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Randy Johnson Mar 29
I didn't die when I was struck by lightning but it was a terrible fright.
The bolt of lightning struck me in the head and gave me second sight.
I saw my neighbors daughter drown in a vision.
Her parents ignored me and it was a bad decision.
If they had listened to me, their daughter wouldn't have drowned.
They don't believe in second sight and their girl is buried in the ground.
Tears rolled down my cheeks when their daughter died.
I couldn't save that poor little girl even though I tried.
Some say I have a special gift but it's irritating when people don't believe.
When I'm ignored, bad things happen and misery is what people receive.
I told a man that I saw him being killed by a train and he flipped me a bird.
He told me to go to hell and he said that my visions are fake and absurd.
He tried to beat a train the very next day and it hit his car.
Because of ignorance, cemeteries are where two people are.
I just had another terrifying vision and it's about you.
You'll die in a plane crash and my vision will come true.
If you ignore me, you'll die but if you listen, you'll remain alive.
You better take what I say to heart or you won't survive.
Nylee Mar 25
Afraid of silence
Fear of whispers
By the end of night
Sleep will conquer
But dreams don't disappear
Nightmares will recur
And when you wake up
The terror don't end.
Because Her Heart Is Tender
by Michael R. Burch

for Beth, on the first anniversary of 9-11

She scrawled soft words in soap: “Never Forget”
dove-white on her car’s window (though the wren,
because its heart is tender, might regret
it called the sun to wake her). As I slept,
she heard lost names recounted, one by one.

She wrote in sidewalk chalk: “Never Forget”
and kept her heart’s own counsel. No rain swept
away those words, no tear leaves them undone.

Because her heart is tender with regret,
bruised by razed towers’ glass and steel and stone
that shatter on and on and on and on ...
she stitches in damp linen: “NEVER FORGET”
and listens to her heart’s emphatic song.
(The wren might tilt its head and sing along
because its heart once understood regret
when nestlings fell beyond, beyond, beyond ...
love's reach, and still the boot-heeled world strode on.)

She writes in adamant: “NEVER FORGET!”
because her heart is tender with regret.

Published by Neovictorian/Cochlea, The Villanelle, The Eclectic Muse, Nietzsche Twilight, Nutty Stories (South Africa), Poetry Renewal Magazine, and Other Voices International. Keywords/Tags: villanelle, 911, terror, terrorism, never, forget, heart, tender, regret, heroism, patriotism, courage, sacrifice
Troy Feb 26
These last few days
Have been filled with loneliness
Feeling the solitude
Of numb emotions

My heart stops feeling
My soul has gone cold
My body numb
My mind blank

I lost myself
Losing all reflection
And yet
My dreams turn dark

Night terrors attack
Spreading fear and sorrow
I cry in my sleep
And wake in a sweat

I'm terrified to sleep
I lie in bed
Staring at the ceiling
While my cats sleep by my side

I take my meds
That are suppose to stop
The night terrors from coming
But they don't work correctly

They still come
I just don't remember
I feel the fear
But I don't know why

The loneliness is killing me
The fear of sleeping alone
In this big bed
With nothing but my cats

I hold my pillows tightly to my chest
In hopes that it will shield me
From the evil that lurks
Inside my mind

But alas the only thing
That sets my mind at peace
Is the feeling I get
When I sleep next to someone I trust
Something
―for the children of the Holocaust and the Nakba
by Michael R. Burch

Something inescapable is lost—
lost like a pale vapor curling up into shafts of moonlight,
vanishing in a gust of wind toward an expanse of stars
immeasurable and void.

Something uncapturable is gone—
gone with the spent leaves and illuminations of autumn,
scattered into a haze with the faint rustle of parched grass
and remembrance.

Something unforgettable is past—
blown from a glimmer into nothingness, or less,
which finality swept into a corner, where it lies
in dust and cobwebs and silence.

It was my honor and privilege to work with survivors of the Holocaust and Hiroshima on translations of their poems and accounts into English. What they have told us is unutterably sad, and saddest of all is hearing about the lives of children being full of horror and terror, only to be cut short. Unfortunately today Palestinian children in Gaza and the West Bank are experiencing something similar, a modern Trail of Tears ...
Janice Feb 21
It was the night she was murdered

The shadows clung tight to the walls

Whispering of evens that left them appalled

Behind the corner the little girl stalls

Knife in her hand makes her feel tall

Taller than mom who lies on the floor

Pools of her blood the carpet absorbs

Mom causing pain has long been ignored

The little girls terrors

Forever no more
hello
it's been awhile
i thought you were never going to be here again
i thought i was stronger
i thought i could take care of myself, my brain
i thought sleep would come easier

i thought a lot of things.

welcome back, terror of the night.
i deal with a lot of anxiety disorders and night is always a hard thing for me as i am paranoid of what could be in the dark. it is getting worse again but i am fighting.
RBWhite Feb 4
The birth of life begins with death,
Many of those who she dares to leer are already burned in flames,
Few can see the day when she finally appears after many ends,
Like a weaving spider of Destiny, little by little, soul after soul,
In her womb, another is preparing to death behold,
As every butterfly of hope, it traps itself into the Spider's Hold,
And feeds her with the last remnants of her blood,
Her life hangs steadily in the Eight Mementos of her Old Foe,
She is wishing for a dream that never came to be,
The one she wanted to stay,
And now when Eight Deaths are wanting The last drop of her life,
She cries remembering the last night,
When she was preparing to die.
This poem belongs to my blackxpoetry series, and tells the story of a woman on her way to hell, her subsequent rise to her own Kingdom and her fall and madness.Thank you so much for reading! ♥ Remember all blackxpoetry poems are tagged #blackxpoetry so enjoy all the collection :)
RBWhite Feb 4
Have her throat between her limbs, life it's nothing but a lie,
A Conquerer of lands unknown to man, lost between space and time,
She wraps her arms tight, releasing breath and chants,
She knows it'll arise,
The day after the Red Dawn,
She's holding herself so not to move,
So hard that her scalp begins to fall,
And when she says her last prayer,
A demoness plays with her head, before hunger took over and leaved her pleading for help.
Just for the sake of horror poets, this one is for you ♥ I love horror so much
For an eternity
We whispered in the void
And suddenly
The universe answered
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