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Brian Yule Mar 2020
Ache of being isolated grown too close
You spin the wheel, though wary
Weary too
Another raw encounter: open wound
Another tongue duel probing to find out
The rule you’ve never broken
A lure, if spoken; left unsaid, a doubt
A bur to hook the tighter those who run
Nursing the rub
The present friction burns of uncertainty
The pleasant fictions formed to fill the gap
This shifting scene that saps with sifting urgency
This morphing tempter mutely mouths its name
Read my lips
Spill my dear
Do you decline
Or feast fears
Climb into bed
Sip on the nectar
Transfixed
Nigdaw Feb 2020
you are like cake
little substance
rising to a gentle warmth
a mouth full of air

your flavour is sweet
satisfying
at the time of eating
but an aftertaste
of guilt
a feeling of being
a little bit *****

you are always there
to temp a stray
from the right path
displaying your wares
like a shop window

what harm can a little pleasure do
no one will know
and you only live once
Jack Torrance Feb 2020
I close the door,
but it swings right back.
The latch has been broken,
and shot full of cracks.

I try to fix it,
try to take it all back,
but then it opens on darkness,
and I’m consumed by the black.

I want to step through,
to see if it’s still the same,
because it beckons to me,
softly calling my name.

That’s when I slam it,
and try to hold the **** still,
as something tries to turn it,
and break through my will.

That’s when my fingers,
grow sweaty and numb,
and I can feel the pressure increasing,
and I start to succumb.

The **** starts to turn,
and I start to lose my grip,
and then I stop fighting,
and my fingers slip.

I step away,
as the latch softly clicks,
and the dark whisps escape,
growing feelers to lick.

Then I am lost,
and stepping through the door,
hoping that it won’t shut,
but not caring anymore.

I’m bathing in nothing,
and I feel the memories cut,
as somewhere off in the distance,
I hear a door slam shut.
Don Bouchard Jan 2020
Kissed Faith good-bye,
Stepped into the night,
Met a man on his way
To the Forest.

Faith behind him,
Uncertainty before,
Wavering on his way,
Brown faltered on.

Such a cloud of witnesses
As to keep him from this path!
But then they met him,
One by one,
Catechist and Minister,
Deacon and Elder,
Murmuring and gibbering;
Wise fools wending their way
To meet him
In a clearing, deep.

Pink ribbons falling,
Snake-head pointing
Feet now stumbling,
Then running before
In a wind of curses.

Firelight red,
Congregants cowled, silent,
Save the voice of Faith,
The near-initiate.

"Faith, Faith!
Look to Heaven!"
Resist the wicked one."

Woods silent;
Devil, fiends, fire ... gone.
Only Goodman Brown
To stagger home.

Ironic morning sight:
Smiling faces of Salem town,
'Gainst downward gazing
Goodman Brown.
Nathaniel Hawthorne's classic allegory.... What a story!
Hannah Jones Jan 2020
And just like that--
like a cold snap
crashing through
a summer's eve--

I am above
temptation.

As those words
cross my mind
I realize
this stable footing
I've pridefully conjured
proves to be no more
than a tightrope
tauntly strung
over that very same chasm
I've stumbled into
far too often.

Step
by step
is the only way.

Although I know
the stakes are high
I can't help
but look up
and smile.

Praise and blessings
that I
do not have
to walk alone.
Bad habits are hard to break, harder to want to abandon. But I am not hidden. Though each step is a challenge, the desire to walk is a grace. A grace I'll not soon cut off.
Mrs Timetable Jan 2020
Will it make you full of joy?
Will it be too many calories?
Will it make you worry?
Will it help you not worry?
Will it make you have regrets?
Will it make you sick?
Will it be calling your name?
Will it make you happy?
Will it satisfy you?
For... how ...long?
If you can, you should.
If you can’t, then don’t.
Carlo C Gomez Jan 2020
Hear her soft lilt before espying her
from the promenade?

Listen carefully for mondegreen.
This morning she will come out
of the water, risen from froth,
made of the same elements
as Adam's Eve,
a pastiche dressed in summer's flurry,
transpicuous & clung-to,
amaryllises strung about
hair & thoughts,
the sinfully twisted scent
of Bergamot Orange
filling the nostrils as they flare.

Shall she succeed in coaxing you back
to a tree that once held such promise?
It's called Temptation for a reason.
Grace Haak Jan 2020
I can no longer convince you to be captivated
by late nights filled with nothing
I can not ****** you with my smooth talk
filled with songs of strange sweet something
I can no longer wheedle you with words
that entice you to want to stay
I can not tantalize you with temptation
so I must find somewhere else to play.
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