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Dead are silent

Genre: Abstract
Theme: Examined Life
quiel Sep 22
The words hiding behind my mouth are cradled in my soft hands
Hold them, feel their heat, decode the messages under my skin,
Each of them from a language you cannot even recognize;
The familiar sights of home are nothing but
Empty bottles of knowledge kept away in a box only I hold the key to;
Run towards me and please please please listen to me, for
My words cannot bridge the gap between us although
I have tried; with
No clamor in the background,
Ask me to repeat myself once more, and please please please
Listen to me.
yet another acronym poem!
Alexa May 9
have you ever
had cancer?
in your brain?
did it hurt?
did you cry?
i would actually
like to know.
a girl in my grade got diagnosed w/ stage 4 brain cancer. Because I'm on student council I'm helping plan a fundraiser for her, to help pay her medical bills. And I'm supposed  to spread the word so... Here I am. Here you are. Wow.
Also, if you would like to donate to her or come to her fundraiser look up #samantha_strong on instagram.
Kit Scott Oct 2018
It is like tasting paper

Except worse

It is trying to drink air for the lack of water

But it is worse

It is the deadly, delicate, overwhelming feeling of being smothered in something i cannot see cannot feel cannot taste or touch or hear but it is there and it brings pain and a strange kind of emptiness

pipes, made of pipes we are (i am)
trapped inside flesh and
hung over, draped upon, wrapped around brittle
rickety crickety cracking bones like
empty teeth or
the bendy bit of bendy straws trying to pretend like they
               don't bend

Finding it within myself to exist as i am
Is not something that i am entirely sure i can do
This time around

(It is not my fault,
not mine,
never mine,

I know this.
They keep saying it.
Perhaps they're trying to convince themselves,
I must be such an inconvenience, after all.)

I am pain all over, clenched teeth and tensed limbs
and I am listless
Tumbling hollow head over weak heels in an ocean of


And by gods I hope that I wash up on shore with something in
my brain besides water because I hope that at
the end of this there might be those
words those three sweet
words that might just
say something

To Be Continued.

[I do not have a terminal illness; this is character writing in poetry. I just feel I should clarify this as it is not my intention to mislead anyone.]
Nico Reznick May 2018
She writes to him in the hospice,
his widow-in-waiting.  A girl at her care home
brings her envelopes, colourful pens, sheets of paper in
pastel shades, and takes her missives to
Reception to go out with the mail.
She writes to him, keeping her messages short so
the nurses have time to read them to him, and because
he gets tired so quickly now.
She encloses copy photographs for the nurses to
show to him, pictures of their adventures together:
them in hiking boots and toting backpacks atop a
Saxon burial mound; picnicking and almost sunburnt
beside a vast lake reflecting a perfect, bygone blue sky
in its tranquil surface; on a sandy Welsh beach, building a
campfire from smooth, soft-grained, bone-pale driftwood; him
asleep on a train, his head resting on luggage
and hat pulled down over eyes.
In one communiqué she writes:
“I’m sorry you took the mountains with you.”
She means – she explains to the care home girl
who brings her stationery and takes her mail – that
when he moved to the hospice and she to the care home,
all the photos of their mountain holidays – the Vogelsberg,
the Dolomites, Monte Rosa, Chamonix – had been
packed up along with his possessions, and put in storage
by his family.  She sends him copies of
the only photos she has left.
And that is what she means, but not just that.
It’s been a long time since she stomped mud off of
hiking boots, or felt that gorgeous ache in her muscles
from a long, hard climb, or kissed in a cable-car,
or let the wind tan her face as she breathed
rarefied air.  Those summits seem very far away,
and the woman who once scaled them never could have dreamed
that life could become so flattened.

In some quiet room, a nurse shows him the photographs.  
A heart monitor describes
a craggy range of peaks and dips; each elevation, every ascent,
could be a terminal journey.  Soon, one surely will.
The nurse can’t tell if he hears her as she reads to him,
“I’m sorry you took the mountains with you.”
Based on true events.  Working with the elderly can be a beautiful sort of heartbreaking at times.
Lady Ravenhill May 2018
Which do you think
Would hurt less
Living a terrible lie
Or dying over the truth?
These past five years
I am the definition of both
And they slowly numbing
My will to care
Who gets hurt in the end.
Mister J Nov 2017
We stood cold and frozen in the rain
Raindrops hiding the tears you've shed
Heads are bowed low, hearts broken to pieces
Our bodies locked tight in a last embrace

Your breathing felt warm yet faint
Our minds went blank and confused
As much as we don't want to let go
The rift between us grows wider by the second

As I held your small, fragile face up
I can't help but stare at the fading light in your eyes
We just had to lean in for one last sweet kiss
Let the last spark of passion between us dissipate

As I try to let you go, you begged with dear life
As I struggled to resist your plea, I knew I wouldn't win
Even as I said goodbye, my arms were wrapped tight
Frozen in place with you in between them

With all the strength I had left in my heart
I turned my back to the sweetest memories we shared
But you desperately clung to every fiber of my being
I knew in my heart how badly I still wanted to stay

With all the voice you still had left
You screamed your final "I love you's"
I knew they're enough to make me turn around
But this time, we need to let each other go

As I walked away dragging my resisting feet
and I struggled to run away from your embrace
God knew how it crushed the life out of me
As I broke free from your heavy gravity

As I let you go, it took every cell in my being
Every muscle in my body rebelled against me
But because I love you with everything I have
Letting go was the only way to save you from my destruction

As I let you go, all memories of us surged like flash floods
Every smile of yours etched in my mind and heart
All of your kisses that I know I will never feel again
All those feelings broke out as tears fell from my eyes

I missed you every night in every dream
You haunted me in every way I couldn't imagine
Letting you go was my life's biggest regret
But to see you broken in my last moments, that I cannot bear

As heaven took my last breath away
Your small smiling face solely gave me ease
I know I won't be able to embrace you in this life again
So please wait for my return on our next chance
Stuck in a hospital on a rainy day. Was inspired to write this. :)
Eleanor Rigby Aug 2016
in 12 hours exactly
life will take a new turn

i hope it's finally
towards happiness

-- Watercolour
Stormy Apr 2016
Treatable, but
Take one pill twice a day,
probably for the rest of your life.
There's no guarantee
on how many days, months, years
you've got left.
You could feel fine one week,
then have Death on speed dial the next.
Of course, they tell you the
survival rate is very high.
So you sit there in the dark,
but hey, you're alive, right?
The doctors don't use the word 'terminal'
when diagnosing you.
But, then again, they don't have to.
Kind of my own personal view on living with depression and anxiety
Ambika Jois Nov 2015
I wake up with a headache
I knew I shouldn't have stayed up so late
'twas so foolish to hope that I'd understand your game

I know what I gotta do
Too lazy to get outta bed for you
And gulp it down with a glass of water to ease this pain

I see now what I saw before
I didn't know what it was for sure
Till it worked just like paracetamol

I woke up
There it was
Once that killed
Without a cause

Those dreams that turned into nightmares
Those arms that gave away time shares
Feels like history since the last time I needed help but still

There's life waiting to be celebrated
It's no longer so complicated
Thanks to my prayers from the day I wanted more from life

And for the small white pill
This poem is my vision for the common day to arrive whereby Cancer can be treated with a small white pill, that can be taken just like any other painkiller. We have lost many valuable lives out of no fault of their own as a result of Cancer. The world misses them, and I miss them too. Here's a toast to all the hard working scientists and people who are dedicating their lives to find a cure for this nasty beast.
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