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Falling, falling, falling,
                                  forever
or is this
                                     G
                                   N
                                  I
                           ­     T
                              A
                          ­   O
                            L
                          F
towar­ds a shimmer in the distance
like a wind that carries a dead leaf
whispering through the chimes
that fall upon deaf ears
as if the message was sent
and it just wasn't heard

No, this is f
                     a
                       l
off                    l
    the                  i
precipice  ­           n
                               g

as I watch the sky
march round in a funeral procession
of our history

F L O A T I N G
in this disorienting gravity

S E D U C I N G
in this magnetic propinquity

T E A R I N G
in this psychosomatic schism

every storm proceeds an epoch
                                              of pleasure
as if pleasure
                    is an
Grecian artifact
                        in the backdrop of Ovid

The caterpillar
                       of Like
                       of Love
                       of Hate
cocoons into insouciant
                                      vicissitudes

            ­                           Y.
                                    A
                        ­         W                                
but refuses to fly A
lo 1d
this is when i want you the most; when its 9 30 am and it is still gray outside because the rain came early today. press your fingertips into the dips of my waist with every roll of thunder because you are here and i am here and its dark but its still a new day. in arizona, we're lucky to get rain three months out of the year, those months are called monsoon season. heavy storms that knock over chairs and threaten windows, knock on car doors begging to be let in. we count down to the start of monsoon season and i cant help but think how beautiful it is that so many people who will never meet all look forward to this one thing. when it rains, we cry, creating our own storms and puddles on tile floors with rumbling laughter for thunder. you, dear, are a monsoon, in every sense of the word; strong and beautiful and devastating. anticipated. i count down the days, and when you finally arrive, everything is finally bright; your smile supplied its own lightning. you knock on the counties of my body and make yourself at home until its time to go. monsoons always start and end with drool and you are the same way, able to create something from nothing; incredible.
found in my closet, handwritten in july of 2017
Nylee 2d
I waited
It is live now
Buzzing with words
It feels nice
After long time
The storm begins
Ju Temo 2d
After the rain the fills the ***
And leaks out the side
At the last drop down the roof
Even when the wood is wet,
I’ll leave.

The freshness of the day,
Can’t match the lightness in my heart,
It’s biking past the bridges,
Pushing past the grass in the stream,

Soaring down the hills,
That pour out from the purple sunset,
Hanging down cherry blossoms’
Open hands reaching out to every path.

The train has yet to come,
But the heat already settled,
Cooled by the sun far back,
Windows mirrored in its light,
Peppered a village under me,

Going through all its tall corners,
The rails build themselves above me,
As I run past every shop,
My reflection follows along on the ride
Ju Temo' is a freelance poet that is inspired by songwriting.
All other poems can be seen at: www.feelapoem.com
Faint clap
Lighting
spontaneous scream -Thunder
Dark and gloomy skies
Raindrops
The wind dances with the branches

Creatures race to shelter
Cold breeze whistles, kicks the grasses and drag the leaves
The animals slowly wait and watch from the dancing trees
Echoing caves and fading sandcastles
a STORM
Kat Oct 12
nothing will be sold today. the rain comes and
no one will see the neon signs in the mist.
the cities of steel and glass
are merely sandcastles at high tide.
helplessness, our human nature.

still, no worries,
in the minds of children, soothed by
their mother's sing-song,
or strangers sharing their first meal –
yi is cooking ramen for everybody,
while the finnish girl just finished her story
about her grandfather and his eleven siblings.
it's a beautiful day.
GREETINGS FROM TOKYO!
yasmin Oct 11
in the middle
of the crowd
is where I feel
most alone.

they ask me
about the weather
and I tell them
of my storm.

theres a tornado
in my head,
a wildfire
in my heart.

they look at me
with regret.
i'm an alien
in their eyes.
fray narte Oct 11
darling, loving me is falling apart with octobers and kissing your poems goodbye. it is watching autumns unfold while slipping into the tracks of a freight train. i will kiss your skin, all chapped lips and sweetened cigarettes, my hands on your neck, as if feeling the walls of an athenian ruin. i will be every distinctive silhouette in a film, every line in a song, every secret spilling gracelessly off your lips before you catch yourself. i will set you on fire and you will burn; all wide-eyed and irises made of the storm, beneath my feather light touches.

i have a proclivity for breaking hearts and you will find yourself neck-deep in whirl of heartbreaks and headlights — all moonstruck and confused. i will break you — destroy you, bit by bit, in the most elaborate, exquisite way, that you will know one thing, darling —

chaos has a tendency to look beautiful.
Nicole Oct 10
He mutters that he is never okay
And the way he speaks it,
The words echo in this church
As a song
But no one even looks up from
Their praying
Or peering at the bible,
Except her.
And she wonders how his truth
Only hits the windowpane to others
When it's a downpour
To her
And all she wanted to do
Was offer a reminder
Something about rainbows
To cease his ache.
his touch
is the only thing
ever known
to be able to
calm this storm
buried deep
inside me
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