And continue writing seemingly meaningful poetry,
With strange endings.
So just keep on writing
The Toxic Bitch Aug 2018
You're different
You have every reason to be
I was only seeing
What you let me see

And now
Now
I get it
Why you do all of this
Why you act that way

I never bothered
And now
It's all i care about
I feel you
And you don't even know

You way much stronger
Than you think
Stronger than anyone i know

Purest heart
Which is way you hide it away
Way too much away
That you sometimes
Don't remember
How it was
Before

That's exactly me
I forgot
How i was like
I forgot how to feel stuff
I don't even remember
Why all that happened
Johnny walker Dec 2018
There are times I just sit and wonder why how did this all come to be, going
about my business without a care In the
world
All of a sudden right out of the blue I'm hit "wham knock out blow, my wife Is dying and there's nothing can do but watch and
wait
Heartbreaking sat by her Hospital bed holding hands she's growing week
I tend her every need but I know
the end Is coming and I think then so did Helen she had said farewells to her family and was ready to
go and go she
did
Seeing growing weak struggling to breath was
hard to watch going to Inevitable was coming
Johnny walker Dec 2018
Nearly Christmas and
I miss her so, but It has
no real meaning for me
anymore
My first Christmas without her, such strange odd feeling now Helen not
here
No more can I do for her
done all that I can, but will keep my promise to keep
her memories
alive
Strange feelings odd seeing all
all that's has gone, to a life so surreal
Scott G Dec 2018
A morgue is an unhappy place regardless of time or place.
The somber few that haunt the halls often project the surroundings dreadfully.
While walking the gray tiled rooms it’s known too that we shall one day wear the toe tag.
But mortality gives way to reality and jobs are done with quiet respect for passed souls.

And then there’s the Juarez Morgue...
A hot July day and a drive through Mexican customs brought a meeting with police officials.
A body in their possession, they thought, would bring transportation home.
Calloused officials with shiny gold 45’s aglow, spoke rhythmic Spanish in their police code.

A “******,” said one and this should be fun a ride with those looking more like hit men.
A car loaded with “Madrinas,” in tow and AR 15’s laid in seats in a row.
How odd thought he in a land purportedly free and fright on passerby faces.
Cocky bravado speaking radio slang,
did drive towards the Juarez morgue.

A couple miles out a turn in and out did place them in a neighborhood quiet.
But a familiar smell in a nose did swell, and wonder of how that could be valid.
Putrefaction it was, the odor rose above as the children played gleefully nearby.
How could it be when he could not see the edifice emitting the smell?

A small octagon building, small air conditioners in four windows.
Could it be that this was the morgue?
The desert sun bright and heat overbearing.
My *** this is a place of death among many living, what a fright!

The escorts did enter, the detective slowly met the front door.
He was quite pensive when sliding from light to the dark.
His eyes gone black his vision insufficient, as he started to be able to see.
A wet sounding step and a curious glance, did place his feet in crimson water.

Disbelief as the room came into focus, he saw well the visions of what belong in ****.
Bags of bones stacked they were, a femur and skull, the fully decomposed welcomed.
Four porcelain tables and bodies disabled lay upon with nary a stare.
Just shortly behind bodies piled feet high forget a tray or a gurney.

Overcome by it all he began to stall, and try to gather his thoughts.
Rank smell in his nose sent him scrambling for his cigar.
The smoke unable to cover what he did discover, his heart fell hard to his knees.

How inhuman it was to see rampant disregard for the dead.
No scalpels used to cut the Y,
a kitchen knife he could cry.
Sewed up a corpse, with rough twine of course, he regretted where he did stand.
His spine became metal his mind did reel and a new wrinkle appeared on his brow.

On some summer nights when heat fills the air, he does look up to the moon.
His mind travels back to the withering stacks, and the odor still gathers in his nose.
The years have passed by and he doesn’t know why, the memories will not fade.
Restless sleep, fallen heart, many more new wrinkles have taken there place.

A war there has broken out,
and factions viciously ****.
He can’t help but wonder what has happened in Juarez.
The tractors and the bodies they plow.
No building this time a long ditch in the ground scores of people pushed into a long trench.

He walks each day with what he has seen, which cannot be unseen.
Wrestling with himself in the bed, and covering his head.
The dead they do come to visit still.
The Morgue in Juarez left it’s print in the mind of a young fellow.

Indulge the last line if you have some spare time.  Dios bendiga los muertos de Juarez.
True occurrences.
A ringing in my ear
The soft cry of children
My innocence slaughtered
Where did time go

I lay here awake
Aware of the mess
Who dragged me from my bed?
My fists are cut and ******
And the bottle lay empty
Another night out?
Butchered tree in my pocket
There’s more to it than this

An endless road lie yonder
The heat waves friendly
I see you but hear nothing
I don’t wave back

Another left behind
Learning new ways to walk
Have we forgotten how to live?
Worshiping false idols
Media is a speedy vehicle
Inebriated driver behind the wheel
The minds of the masses
A thirst never quenched

I laugh as I know
And wander off the road
I think I found a new place to go
The land of maize
But I’m not lost

I have no place to be
Do you?


-AJT
The new place one finds amidst the chaos of society can either be physical or mental
Logan Seamus Nov 2018
tears stream down the face of the crying girl.
i know nothing of her troubles.
she can’t seem to formulate or figure it out, and it is wreaking **** on her mind.
then again..
neither can I.
i am stuck in my own feeling.
unable to escape.
i know i must push past and work, so as to please the anger of a unapproving world.
but none of that matters right now.
nothing.
except for the tears that stream down the face of the crying girl.
Ariana Robinson Nov 2018
I saw something in you
That you probably couldn't see for yourself
I saw who you were
I saw who you are
I saw who you could be
When you were still searching
Trying to find your true self
I simply saw you
And that was enough for me
You being you is enough
Esther Oct 2018
rip your eyes away
from your phone
and look
with an open mind
like you’ve never actually
seen
unfiltered view
notice
the sunrise
which is different each day
like it’s no big deal
look at the people
walking by
imagine them living
their own life
changing every day
trapped in their own heads

looking
without seeing
will destroy us
hearing
without listening
might **** someone
words can set me free.
words can bind me.
words can help me see.
words can blind me.
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