Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Dez Mar 2020
With death I did sup
'Twas I who did drink his cup
But it was the door
Death is the end of this life
But it is the door
To another life
so in truth
Death is a beginning
Amanda Kay Burke Mar 2020
This is the end
Another year
Lying under the moon
Without you would be lost
Room colder than Neptune

It does not matter my location
Cough wracks lonely lungs
Roll over
Shut my tired eyes
Dawn forces mornings hum

Do you feel heavy weight like me?
As your emotions fall
I can sense the incoming year
The impressive looming wall
Written 11-31-19
Katlyn Orthman Mar 2020
Crouching in tendrils of bright green grass
Two caterpillars set out on a daunting task
Hearts filled with hope to taste the fruit
Which had rendered so many full and moot

They slugged their way out beneath the sun
And laughed and talked of all they'd done
Distracted they never saw the bird coming
It swooped down much too close and sent them running

Once they were sure the bird was lost
They argued their plan and what it could cost
They were both still afraid the bird would come back
And this time that bird would precisely attack

But they knew in their hearts that they came so far
They couldn't turn back on their wishing star
So they hauled for the tree which was just in sight
When the bird swooped in and with all it's might

Bit a chunk from both caterpillars **** end
And with a mighty resurrection of power would send
Both caterpillars catapulting to the tree
Where both could feast and drink fruit mead

In a drunken stupor honey glazed thoughts soar
The caterpillars lost in slumber would snore
And in their sleep their body's tore
To be rebuilt with fine allure

They stretched out their legs, wings unfolded as well
Both stared in awe at the beauty, love spell
They leapt in the air and tested their wings
And rose to the sky to cheerfully sing

Two soaring butterflies dancing with the wind
They looked at each other and victoriously grinned
They had beat the bird and ate all their fruit
And may never had if they left that route
Nicole Feb 2020
These scars lay on my skin
Delicately placed by surgical blades
Carefully crafted into my skin
They are art
They are a part of me
As always
I love these residual lacerations
This brail across my body
Telling my story for me
To those primed to receive it
The soft pink tissue raises slightly on my right
Agitated and stretched
Red from my inability to afford
Additional healing time away from work
Imperfect
Uneven
Visible
Beautiful
I love these pieces of myself
I love watching their journey
Through recovery and lifting
Feeling the changes tingle across my skin
As my body begins to trust me again
A piece about the scars I have across my chest from top surgery. It was the most life changing moment for me and one of the best decisions I've made for myself
CLARYT Jan 2020
There's a storm brewing,
A shift in air quality,
The prelude to a monsoon,
That hush before the deluge,
But this storm is not headed our way,
This storm, his one will bypass you and I my love,
For this reckoning is heading for those who wronged you,
A reckoning, not of your making, but for your benefit,
Yours and mine, let it be, leave it alone,
And let us begin our transition,
They will emerge unscathed, but told, informed.......

(C)eileenmcgreevy@ymail.com 07/01/2020
Leaving behind a life which no longer serves us, emerging into a new, loving and nurturing life, with one that simply cannot function without the other.
S I N Dec 2019
Last curtain call, to pay
last passage toll; to cross the side;
to take a ride; the future is behind us,
for we can't see it; the past is right in
front of us, for we can see it clearly;
so every step we take may be our last;
but we just want it to be fast; "Make it
Fast", they usually say; but why; we are
Afraid to cross that bridge and pay that
Toll; for we are afraid of that what awaits and
Entices us there; so we ever falter at that moment
Of transition; and never will stop;
For that mystery curtained did always baffle us
And always will
Casey Dec 2019
I know I’m one day late, but happy 2 months hrt sis :)
James Rives Nov 2019
i was told that every poem is about death,
***, and love,
never in that order.
that it's our job to organize
the chaos in a way that makes us feel
as though we won't be forgotten
when we're reduced to atoms and scraped,
bit by bit, from every etch
we've ever made
and the earth retakes our homes,
our names,
our loves,
lives, the lost.
but it's just a feeling.
what's important is embracing
every curve, every laugh,
every spat of anger. and learning.
that hurt won't always last unless we let it.
Next page