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Ally Oct 5
As the night darkens
lonely heart weeps at stars
the sun smiled brightly
Chiara Sep 29
When I feel alone and can’t take any more,
I call you my friend, you pick up the phone.
I pour my heart out to you, tell you what’s on my mind,
You don’t stop me once, just let me speak my mind.

Your first words after minutes are ,,I’m on my way.’’
True to your word, you arrive not much later,
You give me a hug, after that we sit down,
Again I tell you everything, you want me to go on.

You don’t try to give advice when I’m finished and weeping,
You take my hands in your own, look me in the eyes,
We sit there in silence, for we need no more words.
You are my best friend, you know just what I need,
I hope someday I can repay for what you did for me.
We’re closer than sisters, I treasure our friendship,
You’re important to me, I hope you can say the same about me.
As I shut my eyes, I wailed and wept with no control.
My sorrows were flooded with my pitiful tears,
with every drop a cry of pain.
The aching heart and the struggling body yearned
over my miserable fate. I have undermined the power
of love, that is tearing me part by part as I desperately try
to cling onto an illusory fate.
I'm lonely in my confines of drowning despair,
protecting from it reaching her. Every now and then
her eyes would flick in my mind, to keep me sane.
For all I wanted was to see her smile. Now
our hearts are growing far apart...
Aleena Sep 10
The Willow Weeps
As it swayed
It danced in the rain
The Willow Weeps
As it sighs
Looking over the mountain side
It cries and cries
And cries

Nowadays my friend is called:
The Weeping Willow
As it weeps
somewhere
As we speak
Ally Sep 6
Liquid pleasures
often, the company
lonely poets keep
when they cannot sleep
while they... weep
In the Garden, by the Creek,
Stands a Tree –
A Weary Willow, weeping, in
A prayerful plea:

“The scoffing Oaks hold
All their leaves,
But mine wither in this winter;
Don’t You see?!”

But, oh, what She
Doesn’t yet know
Is that, now, below the ground,
Growing down, and reaching out –

Hidden to sight or sound –
Are her Roots, preparing Her
To bear a thing no Oak has ever known:
Fruit.

---

So, may Her weeping turn to singing
For spring is bringing
A New Beginning
…In the Garden, by the Creek.

.
Äŧül Aug 8
My heart is beating,
My heart is beating,
What is it beating???

Just your name,
Enriched with love,
Warm, sensual, positive.

My heart is weeping,
My heart is weeping,
Why is it weeping???

Just your name,
In your memories,
Young, hopeful, happy.

My heart is smiling,
My heart is smiling,
Why is it smiling???

Just so blissful,
In all your thoughts,
Youthful, peppy, beautiful.

My heart is fearing,
My heart is fearing,
What is it fearing???

Just the distance,
Between both of us,
Gaping, blanking, scaring.

You are my last chance,
I shall never move on,
And you know that...
My HP Poem #1757
©Atul Kaushal
Death can bite my shiny metal...
It can fall off my thoughts like a petal
And let go of my family tree.

O' please, let my loved ones be,
And the sea of darkness set free
So that i can sleep in peace

And wake with all my pieces.
This life is but a simple lease,
time that I'd like to extend

Push away the invevitable end
That dooms us all to bend
To our knees  and weep.
O' let me never sleep
Glenn Currier Jun 14
She stands at the wall reflecting
on those who were lost at sea
names and poems and words connecting
her to those poor souls and to me.
Beyond those memorial walls
the mighty Columbia into the Pacific spills
whose depth and wealth have called
so many to sail from Oregon's green hills.
From the safety of their home
they left for the great unknown
where writers and poets travel
every time they pen their spirit in word
to explore what God and life has unraveled
what pain, sorrow and joy have stirred.

Her kindness and her reflection move me to write
my poems of wandering from a safe and tidy home
to regions of imagination’s heights
shadows, sorrows, or oceans’ foam.
She reads and lives life’s poetry
knows its canyons and desert sands
she yearns only to be free
of the noise and anger of badlands
to smell the freshness of a cool and gentle breeze
feel the air brushing her arms
to look up and see the greenness of trees
to be free from crushing and brutal harm.

I see her standing and watch her reflection there
with seafarers, poets and lovers at peace
where God’s creative breath stirs air
and torments, terrors, and quarrels cease.

Author’s Note:  My sister Genie who lives in a large urban area visited Astoria, Oregon where the Columbia river ends in the Pacific Ocean and local citizens have erected a memorial park with several walls of polished black granite that display the names of mariners lost at sea.  There are also sentiments and poems about those lost souls one of which Genie photographed and sent to me.  As I examined the photo I could see her reflection on the wall as kind of a background for the poem.  That photo and my sister who loves nature and trees inspired this writing.  I wish I could post the pic here for you to see why and how it inspired me.  

Below is the untitled poem on the memorial wall photographed by my sister.

Weep not for me that I go to sea.
I shan’t be lonely, though vastness surround me.
The brotherhood of the sea shall be my family.
The kinship of the deep my company.

Weep not for me, nor worry over harm.
My heart stays with you, still and warm.
In sunrise and starlight my hearth and home
I carry you with me wherever I roam.

Weep not for me, whether bad luck or good.
Tossed about in a shell of steel and wood.
An ancient salt sea sails within my blood –
I but follow its tide through ebb and flood.

Weep not for me that I go to sea:
in the limitless ocean I am free.
La Girasol May 31
Today I laid on the floor of a Somali grocery store and tried not to pass out.

I fought the demons of my mind and my heart, which were coming out in the physiology of my body.

"This is a new low" I thought, as I tried not to get sick all over the beautiful fabrics on the shelves.

To have and to hold, to bloom and to bear, to cherish and to love.

"You're in shock, you're in shock, you're in shock" I repeated to myself as I stumbled outside.

This is a never-ending nightmare, a hellish dreamscape, a grief unimaginable.

"Have grace with yourself, things are not supposed to be this broken" I whispered into the couch.

To sting and to bleed, to weep and to mourn, to wound and to dishonor.
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