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Lxvi Jun 2020
I've come to terms
With the worms
Inhabit my skull

I feel blessed
By your test
Though now I'm dull

I love your lips
And your hips
But I cant stand your soul

Will you ignore
Will I score
Or will you move the goal
Winter spring summer fall
I hate anything at all
Spring summer fall winter
Clues, unsubtle hint-her
Summer fall winter spring
Would you wear my ring?
Fall winter spring summer
Sorry I am such a ******.
Bus Poet Stop May 2015
~

a woman, weeping,
at her own wedding dinner,
copiously, bleating sobs,
unsignaled, unprovoked, inexplicable.

misunderstanding guests,
shifting their weight
from foot to foot,
searching for a combo-pose of
of joyous discomfort.

all is well, say the wedding singers,
hymns of wedding songs they perform,
encouraging the standers-about
to dance,
all whom are inconsolably confused about
the wed woman's recognition of a
moment's milestone marker
which distinguishes, her totality,
feeling the differential between
the miles ahead,
the miles already passed,
but cannot answer
the singular considerable consideration question,
is this mine, the right road
and am I
who I am supposed to be,
or the supposition of others

which is why bride weeps at her wedding

~

a sober, industrious, quiet man
of many middle years,
seen sway dancing on the lawn
at 6:00 AM,
to sounds unheard,
was it music, voices,
a breaking point,
the birth of madness?

we, who watched from within,
behind a safe boundary
of glass and stucco and timber,
jealously considering alternate theories
of creation of the universe,
dual roles,
observing guests and voyeurs,
prayed for ourselves,
desirous of his wishes granted,
swayed with him,
in flagrante delicto,
co-conspirators unseen,
but jailed,
behind protective walls of
glass and stucco and timber,
sotto voce confessing priest-worthy sins
while protesting their innocent knowledge
of a man's delightful craziness,
a distraction from
weeping brides

~

the parents posts to Facebook
pictures of children,
warily unaware that their favoritism
is slip showing

oh they favor the youngest son,
beautiful Joseph with many colored coats,
possessing the practiced cuteness
and skillfully employ how to manipulate it sweetly
on suspecting adults

the  eldest daughter,
unconsciously,
is the child made over
into a physical representation,
a manifestation of themselves preserved
as parents are wont to do
just because
they can
~
the swayer wedding guest
pray~dances to the tune of:

give over, her to me, to me,
to replant her unsuspecting
in garden wild,
feed her colors of her as yet unthought of,
foresee her aching beauty,
teach her freedom dancing by the sea,
weeping at her weeping
at her wedding
simpatico with her,
confusion and joy and fear

which is why the man sway dances
on the lawn at 6:00 am and weeps
copious bereft and joyous,
at the possibilities of conquering life
and foresees
the child wedding weeping
and weeps in anticipatory empathy sympathy
at their cojoined
kinship fate

~
Yachika Sharma Jun 2019
First day,
I wept,
For I didn’t understand what was wrong

Second day,
I wept again,
For not understanding my own self.

Third day,
I was numb,
And it didn’t matter if I was wrong anymore.

Fourth day,
I stopped,
My thoughts for it was not worth it to ponder.

Fifth day,
I got up,
With courage I did not realise that I even had.

Sixth day,
I walked out,
Of the cage that i built in my mind.
Emma Pals May 2019
I must have dropped my dreams at some point,
Because all of the sudden they were on the floor.
'Be careful!' I exclaimed.
'We are,' they claimed.

They weren't.

Suddenly my dreams were being stepped on.
I thought it would be okay,
But then I realized
They were shattered.

My dreams!

They were crushed by the careless acts of someone.
They said they would be careful
Now everything I ever wanted is broken,
Shattered with all hope lost.

Crunch.

The sound they made when the fateful action occurred.
My "loved one" so thoughtlessly stepped,
They knew, I told them, and they didn't care.
All hope lost and my dreams scattering with every second.

I wept.
Mary Frances Nov 2018
He wept for her bleeding heart
when she had no more tears to shed.
She fought with all her might
to save him from his demons.
He waived his morals for her freedom.
She waived hers for his.
The ransom was their lives.
The bet was their love.
Until they didn't have anything left
but memories of what once was,
what could have been, what it should be.
I am growing a flower

'Twas rooted in good soil

I nurtured and watered my flower

It grew strong and bold in color.

Then a day came when foreign seed found its place and tainted thy soil

As nutrients became scarce

I poured more water so the soil became soft as I fought the foreign seed

I wept. My flower has rejected the nutrients from my water.

I fought till every foreign plant had been removed and rebuked their roots

I nurtured and watered my flower

It grew stronger and more bold in color

I have a new flower in full bloom.
Isaiah 40:8
"The flower fades, the grass withers, but the Word of God shall stand forever."
Wyatt Apr 2016
I spent lifetimes trying to find it.
I searched all over this world
looking for you and only you.
I lost count of the hours...of the days;
I wanted some truth, I needed you.
At some point I questioned it, if you were ever real.
Deep down I thought we could never be reconciled.
These years went by and life only got heavier.
All I ever wanted was a meaning
that meant more than the words it took
to express what I wanted to be feeling.
Telling me it'll all get better felt the same as
telling a man with no limbs that they'll surely grow back.
I didn't believe a word, I fell to my knees...
and that was where life introduced herself me,
she held a knife to my neck.
I knew at that moment that in this life
death's surely an impending side-effect.

So why prolong it? So why run?
I was led to a bridge,
I was led to that bridge
thinking that this is all there was,
this is all there is.
I came up with my own conclusions
because the clock kept counting for a long time.
I had no goals, no ambition
and I was so helplessly consumed
in what I was and what I didn't like.
So where have you been? Where have you gone?
I've been looking for you all my life.

It was there on that bridge in the middle of the night,
where I sobbed, where I wept, wishing I could forget
all the pain and all the sorrow.
Wishing I could forget all the mistakes
that probably made me fall far away from you.
I knew you were out there,
but I never found the proof.
And just like that, in a whisper
you were there in my time of death.
You were trying to lift me up
and trying to move me from the edge.
I could've sworn that I saw a single tear run down your face
as you grabbed hold of me when I was at my lowest.
And that pact we made on the Brooklyn Bridge...
I might be scarred all around, but I won't ever forget it.
Some intense emotions were in my mind when writing this piece and in a way it's about me, but the overall story in this poem is fictional.
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