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I am looking at the door and
My heart is ever sore
My hands are aching
From forever slapping at the door
I know that golden memories are there.

When I stop slapping at the door
I stand naked in despair
I realize that love is there somewhere
Somewhere and everywhere
It keeps me straying from the truth or dare.

That love is always somewhere
Somewhere and yet so near
Neither less in spirit form
Neither more in earthly norm
Love is always here somewhere, so close.

I am looking at my feet
Bare and on the floor
And deep within my heart I find
There is an unlocked door
To feel that love has gone before.

I turn the **** and
Open the door at will
To find the golden memories in there
I grab the shackles off my heart
And pull out the storm
To blow away my heart's despair

Now I understand
That love, your love is here deep within my soul
Love is here and everywhere
I have only to let it flow.
On my sister early death I wrote this poem in answer to the ode written to her while she was still alive and I had not seen her.
We used to sing a song
Of little children playing
Until the sun had completely gone
They chased the butterflies swaying
To and fro in the summertime
The teddy-bears and dolls
Danced and cheered to this song
Its sound beat with the passing years
And now, much later now
We sing different tunes
Not loudly in a gust of play
But few times when alone
And far from a neighbor's ear
It's not a song of children's cheer
But of lover's hearts that are dear
broken or estranged to another's sway

Few times when I browsed through those
Growing years
That little song comes knocking
And with it the happy games
And childish lines
And the setting of the sun
I see the close of day
But now it's darkness that'll next be my way
Those little children playing in the park
Didn't notice it was getting dark
How I now notice the quiet night
And the passing time
It's not the years that make me sad
Its comparing them.
The song referred to is "Kinda Crazy Life I love"
My sister moved far away with her man to another part of the country
Francis May 2018
Look! I can spell SISTER:

SASSY
IRRATIONAL
SICK
TOXIC
EGOMANIAC
REALLY ******
I’m on a roll!
Sabila Siddiqui May 2018
To the person
whose fierce loyalty
brings comfort.

Whose embracing hug
turns my hurricanes
into a whiff of wind.

The person who's my emotional crutch
on the struggling of days.
And the life vest
when I am drowning in pain.

To the person whose vibrant of all hues,
the bliss in my blues.
The shelter from torrential rain
And escape from my aching pain.

The listener
of my stirring experiences
and muddled-darkened thoughts.

The one
Who's ear is made of patient-empathetic cells
And words of underlying calmness
that seeps deep into the depth of my bones
and soothes my soul.

With you
Best moments are
Exponentially happier;
Much more vivid and illuminated
Worst times made bearable
And Infinitely less nerve-wracking.

You are my go-to
at any point of day.
The Christina to my Meredith
And the star of my Starbucks visits.

I am grateful to be
deeply embedded in your heart
as you are in mine.
To be your sanctuary
As I am yours.
Randy Johnson May 2018
I got revenge but it was a hollow victory.
Instead of getting pleasure, it horrified me.
Last year, a man ***** and murdered my little sister.
The pain is unbearable and I sure have missed her.
That punk got off because he was related to the Kennedys.
His underhanded lawyer convinced a jury to set him free.
When he came home last week, I used a knife to disembowel him.
I leapt out from behind some bushes and his death was grim.
I thought his death would make me feel really good.
But killing him didn't please me like I thought it would.
It shocked and horrified me, I feel even worse than I did before.
What I'm feeling on the inside is just too much for me to ignore.
I'm going to turn myself in no matter what punishment it brings.
I've learned the hard way that revenge isn't a good thing.
This is a fictional poem.
Alex May 2018
Out for a walk
Thinking thinking thinking
My little brother’s a king
I'll let no ***** approach him
I’ll let no one hurt him
I’ll take care of him
I’ll take care of him
Take my hand, brother
I’ll take care of you
Aemr May 2018
7
Crinkled little eyes
Outlast time and memory.
They are warm and bright
And accompanied by
Sunbeams of laughter.
They shine with mirth and mischief,
The same today and yesterday,
Every time she smiles.
She’ll be beautiful
In yellow.
Mary-Eliz Apr 2018
You, my sister,
are the one friend
who has known me
all my life
and
I've known you most of yours
less
three years before I came to be
and
a few for which
I have no memory

I wish
I could recall

when I was new
did you lift me?
or stroke
my forehead?
did you sing
to me?

did you gaze
at tiny feet
and
hands
in wonder
and
amazement?

were we pals
even then?
even before my eyes
could focus
on your face
to see you
to know you?

did our spirits
know each other
and
bond in some mysterious way?
planning even then
their escapades
of
running
bare-chested, barefooted
in blazing summer sun
circling our tree
so "far" from home?
our adventures

did they see
the time ahead
when the fog would come
and
confuse?
when we'd each
be alone to struggle
with who we are?

did they know
we'd find our way
back again
never completely losing sight
of our special bond?
a bond temporarily
blurred by life
by grown up sorrows
deaths
separations

grim details
of life

like a broken branch
on a tree that hangs
by not more
than a thread
hangs on through
all the storms
clinging with all
its energy

finally
growing anew
connecting fully

better
than before
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