Separation shall not define
Beats getting weak in my heart
Be lull but me mine
Darling—stay bleak in my heart

Your lament mourned in storms
Some cries cling deep in my heart
It is who
Crossed leagues to die in my arms
Who has born to weep in my heart
Rizna M Rameez Dec 2018
Don't cry over her
Don't worry
Your daughter is safe in heaven's arms

But the tyrant,
When he faces his doings,
He will let out a wail,
A shriek that will resound upon the belly that fed him,
A shriek that will send shivers down the spine, into the very earth that will hold him no longer.
A shriek that will reach the people that refused to help him,
That defied him his self-proclaimed right of putting those bullets to the heads that did not, in any way, deserve it.
His pain, will be so profound, he would know what he meant by "The meaning of real pain",
Was utter foolishness
That the words he spoke, have now fired back against him
That the torment he caused, is rebounding upon not merely his body,
But his soul
The soul,
Tainted with blackness that slashes of blood has left upon his being,
That Lady Macbeth could never wash off,
However many sleepless nights she'd spent on it.
Berenika Nov 2018
Strange weeps keep me up.
I cannot sleep.
I tried counting sheep,
it didn't help.


I'm getting kind of scared
I just want to be asleep.
The weeping isn't stoping.
I move under my blanket.


I gather all my courage.
Slowly moving to the window.
Making a thorough rummage.
I hear the wind softly blow.

Fingers separate the blinds shakily.
Eye looks out throw the ***** cautiously.
The fear begins to fade away.
I can see myself living tomorrow's day.

The fuss was all for nothing.
I feel like a fool.
On the windowsill of my room,
sits a magnificent jewel.

Even though it's ***** and wet,
it's eyes, greener than Cloverleaf,
sparkle through the dark night's net.
It's a cat.
Inspired by "The Black Cat"
Mary Frances Nov 2018
Will you yearn for me?
Will you be there to weep and call my name?
Will you reminisce the remembrance of what we are?
Will you still wish for me in every shooting star?
Will you still pray for me during Sunrise?
And feel my warmth when you lull yourself at Sunset?
Will you still give me a part of your heart?
And revere the mark I left in your soul?

Will you? When I'm gone?
ryn Nov 2018
Back of her hand
ran across the red on her lips.

Smearing what once was delectable.

Attempted to wipe the drops
which quickly turned to rivulets,
running black down her cheeks.
D Letwixt Oct 2018
All the things we neglect to say or feel
are stored up somewhere
swirling and undulating in the deep

Eventually, they all rise up--
in a single violent urge
it exits our cowering bodies all at once

and there's nothing one can do but shake
D Letwixt Oct 2018
There is a place, before the kings keep
Where those looks of solemn dignity
Go resignedly to weep
Between the gray trees and under gray canopy

To the place where wildflowers wilt and muses mutter
Little words, falling like white feathers in the muddy water

If one walks between the trees
There is a basin, and liquid of silvery green
Imbued with the mutterings of agony unseen

It is the words of those sorrows frail
Spoken with a breath and then a look of fright
And then a frantic run from faces clothed by night
Dissecting looks unrelenting judgments
upon the unredeemed

all who have felt the pain such as muses sing
And cried at night or betwixt the thorny leaves
have drunk of this basin green
And felt the hot swell of sorrow rising from the deep
crevices of our frail corporeal shells

And the voices of all those who filled it up
Violently swell in undulating liquid wail

From those who walk betwixt the trees
Is sounded the great collective scream.
Kimberly Sep 2018
Sometimes my unshed tears form an ocean
                Trapped inside my chest
Drowning with dry eyes
                 I slowly sunk
When breathing is navigating
The stormy seven seas
                Cry to clear the storm
                Weep to better breathe
If it helps
                Weep and weep
Crying is good for your body.
Maxim Keyfman Sep 2018
weep weep weep the whole world
cry the whole cycle of darkness and light
and the whole azure of heaven and all the azure
and all the books that were on the bookshelf
on the shelf that burned then in august
when attacking death on our house

scatter the same voices last fatal
be carried away and carried all around
do not give air to all this here
do not give the sky and do not give more papers
do not dictate any more of these strange words
perhaps the land is worth and it will be necessary to stop

and right now and at this very moment
and it is at this hour this month in this year
all stopped what it means stopped even then
then when august was next to me when the books were
when the whole world was not even in the flames at all
when the bookcase was with me and the leaves did not sob

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