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kivel Nov 1
Through the closed window i stare

for hours and hours
things change and fly by
but i sit here in my room
watching through the window

at first when i was young
i saw sunshine
i saw the rain
i felt the disasters
and then i learned to be emotionless

watching through this window in my old rotting room
i learned to keep to myself
saying hi to a few people that knock on the glass
some people decide to visit inside
some enter through my window
while some through the back door
they appreciate me as i have many stories
and i appreciate them for they have some too
but soon they take notice of my room
and decide to leave

in the absence of people
and humanity in general
i learn skills of desire
and master each of them
jack of all trades
and soon after i attract
with this new fragrance ive obtained
more people start coming

friends

~

now seventeen
i am still watching through my window
but i leave it a bit open
letting my music reach the ears of souls outside
occasionally going out through the window myself to see them
and to enjoy the outside world like everyone else

more people knock on my glass now
more people come in
and more people enjoy me

my room gets brighter with all the candles they light for me
and many people are staying
and light me up
and keep the flames burning

the world still brings upon the weathers
and i try to accept them
for emotions bring out the real me
but i live in california
so sunshine is what i receive most of the time

now that im almost an adult
ill have to learn to leave this room
and live like the rest.
17 is a complicated age.
Ineffable Oct 27
look out of the window
after a day of letting your supervisor shout at you
after wanting to be with somebody you love
but being too tired or too afraid to

look out of the window
while overthinking decisions
while preferring a coma over living
but at the same time wanting to live life at its fullest

look out of the window
and be happy about
the bird
thats walking
on soft grass
There’s a lonely light left on,
In the farthest corner of forgotten space.
Where dreams come true,
And hopes shine through,
A beautiful stained glass face.

A face with friends and a family,
Filled with heartwarming smiles and tears.
With stained brown eyes,
And lips metal tied,
Unable to share the stories it hears.

There’s a lonely light left on,
Illuminating all invisible forgotten space.
Shining through the pain,
the stained glass window pane,
Sharing stories in a way you cannot hear.
Enjoy, or don’t —I don’t care. This is the 8th version of this poem I’ve been trying to write. This is best version so far but it can always change and get better. Stay awesome!
Beautiful heart
A heart not to be worn on your sleeve
In search of Love in a pit of snakes
White rose among the scarlet
Only to be found once in a lifetime
Disappeared it has
Like a cat sleeping in a windowsill
A common site overlooked
It was always there
The vase in the window now is missing
The one with the golden heart
Locked away far from sight
Never again to grant the opportunity to be shattered
A beautiful heart
The holy grail
Shall be difficult to find
Written by Sean Achilleos 18 October 2018©
www.facebook.com/SeanAchilleosOfficial/
Sean Achilleos' Music is available on the following platforms:
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Sean Achilleos' Book 'An Affair with Life' is obtainable from the following platforms:
Smashwords, Amazon, Wordery, Kobo, Exclusive Books, Takealot, HelloPoetry, Loot, Overdrive, Bokus, Barnes and Noble
The one that ventures
to look outside the window-pane
Is the one that kisses
the fear on its brow

The wars of oblivion
make love in the
battlefield of reality
Upon its ashen reeds

What i see and feel
is a sweet sentiment
of loss all along
the street
I think we all have some sort of such experience
Kit Scott Nov 4
open me, close me
let the wind whistle through me

my panes rattle as you haul up my sash
wincing at my high pitched squeaking

you look through me to the outside
wishing to go there

and i see how you look at those flying birds
so haul me open, push me till I'm gaping, so that you can feel the wind caress your skin again

let the smell of the outside soothe you
i don't mind working a little overtime
Aperture - An opening, hole, or gap.
Eric Babsy Oct 15
An open door
Closed windows
Looking into the depths of my soul
Can I really see anything
Or am I blamed for something I did not do
Can you catch a glimpse of what is truly in my heart
In my soul I am kind and free
Please take what you can from this and live
Waves come crashing down to destroy where we stood
Can you ever forgive for something I did not do
How and what you expect from me is not always up to you
If only there was no barrier in communication
From heat I drip condensation
All those sensations you have our nice and all
Passion comes from the truth inside
Not physical sensation that puts you on roller coaster ride
So united we stand divided we fall
You did this
You just say I do it all
Hunter Green Oct 13
I could cast my gaze toward anyone,
but connection comes in small moments of understanding:
When we direct our attention long enough to contemplate the colors,
To regard the size of the darkness we see the world from.
Sometimes we only catch a hit-and-run,
But when it sticks, when souls connect, and we see the other for who they really are,
It leaves me with something I can't forget,
My mind has yet to find a greater but just as simple communication in adoration of another creation.
There's something powerful in the one-on-one,
Undeterred by surrounding crowds or events in motion all around,
Eyes still meet and lock, no passing thing can break their talk.
With every burning second the mirrored sensation of optical reception resembles the sweet weariness of a Nordic midnight sun.
And then it breaks as thoughts swirl in passion heated from skylights.
The warmth runs through the whole body, just seconds filling every cold spot.
As the windows close no one knows, but those dark spots and colors burn in the silence.
I think you may understand, relate in some way, but in reality these words aren't for everyone.
Kavya Mukhija Oct 12
At times, I wonder
if my face flashes
in front of your eyes
when you see them,
there, laughing with
their stomachs aching.
At times, I wonder
if I ever interrupt
your train of thoughts,
like the silent touch
of the cool breeze
On a hot sunny day.
At times, I wonder
if you too have a picture
on the frame of your mind,
of us, sitting
by the window sill
watching the rain drops
race down the window pane,
with a cup of hot-brewed coffee
clutched in our hands.
At times, I wonder
if you too think of me
while I'm thinking of you;
if your fingers itch
to dial my number
if your ears go numb
to hear my voice
if you ever crave
for my presence
Like I crave for yours?
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