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Gopika Krishna Oct 2018
A loner that kills pain,
physical pain and for some
a drug for joy, for calmness.
Magical, as a single strike eliminates all the pain.

The loner once struck me into a deep sleep,
where I was floating, like a dream
calmness or a silent blissfulness
I don’t know what this loner made me feel
I just know that it was beautiful.
Silence, silence all over
and then a sudden interruption,
my friend’s panic stricken voice
calling me, waking me up.
Looking up I found her scared eyes,
scared, as in whether I was dead.

A fear outspread that day,
people who loved me feared the loner,
there was solidarity in their fear,
fear of losing me.
The loner was banished, once and for all.

Days passed, years passed,
pain was calmed using wrapped pills.
It never gave the calmness,
the blissfulness like the loner.
He is gone for so long now.

Today, as my body starts to quiver with pain,
I heard his voice,
a soothing voice, asking me
asking me to open the cellar
“Take me and I’ll put you out of your misery”

As I opened, I saw the loner
beautiful in blue.
I took him and all of a sudden
I found contentment in this strike after so long.
Calmness flooded in me once again,
I found happiness in this silent blissfulness.
Silence, silence all over.
But this time my sleep didn’t get interrupted,
for this time it was now and forever.

Dolo, the loner,
now I’m yours….forever.
Cecil Miller May 2018
The ageless plight of persistant awakening,
Thoughts protruding into my every day,
The restless inner noise of ruminations,
Rustling windy bow-quaking wispers,  remain.

The restling of memory spurs a conversation with the past
Concerning things I have done,
As I recourse for resolution within the recollection.
I'm just playing around with a bit of alliteration this morning. I figure the proverbial inner monologue is just as good a topic as any.
TG Apr 2017
Spring rain hangs in the air
   she dances beneath the cherry blossoms
a storm of petals,
                    stars falling from her eyes,                    
a distant clap of thunder.
TG Apr 2017
My demons came
marching like a band
into the night in chains.
Singing songs of the
promises I once made,
waving white flags
in scripted in blood
from the secrets
that was not mine
to keep.
TG Apr 2017
You rehearsed your lies
like incantations
weaving it into poetry,
reverberating iridescent
echoes upon my foolish heart.


"I love you"
"I want a lifetime of us"
"It was just once with her.. I promise."
TG Apr 2017
You find yourself from discovering the things you are not.

you are not what they call you.
you are what you call yourself.
you are not the things you failed at.
you are the lessons you learn from your experiences.
you are not the brands you wear.
you are the things you read to inform yourself.
you are not the circumstances you were born into.
you are what you make of your circumstances.
you are not depression, anxiety or eating disorder.
you are the every inch of the smile you wear despite that struggle.
you are not the people who left you behind.
you are the person you choose to become when they are gone.
you are not the ideals society imposes upon you.
you are the truth you honor despite what they tell you.
you are not the rubble they discarded.
you are the empire you built from the ruins they left behind.
TG Apr 2017
Arms to hold us up
when our legs buckle
from under us
and lips to kiss us
good morning.
TG Apr 2017
As a writer, I learned to dance with
my demons at the typewriter,
and poetry is the song
of the struggle that ended
in an entwined embrace.

To understand,
the different dimensions
that tortures one's soul;
is the reason why I write.
That is the reason for my existence.
That is what freedom means to me.
Pax Apr 2017
I write not because i seek your truth,
i just do - for someone who seeks
understanding in all the doors we see.

I write not because i seek your pity,
i just do - for someone who seeks
understanding in all tough roads we
go through.

I write not because this is a job,
i just do - for someone who seeks
relief to the burden he has not
spoken out loud.

© pax
Tex Dermott Sep 2015
Some stories never end
Some songs are never sung
Often the heart seeks
*Something that cannot be found

— The End —