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i feel.

disconnected
helpless
tiny

in agony.

i feel like the world is ending
but I have no one to turn to.
i feel very happy for a moment
and very sad to the other.
i feel like i can't do anything right
as if it were mud, as if it didn't hurt,

as if i was worth nothing.
this is exactly how i feel right now, not my best work but i needed to vent
Olive Apr 8
I feel like a remote.
A tiny remote in the hands of a giant
Toggling through channels
Accidentally pressing every other button than the intended
I have no control
I have lost sense of where I am in space
I am helpless
Vulnerable to the choices of the giant
Constantly fluctuating between states of fear
And peace
Never knowing when each state will change
Never knowing how long I will have peace
Before the fear arises
I am just a tiny remote
In the hands of a giant.
Currently battling feelings of trauma sneaking up and hijacking my peace of mind.
Frail Envelope of Flesh
by Michael R. Burch

for the mothers and children of Gaza

Frail envelope of flesh,
lying cold on the surgeon’s table
with anguished eyes
like your mother’s eyes
and a heartbeat weak, unstable ...

Frail crucible of dust,
brief flower come to this—
your tiny hand
in your mother’s hand
for a last bewildered kiss ...

Brief mayfly of a child,
to live two artless years!
Now your mother’s lips
seal up your lips
from the Deluge of her Tears ...

Note: The phrase "frail envelope of flesh" was one of my first encounters with the power of poetry, although I read it in a superhero comic book as a young boy (I forget which one). More than thirty years later, the line kept popping into my head, so I wrote this poem. I have dedicated it to the mothers and children of Gaza and the Nakba. The word Nakba is Arabic for "Catastrophe."

Epitaph for a Palestinian Child
by Michael R. Burch

I lived as best I could, and then I died.
Be careful where you step: the grave is wide.

For a Palestinian Child, with Butterflies
by Michael R. Burch

Where does the butterfly go
when lightning rails,
when thunder howls,
when hailstones scream,
when winter scowls,
when nights compound dark frosts with snow ...
Where does the butterfly go?

Where does the rose hide its bloom
when night descends oblique and chill
beyond the capacity of moonlight to fill?
When the only relief's a banked fire's glow,
where does the butterfly go?

And where shall the spirit flee
when life is harsh, too harsh to face,
and hope is lost without a trace?
Oh, when the light of life runs low,
where does the butterfly go?

Such Tenderness
by Michael R. Burch

for the mothers of Gaza

There was, in your touch, such tenderness—as
only the dove on her mildest day has,
when she shelters downed fledglings beneath a warm wing
and coos to them softly, unable to sing.

What songs long forgotten occur to you now—
a babe at each breast? What terrible vow
ripped from your throat like the thunder that day
can never hold severing lightnings at bay?

Time taught you tenderness—time, oh, and love.
But love in the end is seldom enough ...
and time?—insufficient to life’s brief task.
I can only admire, unable to ask—

what is the source, whence comes the desire
of a woman to love as no God may require?

Keywords/Tags: Frail, envelope, flesh, Gaza, Palestinian, children, mothers, tiny, hand, kiss, mayfly, deluge, tears, epitaph, grave, butterflies
Viji Vishwanath Dec 2019
Feather is a tiny hope
That can fly
With no more rope

And lot of feather
In its wings
Soothes our inner soul
To never give up
In life

A tiny hope of feather
Filled in full of wings
Is ready to fly
At any time
To reach its destination

Whether weather is bad or good
Whether there is dark cloud

Feather give positive vibes
During all around the seasons

Feather in every weather
Makes a cooling effect
In our lives

Let’s be kind
To the owners of tiny hope
And give some water
In every summers
To keep fresh those feathers
Which mesmerise us with
It’s feathery wings
To keep going
Without a quit
Feather is a tiny hope which helps to believe in keep going in life than to quit.
Carmen Jane Dec 2019
You've traced in the snow
A heart- that has melted mine-
Of tiny footprints
em Oct 2019
bite your lip or i'll have to
-
numbed forever more
drown
in my blood
-
an exponential growth in my throat
i guess i never learned
how to escape quicksand
-
feeble again
does anything ever change
-
forever afraid
of dreaming alone
silence overwhelms
-
pulsations radiating throughout my being
the aching heat, unrelenting
answering the void's lonesome song
-
blurred droplets on once-dead wood
valued by connoiseurs from what i gather
-
too many walls around here
too many moats and battlements
guess mine were all for show
-
eyes closed
forever
-
always the same words
when will you stop
why must you always
and the images too
why won't you stop
underexplored ideas and lethargic days
Translated by Przemyslaw Musialowski 10/1/2019

The most beautiful is the one who at the candle top
lives alone and this poem is about him:

tiny flame - a metaphor for life.

Przemyslaw Musialowski 8/21/2008
Only poems that I've ever tried to write myself come from a time when I was 22 or 23 years old and there are only few of them. Enjoy!
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