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Sadie Grace May 2020
I walked a mile searching for the sunset
but couldn't quite find it
the storm clouds tried to cover
the trees tried to hide
the darkness tried to smother it

but I still found slivers of color and beauty
covered in clouds
hidden behind trees
smothered by darkness
but still alive
still visible

is this what grief looks like?

darkness slowly eclipsing the beauty of life
Amanda Kay Burke Apr 2020
It feels like particles are peeling apart
Separating as they please
There is undeniable space growing in my heart
Observable to who peeks and sees

Fate to blame I have no doubt
Touching tears that won't mend
Beneath skin circuits start to short-out
Barriers between emotions blur and blend

Real is rare so bare all imperfections
Fake the majority of what others share
Everywhere I go is overdissection
Judgement is blatantly unfair

Which only adds to distress
Taken without one sound
Cork up inconvenient emotions unless
They overflow
Then I'm drowned

You cannot imagine what it's like
Kills self-esteem to reflect
Each time negativity strikes
Is impossible to correct

Bottle after bottle emerges emptied
Sink in a sea of distraction
Forever smoky air will not recede
Chilly dreams prevent satisfaction

None of our dreams visible anymore
What are we doing wrong?
Many bad decisions
Too many to ignore
I guess failure's where we belong

We will never be proud living like this
We are in darkness's constant shadow
Sins overtake any chance we have at bliss
Dragging troubles in tow

Trust we will be able to grow
Takes years to heal wounds deep
Bridges over teardrops that flow
Seconds wasted we could not keep

To conclude
Retain a sliver of hope
Though happiness may be lost
I build and maintain ways to cope
Stay warm amidst the permanent frost
Liam C Calhoun Nov 2015
She had the cat-like grace
Of an infatuation betrayed,
Love, but never forgotten.

She’d sneer promises today,
As she’d perfected prior,
With that same curl of the lip,

The smirk born Juarez,
Cacti and Rio, whilst
I’d only show my tummy;

Something tougher and
Catalyzed within a scar,
This chasm stained the,

“We” atop yesteryear
And the “me” I’d be
Tomorrow –

One more hour,
Wanting, wasted, waylaid,
And never to let go.

The first love’s an archetype,
This first kiss, an epitaph,
Did you ever let me go?
They say you never forget the first.
Eli Seth Salazar Nov 2014
The lines in between the green are full of dirt and human feces, but I find comfort.
  Yellow, bright as the sun, but they don't blind me.
  Red, hot with anger and hate, but they don't burn me.
  Grey, fading to a dim, cold, colorless stone and yet is still my silver lining
aar505n Jun 2014
I drink in the sweet light
Of the honey coloured moon
as it floats high at midnight
hoping it doesn't leave soon

As I stare at the full moon
The world falls away
and I lose my peripheral vision
bathing in the moon's rays

Sliver beams of light
That reflects off the ocean
And seem to be too bright
to be moonshine

I began to see now
understand how
myths and legends
of the moon began

Egyptian, Aztec, Celtic and Greek
Khonsu, Metzli, Elatha and Artemis
And even poor Starveling
with his dog and thorn bush

All trying to capture the raw beauty
that is the moon and it's light
The rarest jewel of them all
Shining bright through out the night

But all attempts of personification
contain to much complication
to represent
to simplicity of the moon

So I'll stop trying to convey
what I can see
because no matter what I say
will not match what floats above the sea
Martin Narrod Apr 2014
angry men who do not know I do not have a dollar or a cig to spare. Ugly irrefutable contagion-handed howlers. Angry mischievous heathens that pantomime on 6:00a.m. sidewalk, Wicker Park gallow stop-sign, choreographed gutter-punk drunk walk. And of all he wants and could ever want splits down his gooey membrane brain in the outline of a noun shaped fragment of a clause, "Couldja spare 80¢ for the train," but of course I don't spare on the ellipsis or the period. Semi-colons I won't! My rubber-bottomed leather boots lash out, heavy scraping sounds trail this mirrored shadow half an angle behind me.

*****!! Blonde framed sunglasses from American Apparel, a gift from my sister in a folded Ray-Ban case is scattered on last nights bedroom floor, my girlfriend has certainly not noticed, the gloom-coated morning sun spray has not noticed; but I have unzipped a fissure in the ocular lens. My heart skips a beat. Her bedroom might as well have swallowed them whole. Now the house can halt and have the shade, swaying in Spring air in 10:22a.m. shadows. The aviator himself Howard Hughes would strike me with his 488 aircraft. Edwin Starr in his invincible sinister calypso of War would turn me round. I was sturdy as a rock until I began to forget my forgottens. These unknown unknowns I knew I needed. I'm over a quarter-century on to noon going nowhere- and quite blindly.

But then, still she could stand upright and find me. Her neck crooked, looking onward through the East, the gristly roots of rhubarb buried in her searching fingernails. She's threaded worse, and of course if I could just tell her- this is the kind of nursing which requires acute temperament and flexibility. I am thus on a journey to strike nonsense and fear from the idiotic vocabulary that put this nonsense in my head. Split through me like a butter knife into my apotropaic. Perhaps tar water could cure my ails. If not, certainly a sliver of vanilla would set me straight. Or if could just rain rain rain all day, then I'd make do without, but she is at school. My pistons are racked and nervous, and I'm not going anywhere but my rucksack stoop. I am camped in midwestern Spring soup. Fog, rain, and shade. The nightmare of day.
Inspired by William Butler Yeats 'Beautiful Lofty Things'

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