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Graff1980 Mar 2019
It was a small
white plastered walled
where I sat alone
studying French
before the bell
would sound
and send me home.

Cracked bits of plaster fell
turning to smoke
as they hit the floor
making a thin white mist
of dirt that exposed
a hidden figure.

A silk specter,
she moved through the air
as if gravity
wasn’t even there.
A beautiful swirling
swimming in
this stale atmosphere

Dangerous hands
that could caress gently
or strangle menacingly.

Better than the bitter
that haunted
Hollywood screens,
cause she was
far more fascinating.

mistress of
lost minds,
who lost time
trying to find
some sort of meaning.

I watched her
and amazed
at the sight displayed
as she played
in some sort of
ethereal realm
allowing me
to see.
all of her
abstract majesty,
but just as quickly
she evaporated.

I do not think
anyone will believe
this strange story
so, I made it in to poetry.

she will come back
and haunt me
some day in the future.
Jillian Jesser Oct 2018
Sunday morning,
and the sun is peaking through the blinds
after a long sleepless night.

The monster that hung over my head all night
is sticking around for the light, it seems,
and it is scaring my Pothos'.

As they wilt,
I am changing the song that's playing,
It's too haunting, too obvious.

An old friend, this specter has become.
I laugh as he spills my coffee.
Brandon Conway Jun 2018
You left years ago,
                                the bed still unmade
You left years ago,
                                the bills still unpaid
You left years ago,
                                the message I still play
You left years ago,
                                the beauty I still gaze
You left years ago,
                                the child I still raise
Daniel Ruiz Jun 2018
A specter of the night,
Silhouetted by the moon,

I don’t know how I felt,
You had to leave so soon,

Now I’m crying,
In the corner of my room,

Waiting for the sun
To come up,
And make the flowers bloom.

in the corner of my eye,
I can see the shadow move,

Darkness burst
As I close my eyes,

Scared of what’s outside,
Terrified of what it is,

Knowing all to well,
It’s just a memory of you,

Under the night sky,
And the head lights,
Showing me
What used to be your figure,

Your curves,

The stars don’t shine tonight,
It’s just me,
And the moon.
I’m really obsessed with the sky at night and space and the stars, and you.
Danielle Jun 2018
Death, that lonely tarot card.
A silent grim specter
No one wishes to see.
It impinges upon the norm.
Egyptian curses scarier, more real.
Lacelike spider webs, the coldest steel.
Leafless trees, silhouetted against the storm.
Efficiently bringing portentous change.
The Death card has always been one of my favorite cards, because it represents change and sometimes change is just what is needed.
Alec Astaire Mar 2018
Specter of my past
Graveyard’s gate of my desires
Haunt me forever
Vexren4000 Dec 2017
Specters of eras past,
Hazy visages of people long gone,
Almost a hazy portrait,
Fading from the sunlight,
In an abandoned home,
Specters wail in the winds of the night,
Their cry twisting with the wind,
Turning into a howling,
That chills to the very core.

M Harris Mar 2017
This Is The Story Of Her, New-Fangled Eyes,
Filling Up In Valiant High,
A Sacramental Anticipation,
Victim Of Her Addiction,

Specter Amour Ensemble,
She Kisses So Gentle,

A New Found Glory,
Like What’s The Morning Story?
An Ark Of Optimism,
An Immortal Prism,

A Scope Of Life,
Enslaved To Her Emphatic Hive,
Imbibed Inside Her Metamorphosing Dive,
Eternal Sunshine Of A Spotless High,
Twinkling Fireworks Into The Duskiest Night,
Like The Sprightliest Light,
Painting Me In All Her Colors Of Life,

A Gorgeous Cognizance Blossoming Transcendence Of 90’s Summer,
As She Discos Like A Junior In Spring Summer,
Myriad Instants Of Her Untamable Beliefs
Driving Me In Her Upbeat Beats,
Infinitely Running On Repeat,
Scorching With Her Heartbeat,

An Amour So Sanctified,
Thrills Out All The Unrefined,
Cause To Major Redesign

A Cryptic Princess From Tomorrow Land,
Glued To Her Hand In Hand,

A Wish Of Hazel Eyes,
Relentlessly Every Night,
Cranberry Delights,
Mystical Highlights,

Etched With Infinite Scars Of Her Amours
Into Transcendent Clusters Of Her Own,
Engulfed In Her Moans In Rome,

Surrendered To Her Cryptic Heart,
She’s A Symphony To Mozart,

All She Gives Are Premature Ventricular Constrictions Every Infinite,
Till The Rest Of Her Lives*

- 04:21AM
JR Rhine Jan 2017
Like the spectral sensation
                                of invisible waves
                                        swelling against the body in bed--

                                                          ­       so do your lips
                                                 still wash over mine.
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