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Qweyku Aug 2018
drenched in a sea of waveforms,
dancing on the ebb of a digital ocean
its crests crowned with sound

pitched upon amplitude tides      
their volume compressed;
reverberating through glass speakers
mere dots in the sands

i hear cadence...
within the music of your speech
how can it be,
such a many word
written,
yet forgotten,
indelibly on your beach?

if we could interpret the oceans
what stories would its sea speak?
of its corruption?
treasures unreturned
to lost and found?
or of its time to give up the dead,
or of the angels that fell to its ground?


© Qwey.ku
Have I told you of how I love the sea?
A duplicitous temptress.
choosing to drown or carry you afloat.
My drum has perforations; now flawed
Mylar parchment once taut on bone
Leaks prose; but each metaphor pored
Percussive skull reverbs teeming tome

Waning instrument yet waxing lyrical
Tympanic threepenny opera still plays
Snare split - verbose ****** spiracles
Whip quick flick of offal; tongue flays

Well weathered but - oh still sensual
Drum bongo crammed with lyrics learned
Skin leathered; worn – still beautiful
Spills tales – well told – well earned  

©pofacedpoetry (Billy Reynard-Bowness – 2018 – All rights reserved)
The head is the drum of our band! Our instrument, through which we see, speak, hear, smell and feel! We use our "head-drum" as a musician uses their drum....to tell tales...and, the older the drum, the more stretched the parchment...the better the story!
Tilen Aug 2018
In the depths of night,
a man searches for the light.
A strange sound moves through his head,
as he hangs on a thread.
What will happen , will time stop?

Was it you who lead me here,
were you the one who gave me fear.
I know you, you know me.
I can't hear you, I see you breathe.
What will happen, will time stop?

A taste of a long lost feeling,
although it's concealing,
I fell like I'm stealing,
but can't remember why.
What will happen, will time stop?

No, time won't stop.
Nothing will happen.
Sound will disappear.
You will be forgotten.
Like a clockwork's rhyme
they grow on him,
the soft moan of her heels.
Here she comes, they tell him
as they gently pry loose
of her tender feet.

A quiver is set into motion
like strings of a cello
consumed by touch
every time her voice breaks free
like a fugitive
from its own abode.

The visiting breeze crosses by
the slow hum
of her breathing,
and carries the gasps
in hurried echoes
to remind him she's checked in.

A mischief rolled into smile
escapes her lips
to touch a heart so shy,
only to leave it
and **** with pain
while making it a willing alibi.
Is there a sound to love? Does love come with jingles in the background. Or, do you find it in chores when love shores up within and thy love is without...
A M Ryder Aug 2018
I love the sound of music a writer makes with the tip of his pen tapping on his empty glass.
It is how we still keep listening for music in silent moments.
It is how we still look for color in the darkness.
How we feel and care so much that we just might accidentally end up hopeful.
Umi Aug 2018
Bodies sink into the depths,
Disappearing beneath the waves with no light,
The abyss welcomes them, offers them a new home: Despair.
Driven by frustration and the wish to return home, hatred is born.
Strong enough to break through the hellish, screaming cauldron.
This is my story too, the me standing right before you, is the one who sank into the bottom of her heart, disappearing in a hole of sadness.
I won't allow you to cross these waters, not without defeating me,
Sink, again and again, the cycle never ends, war never changes.
Even if your enemy might be your very self from the past long gone,
Give it everything you got and be ruined by the fate that chains you,
With every cycle returning, frustration, hopeless rage, envy and hatred are gaining strengh, losing more and more of themselves here,
Parts of yourself vanish between the iron bottom sound, where so many have fallen before, just to protect those who they held so dear.
But what is a war worth that has no meaning but greed at all ?
The things I held dear started vanishing long ago, rusted, dissolved,
All I am is a shell of my former being.
I am but just an abyssal.

~ Umi

- M i d w a y - H i m e -
Heidi Franke Aug 2018
Head can now explode
But my hair rises black
Higher than this
Feeling inside like
I am,
         Screaming
         the sound could send waves
In new directions.  
Capture or let go...
They both make me feel
          Insane
Unable to do anything else
The roar is paralyzing me
Get me into the black hole
       already
I need the other side
Rage-Light, flashing
      You would be blind by now
But I see too much
       Scratching out your eyes.
This one written about the chaos felt inside when trying to help a mentally ill loved one who still can not see and the broken, broken system for treating our seriously mentally ill in America.
ClawedBeauty101 Aug 2018
Stay up late on your computer, just to ignore whats in the background...

Blasting your speak or headphones to the highest volume found?

Eyes locked on whatever is attracting your mind to the screen

Consumed by your emotions and thoughts... the things unseen

Possibly in the dark, devouring food to satisfy the emptiness inside?

Deep in thought? Lost in people, dreams, and lies?

Oblivious to the time that slip through your fingers

Not to be disturbed by any forgotten chore that lingers

And sometimes... you may break out with a sigh...

That's slowly turns into a scream...and a mournful cry....
When your alone.. dont let your past or pain haunt you...the Lord is with you and always watching over you... he is there... he is listening...its easy to push away the pain l..but if not dealt with correctly and it can be a burden.. He can help you and will help you deal with it. He Loves you ♡♡♡ I know life is hard and dramatizing
Phi Kenzie Aug 2018
Laughing into the wind
no one can hear you
away only for a moment
if at your ear
then carried off

I use my inside voice
within my head
the rest is shouting into a void
if you can’t speak
it leads you to think

the inside can be a battle for sound
in and of itself
what rings true
and what needs improvement

Some better left said
requiring a spoken tongue
instead of a broken one
Harley Hucof Aug 2018
I resonate
Smiling down from my room
Expectations kills reality
Just as reality kills fantasies

Are they my friends ?

I see the enemy in front of me
He is fearful and he is mocking me

Whispers and looks
Dishonest insects trying to be the center of attention in the room

I am aware of them
Their masks and uniforms
Their scent and their many forms

It is easy to be seduced
But not anymore
I will not be used

There are still many shapes for me to become
Wisdom is the opposite of freedom

I see the enemy in front of me
He is laughing and he is looking at me

I want to end this but he is not letting me

I see the enemy in front of me
Suddenly everything is clearer
I am looking at myself in the mirror

I can't feel anything

But i resonate

Words Of Harfouchism
I am my own enemy and my ego is stopping me from being happy
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