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David Plantinga Nov 2021
Our senses fashion effigies
Of a dead past, useless as guides
Where strict finality resides.  
Mute phantoms drowned in icy seas.  
But halved funereal diptychs show
Reflections of the things to be.  
The not yet displayed in symmetry,
A future mirrored long ago.
stillhuman Aug 2021
Not unlike lights turning off abruptly
the rumble of the earth underneath
the waves of the sea rushing
unfamiliar faces passing
dark grey clouds gathering
blood tinting the river
and a lifeless corpse falling

Dread clutches my throat
and drags me into the abyss
It shouts in the emptiness of a lonely broken-down greek theatre
Raven Feels Jul 2021
DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, have a great July!

goodness is virtue
rage is essence when realization is new
hearts entrenched
them those called sensations melted a bench

memories tainted in dark
reminiscent somewhere in the background park
violins ached for the winter sky
on a hope it would just snow the ghosted July

their flesh burnt
mercurial whispers churned a hurt
dilapidates already fallen
feels of away returned from the stolen

wise in me I confess
to not believe a belong is a bless
visions confuse
perplexed deprived of a twinkle muse

my pen writes
then paper welcomes once and thrice
orchestra chimes
in time to spill the wine

Leah Carr May 2021
like there's fire fighting ice in the pit of your stomach
like your insides have disappeared  
like a spirit has swept through your chest
like a weight is pressing in on your skull
like the temperature has just dropped ten degrees
like you're watching yourself from above
everything is surreal
because please, God, this can't be real ...
I can only remember experiencing this feeling a few times in my life, and every time it's been unbearable.

If I were you I'd be healed hearing your voice because your beautiful lilt of voice scares illness away, think of you all day, glee all the way. Can't believe I'm fallen again, and your love ****** my pain. Happy for me to have you with me. My love. Good morning honey !
Mitch Prax Dec 2020
Perhaps we
are both addicted
to the sensation,
the euphoria,
the madness,
of loving from afar.

Somewhat astonishing, sort beauty, pride of humanity. Fresh and fly.

Electronic sensation, 'gaped' That posture, exclusive structure.

Oh! I been driven by attraction. Sublime perfect killing legs, and tantalizing stares.

Beauty springs from within her
like well. It
doesn't runs dry.
Felt it teeming
down her mind.

****** beauty is
a sign of a
gleeful soul.

Every styles
of hers may
make a poet
exhausts his
Dante Rocío Aug 2020
I am on my own
a Lighthouse Keeper
amidst the Night,
each fly,
in some presence:
coalition of a duty protruding
by thoughts,
stories and
what’s exquisite
in sensations that
need guarding,
and then enjoined
with that never ending standing,
time lapping,
and all that taking place
in the ink hues with
scarlet pulsing as if hurt,
in baby blue
and lilac
by a sacrality
to me solely
held out
a string
to never let go
This hereby is what each dark reading, watching, listening or passing on purpose works for:
A night shift, to guard the ideas, stories and lives That choose me and occur to me
By the lessons from God’s library
I receive due to the wish
To be of Their world, not of this.
It is a constant duty to carry out as a guardian.
Ces Aug 2020
The sensation of one's vitality
is the doorway to a deeper understanding
of exquisite inner joys
and the tranquility of being.
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