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Nida Mahmoed Jan 2018
Women are Human,
When you utterly feel
the power of this one line,
World will automatically turns so divine!

By; Nida Mahmoed
Seema Jan 2018
This rain
Washes my pain
Cools my head
Hydrates my brain
Dilutes my tears
And drains my fears
We no longer together
It's been many years
Suddenly he shows up
With his coffee cup
And my scars open
To bleed with sorrow
As if there's no tomorrow
I walked away unrecognized
In the rain, I disguised
He followed to apologize
But I failed to recognise
This rain helped me
To let go of my past
From where it all began
Time just went too fast*

©sim
It has been raining heavily since yesterday. So just weaved on this FICTIONAL write.
Poetic T Dec 2017
Every snowflake like a
                   chandelier hanging
from the ceiling of the heavens.
Light glistens from there cold
                                           glimmer.
Collecting on the sorrows of winters
barren collection on bleak visuals.

But when these chandeliers fall,
        enveloping all in a winters glow.
And for a few moments, everything
                              is in symmetry.
A masterpiece of indistinguishable beauty.
Destiny C Nov 2017
Dear Suicide,

Please wrap me up in your warmth,
breathe your breath into mine,
fill me with a love I can never forget.
Please take me away,
hold my sorrows.
I'll hold yours too.
But only as much as I can bare,
you are much stronger.
Please wrap me tighter til I suffocate in your love,
don't let me go.
I do not want life.
I want your death,
sweet soothing darkness.
Let me sleep, let me dream,
Don't wake me in just yet;
I'm not tired, just tired of life.
I'm happy in my courtship with the Brother of Death.
If I never awake, that's just fine.

Brother of Death, come pull my heartstrings,
Come pull the wool over my eyes.
Woo me to bed and your welcome embrace;
Be my escape from this life.

Let me remain in my comatose state;
If I'm unconscious, just let me slumber.
Awake, I'm too lonely to care anyway.
What good is life without a lover?

Man of Sorrows, come romance my heart.
Even in my dreams you haunt me.
If I can't escape Your awe-full embrace,
You might as well haunt me completely.

Don't let me remain in my comatose state.
Awaken me from my slumber.
Awake or asleep, there is no escape.
Life is just death when devoid of The Lover.
This song deals with the seduction of sleep. It's the best escape from life, from the daily grind of hopeless drudgery. And I've heard it said that Sleep is a brother to Death. That's why I often crave it so deeply. Because I'm not really tired, I'm just tired of life. But there is One who makes life worth living again. And when He enters into our sorrows and leads us to Himself, life takes on meaning again, and sleep once more sinks to it's rightful place in life.
Mister J Sep 2017
Cherry blossoms fall
Drifting towards my cold heart
Melting my sorrows
Haiku #2
Seema Aug 2017
My heart is not made of stone!
I feel the piercing pain
Spending my time alone
Walking in this heavy rain

The thunder roars rumble
But my mind has freezed
Upon a stone, I stumble
This time I am not teased

In my room, I sit wondering
What would hurt the most?
A betrayal of hearts pondering,
Or promises washed away and lost

I give leads to my sorrows
Letting my tears fall upon
Shall it be my last tomorrow
From everyones life gone

As I take in a half glass of wine
My tears fill in the other half
Every fault becomes solely mine
The rest sit back and laugh

My love went unnoticed first
And you gunned me with cheat
Betrayal came in with the rest
Your love showed in your treat

I shall go, far away from all
From your life to my pained soul
I know you'd never dare to call
The flames died, left is just, coal...


©sim
Marta C Weeks Apr 2017
Remembering our dead
Mansions, or humble abodes
Virtues or deeds

Learned by heart
Nights of gladness
Morning sorrows

Stories as grains of sand
Forming eternal rocks
Or leaves from a tree
Shelters of hopes and dreams
  
Ocean waves drowning breath
Dreams crumbling as castles
Small homes becoming shrines
Images we choose, or not

Our great grands looking back
Thinking of us as we of ours
Long for memories to grow

Good grows as hands reach out
In time to lift, serve or destroy

Things break and lose charm
Those we feared and loved
Or guides found with sobs

Moments of shared delight
Human frailties, loss and pain
Keep us in want
Never enough, always too much

The hell of heaving
Infernos of inherited pride
Or careful purpose and deeds
Blessing those left

We follow their climb
When plotting our course
In darkness hides the light
Doors close in mind
I would appreciate critiques and comments on this poem.
Shannon May 2015
Under a blanket of 
blackest wool
tiny darting stab wounds bleed 
yellow splinters through a night sky that borrowed it's blue from the bottom of the sea.
-In the up there.
       -In the out there.
And on our wooden chairs painted crisp bay white
chipped over the years,
so the layers of paint becomes a calendar -
we sit to watch
63 moons glide gracefully,
circle daintily-
We strain our necks and whisper tightly
say the things
that move from tongues to fingertips.
Wild gestures meant to
land sooner than the bitter words.
Under the nebulae where you once
gave me a ring
which you slung round a planet
with a ladder and rope.
And you gave me a promise that's still hung round the sun
so I jump up ride it when it orbits me close.
and I'll hide in its caves when the fear-dollies chase me-
and I'll dip in the tides of bubbling foam.
In a moment of tiny,
                              of small
                                            and of sooner....
                             in a moment that's billions of miles away
so before we've been born
and before we've been lovers-
a star somewhere tucked our whole story away.
I'll find us a night cloud
thick with our longings
I'll puff up it's feathers and send it to sea.
I'll send out a hope seed
to sell to the watchmen,
only to free it when they've gone to sleep.
Yes, I'll pack it up safely and keep it's core glowing
(for hope is a thing that you never keep kept.  )
As we sit in our garden,
and we touch close our fingers
As our babies are children and those children now men.
The night scented orchid blooms urgent around us,
like small fragrant fairies that scattered below.
The 64th moon has given you passage,
she's waiting impatient, I fear you must go.
Don't look for me, darling, for I will be waiting
on the bench in the garden
where the night flowers bloom.



Sahn 5/2/15  
Thanks as always.
This was written over a period of years, and edits. It evolved into a story of a marriage where one spouse dies, the 64 "moons" being years of marriage.
Shannon Apr 2017
The stones I choose were
smooth and grey
to build a cairn
that marked the end.
So cold were they
I thought them wet
Laden with my dark regret.
As for all I could not keep,
I placed them gently, buried deep .
Frigid I
I could not thaw-
The fault was mine,
in the after all.

Sahn
01/15/17
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