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jewel Mar 27
the words i wished
would come out
of my mouth
tumbled out like
luna moths
and died the
morning after

the roses you got me
on valentines day
at the bottom of
my wastebin
in ashes

i can trace the space
where you were
once hugging me

on a chilly saturday
evening, on a
walk i caught the
whiff of a lonely
cigarette

i can’t help to
be reminded
of you

now i gather your
sweaters in
a laundry basket
your cologne permeates
tears

so when i wash them
i am left wondering

where did your scent go?
copyrighted, poemsbyjewel (2025)
neth jones Mar 26
never could be a bedouin
all mucked in
forever oathing me of oblivion

ever the mental moss of bedlam
of miscarried emissions
and planetary visions

  all tucked in
and lucky dip dreaming
stationary
like a calcified grip
inward burning whelk
buckled
I met Happiness,
On the dreary streets of this gray city,
He picked me up,
And bought me bread.

I shook hands with Love,
At times a cruel jester,
Yet it's only a cover act,
To hide his deep sadness.

I talked to Inspiration,
The man himself,
He didn't have a lot to say,
But I felt wizened anyways.

I reached out to Solitary and Silence,
But nobody knew solitaries face,
So the news studio didn't let him in,
Silence simply had no comment.
Loosely based off a poem where I imagined the places happiness hanged out.
Zack Ripley Nov 2022
I never thought I'd see the day
that I didn't think the pain
would be the death of me.
The pain of a life lived in Voluntary solitary.
I never realized I made myself a prison
when I put my walls up so I didn't have to listen to what they had to say.
Then, one day, I decided to listen to someone new, and their voices finally started to drift away.
But it wasn't the voice of God, or an angel.
It was someone who wanted to be a friend. And that's all I needed to be free in the end.
The message I hope you take from this tale
of woe is that not everyone's out to get you. And some people can even help you grow.
Wary Nov 2024
Was it a bid adieu, or merely the beginning of an infinite rendezvous? A quiet vow, sealed in silence, to wander back into the refuge of dreams where our moments linger—beneath the timeless tree that sheltered our whispers, on those solitary benches, along endless paths where our footsteps etched fleeting eternity, as if echoing our own unfinished story. To trace the delicate decay of fallen roses, decipher the faded whispers of “miss-you” notes, and relive the quiet intimacy of entwined hands. To seek the warmth of embraces and rediscover the timeless rhythm of those coffee-laden moments, where losing ourselves in one another was the only truth we ever needed.
To share the silent symphony of every moment we spent together.
Luca Scarrott Oct 2024
Sick of each blade of grass blurring into the next, trees becoming a series of bushes, streaks of green across the skyline. Was that a cow?
“Look — some sheep!
Oh, wait no, they were just wrapped haystacks — sheep without heads.”
Speeding past flurries of road signs: ‘turn off at the next junction’
“What? The one back there?” Driving on for a few more miles before being able to turn back again.
Stopping
at the services
to relieve natural needs.
Except for rest — you can sleep on the road.
Except your sickness will persist through the night and
you could miss some significant sights
which will be gone by the time you open your eyes.
Sick of driving in the fast lane; life on play ready to entertain.
“Pass the sweets” trying to **** the sugar from the bitterness of passing time.
Sick of help lines dotted sporadically across the sideline but never quite
in reach.
Sick of this constantly churning stomach which only stops when
asleep.
Sick of momentary flickers of other passengers
before they too go on their way.
A lack of individuality; a wave of sameness
Comforting. Sickening.
Every person is on their own life journey. Each life follows their own timeline and, if you're lucky, your timeline will overlap with someone else for a long stretch but mostly people flicker in and out of our lives like specks of dust. As we get older life seems to move quicker and our relationships, it seems, become fewer and more fragile. This is a testimony to that quickness of passing time.
neth jones Sep 2024
Gordon maddens coils under the high ceilings
  solitary in his three rooms
with his cello and window sill herb box
with his art ideas  employment as a film extra
and drink   fought  at bay  daily
see also :   battling off the ghoul of his perished father
his other and waging with his ****** bead
his aging kingdom    sensitively approaching seventy
early version

03/10/23

off his gourd

Gordon maddens under high ceilings
solitary in his three rooms
with his cello and window sill herb box
with his art ideas
and drink at bay daily
Mitch Prax Jul 2024
One common misconception
about night owls is that it
isn't about staying up late,
not to party or to relax,
but the feeling the silence
and the darkness brings.
In this solitude we find peace of mind,
we find the atmosphere to create,
to work and to unwind.
The world is asleep and I
have never felt more alive.
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