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"Do you remember"






When was the last time you heard the sound of your laughter?
Genuine one that originated straight from your heart?
"Sound of your laughter was my favourite sound"
Desire 4d
I'm just an average guy...
I've got normal problems and a normal life
I've also got a voice inside
silently speaking - sounds of my mind
I wonder, does it have a mind of its own?
Always flooding like a river formed by a hurricane,
if my head gets too cloudy,
there'll be a high chance of rain and scattered brainstorms

It might short-fuse my hippocampus
unable to remember how to see;
a blacked-out occipital lobe
I still don't see how the backs of our brains allow us to see
through the front our faces and out of our eyes,
where most of the water falls
despite the brain's overflowing, muddy river,
or the temporary lack of sight,
I still have a voice.

And with it, I will share all of the stories stored within this blackbox,
and only this light can find them and shine on them.
My voice, a wave riding my mind's ocean's surface
This voice, this wave, this sound,
a complicatedly, clear conscious,
called into focus...
[a sound of (my) mind]
II. Saying What's on My Mind
-
Originally written/posted on: 20181120
The voice,
that dances amongst
the beating chambers
of your heart strings,

the harp’s tune;
now tickled,
notes reach
their staff to

descend
upon
their
bass.
Poem about a girl I dated who could sing.
My poetry/short story website: www.gothicsurrealism.com
Abby M Dec 2
A guitar has six strings
That when struck as one note
Can elicit a sound
Far beyond a mere throat
Yet a voice can sink ships
Or at least it's been said
Can a six-stringed guitar
Claim one person that's dead?
Julian Delia Nov 29
I am so ******* done.
I am now a loaded gun,
So you’d better ******* run.
I am hateful, like a forsaken son,
I am spiteful, like the blazing sun.

An appetite for self-destruction,
Akin to handling dynamite without any instructions.
The chaotic disorder that runs amok,
The scavenging hoarder pillaging dead schmucks.
This language is those dark corners left unilluminated by love,
A savage from unknown lands coming over the ridge,
That unsated, insane impulse that turns push into shove.

Throbbing veins and demonic thoughts,
Sobbing dames and manic frauds.
Your mental kingdom, your palace of peace –
It all falls apart, piece-by-piece.
Hate is like a saboteur, sneaking in,
It robs life of its grandeur, sinking its teeth in.

Rhythm just doesn’t happen,
You feel stricken, like you’re borderline bed-ridden,
Feeling as used as a ***** napkin.
You see hate in every pair of dead eyes,
In every new set of ******* lies,
Whenever another inner child dies,
Whenever another bomb-dropping jet flies.

We have two languages, in this life –
The language of love, and the language of hate.
Which one do you want to speak?
Which realm do you seek?
Choose wisely;
Mistakes are not taken very kindly.
I couldn't help myself - this is a counter-part to a previous poem, the Language of Love.
Verdant Quo Nov 26
I take my headphones out
and for a split second, in between songs,
I can hear the world around me

though muffled,
I heard the wind between the trees leaves
I hear the distant whispers of two lovers
I hear a songbird take flight
I hear the smooth fall of a fountain in a pond
I hear my own heartbeat pound on my eardrums
I hear my jacket brush against my undershirt
I hear the slow inhale of breath followed by an exhale
I hear the world,

but then the next song starts to play.
the drip drip drop
of my leaking love
the tune of emptying emotions.
the longing in my heart,
the lonely in my chest,
spilling into a solemn lake beneath me.
like gasoline, it sits cool,
nothing
seems to
happen,
but as soon as that puddle sparks
i can feel myself burning ablaze.
the drip drip drop
of my melting, burning love
the cackle of a lost battle.
the cackle
the crackle
of a fierce raging fire
Crystal Freda Nov 24
in the mist
of the seas,
the water brushes
against her toes,
sun bellows down
to night sky
and she stays
as water goes...
Brynn S Nov 20
Stairs of clouds
Each step heavenly
I wait for your hand
Reach to me
Soft spoken and howling
Sirens of whispers
Drape me in ivory
The deep lights
Watch as reflection shift
Each color, each touch
Approach the ceiling
Euphoric it was
Lifted to the stars
Each one our own
Higher
Higher
Soon you will return
Return to the morrow
Bands of darkness
They held an embrace
Comfort in you
Comfort in trace
Seanathon Nov 18
Listen to the verbiage
The quietness of a different nature
The winds, the woods, the wildness
I am not my father
Though I am his son
I am me
And the past, the pretense
That's who he is
The Sound of Lineage
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