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Sara Kellie Sep 8
A flower lady stands guard at the overgrown garden of broken stone teeth.
  Where a million flakes of silver and white covers neatly laid out boxes of bones.
  Small, separated audiences quietly chatting to themselves, unaware that no one can hear.
  Where their cold grey words drip from frozen blue lips on a falling mist of old sorrow.
  The trees once in full bloom appear dead, reflecting all life around.
  Where the butterflies and ladybirds used to play, just as the bones in the boxes did yesterday.
Those in attendance file out one by one. They peer left and then right, realising the flower lady has gone.
And it's on their way home as the time ticks on by, the realisation that
one day,
they too,
must die.

Poetry by Kaydee.
Notes of Mortality.
Ankita Gupta Apr 17
Often, the sombre emerges
Rarely, the world shines

Often, the story is told
Rarely, it comes to life
Tara Apr 17
With each grain of rice I think of you,
when they told you they would no longer give you food,
“Get out”,
“Get out”,
but there’s nowhere to go.

You fled home to save your children.
You left everything behind because of hope,
and here the world has left you,
in torment,
and alone.

I don’t know if you pray, but I pray for you,
each and every one of you.
Megan Parson Apr 17
As he left for war,
with fear galore.
On the lonley streets,
She waited.

  As he grew weary of walk,
  weary of war,
  & cursed his fate,
  She waited.

     As he dreamt of her,
     each forlorn night,
     when cold birthed frostbite,
     She waited.

        When winter approached,
        & food scarce,
        By the dying embers,
        She waited.
          As spring drew near,
          The springs in her heart
          grew weak. On her death bed,
          She breathes her last.

              With his hand in hers,
               He waited.
On a sombre note.
chitragupta Mar 5
You were the glacier
that fed the rivers in my eyes
You are the sea -
kissing the horizon with guile
You'll be nothing more
than a speck in the sky
Sorry for the stupid title
Neo Montane Jan 12
I sought joy by holding on to pain
Sought freedom by holding on to a chain
Trying to keep track of the time, my lifetime but I'm too scared to watch
I'll see how it passes fast and my dreams I can no longer touch
Tell me you do see the watch on my wrist
Does it show you what wasted, am I at risk?
I'm looking for fame yet I cover my face
I guess my shame brought me to this place
Gangothrii Jul 2018
Colors blurred to a banausic bore,

Sights I crossed, sought my eyes no more.

Paths overused, they bore the brunt,

Of thousand hopeful feet that met the end.

All so familiar yet so strange,

What’s that my heart so craves?

Is it the fruit of seed, sown so early?

Or the bloom of desires, of my heart.

Choose I should, one path,

Can I not have it all?

Weigh, I must, of what that matters,

Or shall watch as many dreams shatter?

Some who came, made a choice,

Others just stayed, without a voice..

Many lost their battle of dreams,

That crossed their imaginary realms.

Hate I would, to do what all do,

Regret I shall, if I don’t follow.

Someone cry out for a piece of me,

Shall surrender all of me, in blissed peace.

Thoughts that bled in colors so wild,

Drained away as greys remain,

Nobody asked for a piece of me,

So I walked the path that was set for me.
Here come the formidable rains,
An air of sombreness it decrees.
With it, bringing--
The tears of the forgotten dead,
Cleansing the earth of our influence.
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