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Marco Amora Jul 2018
I write this as I watch you rest your weary head down
on the soft velvet that is your dreams
I wonder if in those ephemeral scenes you escape to
I am an actor
in the plays that run in the night time.

I catch your tears in the crevices of my palms
till they're no longer yours
but ours,
and I wait slowly till the stars return gleaming in your eyes
in the solace of your sleeping I see you at serenity,
I see you at peace.
Away from the world that keeps taking and taking.

Sleep has taken the worry from your face,
and in the soft curves of your outline
I see the sea.

Lapping softly on the beach
like two lovers
in each other's arms.
Till the distance between them is blurred.
Till there's nothing left  but sighs
in the dead of the night.
I really don't know how I wrote this
early this year
gentle as calm ocean waters
   lapping along a weir
thumb and fore finger
   of right hand would peal back,

   (via diagonally flippant motion
   asper calendar
   representing progression of time)
   gets flipped over to veer
in one direction (linear)

revealing the next month at lightspeed
   vis a vis tempus fugit galloping tear
thy head immediately lost hirsute thickness,
   i starkly share

male or female pattern baldness
   extant along
   Harris genealogical trunk line rare
yet divulging distress
   about limp decreasing strands
   sends shivers along spine,

   gloomy feeling linkedin
   with old fashioned meaning of queer
and perchance tis foolhardy
   reeding this Samson night issue must ap pear

tis unstoppable inching closer toward
   as mortality gets near
youthful robustness fades
   replaced by senescence mere
   really ambling along tragicomic stream,
   one evinces gargoyles mockingly leer
loosing sleep and kept raggedly awake
   in conjunction dreams fraught
   with frightful haunting monsters jeer
ring sound reverberating hair
splitting decibel jamming primary cranial gear

aye tell mice elf nothing to fear...
yet maximizing this plight with poem 'ere
Yukon also temporarily part
   blond, brown, gold, et cetera locks mud dear.
It’s been three years
I actually fit in here
And yet you want to leave?
Why are my decisions
Never left up to me?
It dosnt matter anyway
No one will ever stay
It’s gotten to now
Where I’m accustomed
To you as you walk away
I guess that now
I know how you look
More from behind
Than in the front
I wish I could rewind
I don’t know what would be different
Or how it would end
But maybe I would be firm
And not bend
When I was made to leave
And told to walk away
Or maybe even you might stay.
Just my thoughts one life atm hopefully will be better eventually.......
FADE Aug 2017
What fills the space,
the empty void that life has taken
Who's to fill your dying heart---
beating raindrops like crystals
slipping under your black eyes
Where will you go if
nobody has asked you to stay
And lastly,
when will you come home to me---
the place you belong wholeheartedly...
It's been a long time. Please don't leave me again.
Bisaal Jun 2017
I touch your hair
then touch the grass,
your hair is so much softer.

I touch your cheek
then touch mine,
they are the same,
so why does yours make my fingers tingle?

I touch your lips with my fingers, they feel good
I touch your lips with my lips,
it feels way better.

I touch your hair, cheek, lips, chest, back,
I touch all of you
and I love it,
I love all of you.
I don't know where this came from since I'm still sad from a breakup and this isn't really a sad poem...
Colm Mar 2017
I am weary
My eyes are wandering aimlessly
My forethought having long since lost its ability to see
Anything beyond the warm bed in front of me

O' my old friend
How I long and wish to return to you again
To pass the day slowly away
Until I am refreshed again and eager to live
Outside of this abnormality

Because I miss the normal visions I have
And this, whatever you want to call it existence
Is a much sleepier, far less enjoyable version of me

For I am weary
And yet I want to be
Rested without having to waste my time
Investing in the folds of sleep

This I know to be selfish of me
And yet no matter how hard I try
I cannot seem to close my eyes and rest my head
At either the foot nor head of my bed

Perhaps, if you'd see me, you could understand
That I am not angry, foolish, or sad
I'm just a slightly tired man
"We've enjoyed your time here "
Is not said frequently enough
Before we know it, they're gone forever
Words halt so much pain
I just wish we all knew how to utilize that correctly
I think the world will be slightly better that way
Just slightly
Lunar Sep 2015
that moment when the feeling you felt (for him) two years ago slightly hits you-- the feeling of your heart being squeezed slightly.

just slightly.
little by little, i know i'm letting you go
the color of her lipstick
the color of the alleyway
the color of his knuckles when she showed signs of struggle
the color of the pavement
the color of the ambulance light
the color of her maternity dress
the color of her baby's hair
the color of the roses they set beside her coffin

she saw red--
                        the color of Love.
this poem was written to expose the haunting realities of many innocent **** victims, those who have been impregnated and keep it, and those who die from STDs.

— The End —