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as a dead bird drops i fall into a silent place
with echoes upon echoes of mind moving itself
and i scream with the effort to speak of it
to retrieve a speck of the chill fire
to recognize and pronounce it a word
or shape of word      or confusion of word
to bear it into a semblance
Jakob A Frost Apr 26
The bright green vale & blue skies fade
As she blinds my eyes with silvery light
Like fireflies drifting by the glade
Her presence kindles the weary night
When gazing full she steals my breath
With those light eyes & short blonde hair
If I'm a frosty breeze, an omen of death
She's like spring; serene, a breath of fresh air
I see you
you see others

I am an address
not on your list

I, silent
you, short on attention

I, understated elegance
you seek the crumpled and crumbled

I, content
you, bored

I, ever present
but for you always a blind spot
This poem is from my book of poems - Vendor of Poems available on Amazon and Kindle
I am lone
I think of you
Nothing but you
Our memories remain silent
Nothing can be heard
But
The Whisper of the heart
It whispers your name
I can hear its tone
it's sad and silent
An unbreakable silence
mariella Feb 18
I hope we all win in battles
we don't tell to anyone.
Shofi Ahmed Feb 6
The moon sways
down the sun’s half eye
for it every mo
is the elephant is in the room
before the sun zooms out  
deep down from the pi.

Magic is uncracked within
that first light breaks out
dawns in the eternal night
is a shiny tear in the speechless
witness’ open eye,
on the tight lips, deep runner silent pi!

Men on the painstakingly polished circle
may have hewn out riveted eyes.
Up more is set free deep down the pi,
bottom in anew, in open paradise!
and we see a paper ****
and words are decorations on her body
and poems are pretty clothes for her
and this feeling is for you
and we see a paper ****
and a pen lying on the table
and you're the one
who's been silent
waiting for love to air
and the poet reads it
Indonesia, 6th January 2022
Arif Aditya Abyan Nugroho
A man's dream was eaten by death
and there is no funeral for him.
He's trapped in an old broken memory.
And the death is singing loudly,
And the love of women he missed,
And all the way she goes.
The pain is ready.
The pain is silent.
And for every suicide that was never recorded.
And every poem he's written that never tell the sad story.
And for the unsorrowful dying of the smell roses
coming down to the sea.
Indonesia, 28th December 2021
Arif Aditya Abyan Nugroho
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