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L Oct 2018
I want to explore you

(Is this what this is?)



I want to hold every inch. I want to graze. My eyes they hunger. My mind tries to satiate my hunger but alas. Nothing imagined can compare. It is only fact. The only fact i know for a certainty.

(Okay, maybe thats a bit of an overexaggeration. But.


Shut up.)

I always end up giving up. Wind up throwing in the towel. Too wound up. Dissatisfaction.

(I almost said insatisfaction. But that would have been incorrect. No no. I am correct. Always. I am me. Me is right. Ha.)

I need to be pleased. Please, please me. Dear god what is going on. Inexplicable feels in places unpredictable. In ordinary actions turned utterly and splendidly extraordinary.

(How cliché.)

Sweet toxicity. Unexpectable, unsuspecting poison in every glance, every look. It holds me firmly with an unrelenting grip that says "there is no such escape from this destiny." And the words are such a pleasure to hear. And i want to hear them over. And over. And over again. And i want it deep and commanding. I want definity in the way that it already is. Who could ask to escape from something such as this. What poor blind fool would willingly give this up. This infinity. This immensity.

No. Not i. Never. I could never deny this. Not now or ever.

I am a happy captive of this place
in life
in which i am present in
at the moment.
Oh well. Here it is. Lost treasure.
Bobby Dodds Oct 2018
poets are the greatest treasure hunters,
or maybe, they might be the happiest.
most likely the most fulfilled.

poets are the richest in nature.
or maybe, just the most aware.
most likely just the most sleep deprived.

poems are our greatest treasure,
like chests full of gold.
instead of gold it's words.
that we crave to hold.

poets are the hungriest.
for emotion, life, and fear.
or maybe,
just the calmest.
sitting quietly.
amongst their peers.
people often ask what poets are, or what classify's as a true poet.
but sometimes the greatest poets are the ones that don't write at all.
just the common folk that inspire us to write, to imagine, to create.
so thank you all you common folk who live out there living the poetic life without even trying.
Valerie Oct 2018
He ponders on how to make the decision
One to give him satisfaction and the other displeasure
His small hands cradle the calabash gently
Cautious of the fragility of its content
He's wondering how to explain his spoil
Excited beyond yet afraid within
Still wandering in the bushes treading lightly on dead leaves,
He hears the drums go off from the village square.
A thought jumps in, too tempting to ignore!
But he must reach his destination .
Forging ahead to gratification,
He's barely acknowledged and his secret unkown.
Walking through he's pushed aside and ignored!
He pays no mind, full of smiles.
If only they knew the content of the Calabash!!!

                                          Valerie Gbinije
Sometimes we underestimate people and their worth...
lovelywildflower Oct 2018
sometimes i feel like i'm buried treasure bound with bolts and chains
i'm held down in a secret place
waiting for one brave man to go searching deep in this land inside of me
the ship is swaying from the storm in my mind
and the crew grows restless as they try to find the X that marks the spot
again and again disappointment reigns
and there's always one that gives up as it keeps pouring rain
but all i ask for that special one to stay
someone who's willing to join in the fight
to battle and wrestle with my sleepless nights
someone who's there to listen to my thoughts
and to hold me and love me when i cry a lot
someone who's willing to keep searching again
to find that treasure that's meant just for them
and i search for mine as i climb and i climb
until we cross paths and the stars align
and we will have found out buried treasure in time
Myrrdin Oct 2018
Truth is not beautiful
When spoken without thought
This was not a treasure chest
I held the key for
Rather one I found propped open
It was not earned
Nor mine to claim
Yet I find myself filling my pockets
With the trinkets and gold
That come tumbling out of your mouth
Ground between teeth
Leaving your speech unintelligible
I will bury this beneath my own treasure
Leaving a map for you
To never use
Christian Oct 2018
There is a treasure hidden in Palestine
where the formless predict the past,
and in it's trap I've been smitten,
and my death, filled with life looms.
JR Falk Sep 2018
My dad would always warn me to be careful when falling in love;
I fall too quickly for my own good.

So on the days leading up to the moment you arrived,
I made sure I steadied my footing,
readying myself for the moment I would.
I could tell I was going to.
I wanted to be prepared.

But as I stood in that airport, my knees were already trembling.
It seemed as though the moment I saw you coming down that escalator,
I lost my footing.
All of a sudden everything around me had disappeared.
All at once, I was falling.

I wondered if skydiving rivaled that thrill, and the fear.
My heart never stopped pounding.

When we got back to the car,
I kept staring at you as though you'd vanish.
My mouth grew dry with dread.
I worried I would wake any moment and all of this would have been nothing but a dream.
But I didn't, and you remained.

We stepped into my room and everything blurred.
I heard nothing but the air rushing by me as I fell harder each moment.
I turned to you, begging for clarity, and was met with a kiss.
For a moment, I could see again.
I warned you I was petrified.
You held me.

I saw the pieces of me I had lost when falling in the past come hurtling towards me as I fell.
When I woke up to you, your chestnut irises were still closed,
yet your breathing stabilized my rugged heart rate.
I was completely unaware of where the ground was,
or how hard I'd hit it,
but I savored the sight as though it were still all just a dream.

Each and every moment with you,
I feared the outcome.
I prepared myself with every aching hour for the impact.
My breathing was so unsteady, I felt on the verge of collapsing.
I closed my eyes. I couldn't let myself see what was coming.

As we sat on my bed, and you held me in your arms,
you begged me to open up.
You insisted I open my eyes,
and I fought tears as our breathing synchronized.
I could see the ground now.
The panic clawed its way out of my heart, up my throat,
and I felt my body shake as the words finally spilled out.

I braced myself.
I winced, expecting the pain.
I had anticipated every bit of me to shatter.
I was ready for there to be nothing left of me to break.

But I didn't break.

I could tell the world around me was still again,
but I wasn't on the ground.
I was not broken.
I was pieced back together, carefully.

You kissed me, breathing into me the life I thought I'd given up.
I finally opened my eyes, and as my vision focused,
there sat every piece of me I thought I had thrown away for each and every heartbreak before.
The parts of me that I had lost so long ago, that I assumed nobody would miss or remember,
sat upright, polished, and presented like precious gems.
The feeling in my body returned,
and I turned to those perfect orbs in disbelief--

you caught me.

You never let me go.

It was then that I realized that all the while I had readied myself to fall,
I had already spent my life preparing my heart for you.

So when my dad reminds me to be careful this time, I'll let him know:

I was, but I never needed to be.
You were right here all along,
waiting to catch me.
2:09am
9.29.2018

oh my ******* god, i love you.

a month from right now i'll be in your arms again.
George Krokos Sep 2018
I often wonder where this is to be found
  if not within one's soul that's earth bound.
  One must pierce the darkness of the mind
  to find Heaven's treasure therein of a kind.
_____
A "titled" stand alone quatrain written in 2018
Alyssa Underwood Nov 2015
O Prize of heaven, Treasure of my heart
Let me suffer, if only I may seek Thee
Let me fail, if only I may find Thee
Let me give up all, if only I may gain Thee
For Thou and Thou alone art the Prize
"I want to know Christ and the power of His resurrection and the fellowship of sharing in His sufferings, becoming like Him in His death, and so, somehow, to attain to the resurrection from the dead.  Not that I have already obtained all this, or have already been made perfect, but I press on to take hold of that for which Christ Jesus took hold of me. Brothers, I do not consider myself yet to have taken hold of it. But one thing I do: Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus."
-Philippians 3:10-14
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