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I saw two silhouettes
standing oblique
in the dark mystique
of a long dead street.
With my path blocked
from the light beyond
I was denied the prize
from where life absconds.
Were they lovers or threats?
Or jesters and priests?
As they turned astray to face me
With eyes of charcoal gold
They undressed their bones
to bare the holes
within the prisons of their souls.
Tattooed upon these wounds
were promises forged too soon
Shattered ‘neath the witness
of a crimson, crescent moon,
I saw ones fate
soon marooned
with great fortune
entombed in doom.
The second wore simple linens,
and espoused poetic virtues
He spoke of poets long since dead
but said you can reach them if you choose.
As I drew closer to these phantoms
I spied familiar faces
One was young and one was old
They spoke of fortunes long foretold
They spoke of ******,
they spoke of Buddha,
they said life is what you make it
When I gazed into this mirror
I was neither dejected nor elated
i’m jealous of my shadow
for she's the only one
who gets to touch yours
until the light dims
daycrow 7d
I saw a shadow linger in day,
after all others had fled away.
I glanced back around, when to my surprise,
I saw that the shadow had eyes.
It shuddered and leapt, then blinked once more
as if to say, "You've seen me before."
It's true that the sight was one I should know;
the shadow I saw was a crow.
my username origin story. also inspired by robert frost


write a poem about your username and use the tag username2020 just for kicks
On this warm spring day,
The light peers in my window,
Quiet as it can,
Asking questions of shadows:
"Do these walls have ears?
And what does the clock-face see?
Is the lamp lonely,
And does the pillow know tears?"
The shadows answer,
In their sweetest honeyed voice,
"We gave the walls ears,
And the clock has our blank face.
The lamp loves the dark,
Just as the pillow drinks tears.
Won't you come deeper,
Deeper into our shadows,
And hear what we know?"
Will the light claim its homeland,
Burning up the dark
And swallowing the night whole,
Or will it shrink back,
Afraid to see the hard truth
That my shadows breathe
And the darkness grows deeper
Fated to hold the sleeper?
From May 2017
In the vastness
of the drafty
slat wooden
house,

along the tidal
lettered
streets
of Gearhart;

Snapping images
with waning
filtered light
inside the darkness,

waiting for ghosts
to drift out of
the
shadows,

wondering if my
family's past
have to wait in line
behind
the house spirits
to announce themselves;

Asking us why
we almost
always keep a light
on

In time,
will I leave
a small energy
stamp
after I cross,
ghosting
it out
inside
degrading buildings
after waiting in line

questioning
why
the living
worry so much
and live
so little
Stayed in an ancient wooden mansion on the Oregon coast and photographed ambient light in the dark. Musty, cold, and definitely haunted. Tis the season!
cloudyx Oct 11
The glistening palm trees cast a Cimmerian shade, stretching far across. Odd was how the dark wavering imprint was perceivable in the tenebrosity of the night. The moon, smothered by the viscous clouds, was unable to fulfill its illuminating role. The wind sang for the nightingales perched on the trees an entrancing sorrowful hymn, a disconsolate requiem, meant solely to succor. All in vain. Such are the innerworkings of a soul tainted by grief and vehement rage. He would ask for forgiveness, but only if he knew how, and even if he did, who would he ask. Once the soul has been blotted, it hardly ever finds its way back to its purity. The same wretched purity that inculcated the need for self-imposed harm. 'Tis true men will desire oblivion rather than not desire at all. He knew all this since the earliest drop of ichor was divulged on his account. Then it streamed, like a river with the steadiest of currents. His hands were, for the first time, sanctified as they soaked the blood. If only he knew how to foster the fire, leaving the trees incinerated, while forsaking the land of all shadow except that of the nightingales fleeing.
Poetic T Oct 10
Pushin my baby on the swing each one way,
        Bullets passing the wind not punching
me and my baby. But the fools be running
like they could outrun fate.

They can't escape the crosshairs of
  ill-prepared revenge.  
    Cadavers hit the floor blood outlines
that turn white after they felled.

I kept pushing my youth, hoping
she'd grow to an age where she
           could push her own.

But every day I playing Russian
   roulette with her swinging,
    me pushing her further so that
she's higher than the gunshots


          as they always hitting lower.

Today I was pushing her, she in her nikes,
     swinging her higher than death could
catch her tight grip...

But my neighbor she hanging low, catching
two unfollowed friend requests  flying through
the air, one in the thigh, one between the thoughts,

I kept pushing as her shadow swallowed by her
folding on the floor, her baby swinging slower
but still alive.

         Blue took her to her daddy, hope they
find out who they are as she had more than
           one by another man...


I m still here pushing my baby on a silent playground.
      No one comes here, that's good for me.
   pushing her low as there isn't a problem
of drive-bye byes... No more *******, no one to ****.
                  There is just me and my baby pushing..


Come on baby its time to go home,
                 the road is white, and we aren't
going to our usual place...


R.I.P to those who never didn't do nothing.
          


Another drive-by, grills smiling as flashes
greeting shaded window frames,
                                          hanging low.
Beulin S S Oct 9
Meet my shadow;

It is just dark...

I talked to it

It never replied...

I yelled to it

It never responded.

I looked at my shadow

In the daylight;

I searched my shadow...

When I am left alone;

Day or night;

Dark or bright;

Shadow travels with me,

Until my end...

No wonder it never leaves me;

I believe it is my "guardian angel".
Shadow never leaves me...
Jonathan Oct 7
But
If it is a dream
And not real,
Then I too,
Am a shadow
Behind closed eyes.
                                       But,
                                                   If it is reality
                                                   And true as the sun,
                                                   Then I too,
                                                   Am a glimmer
                                                   Behind eager eyes.
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