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Nicole Sep 27
Maybe I'm just bad at beginnings

Or even moreso terrible at endings

The only thing viable is to stop seeing

The change as doors to other realms

And see the shift in my soul

As opening windows to

The parts of me yet unknown.
I can’t look right at you
Because if i do you might disappear
Like a dream in the morning,
When the yellow light is seeping through,
That slips from between your sleep soaked fingers
Out of the open window and into the air
I can’t look right at you
Because i might be blinded by the existence of you
Loud and bright and hot
Like a star
Like the sun
So overwhelming and painful to touch but so warm to be held by
sometimes i get overwhelmed by how perfect a moment is. like driving fast with the windows down, i can’t look right at it or it’ll all be too much. so i look out the window instead
Silver Jun 9
I am
the fading ghosts of fingerprints on cold windows,
the colors blooming ever so slowly in the sky at dawn,
the murmuring voices of family through walls of safety

I am
the sun that meets your waves at the horizon, no matter how far it seems,
the warm breeze wandering down from clouds to caress your arms,
the comfort of lost doodles and poetry in the quiet of night

But it all changes when I see the oceans that are your eyes,
and the warmth that is your soul, bared free for me to see
the hand holds and careful gazes that we share,
the knowledge of “together” and just being there

I feel beauty in ways that are impossible to describe.

But I can try,
try to put these feelings into words,
just for you
i wrote this last spring but i just dug it up from my black hole of a desktop

it's a bit different from the usual but i think that could be a good thing too
Allesha Eman Jun 4
Chase the thousand morning suns you dream of
And watch them through big city windows that frame the colours of the wind

Read about the thunderous rain, close your eyes and feel it’s pain
Soak your hands in atmospheric water as you watch the rainbows shy away

Trace your steps back to the moon, and steal the stars that stole your gaze
Throw them in your pocket but put them back when all you see is the haze

Draw the flowers that grew last spring, and fold them in to paper airplanes
Set them free into the sky, and watch the buds grow when it rains

Close your eyes and smile along, forget I’m leaving...
Forget I’m gone
Chase the sunrise until sunset, and then do it all over again.
Darryl M May 8
I got myself starring.
Thee has brought me into thy chambers.
I starred with great delight,
For sweet is thy voice.
For thy love is better than wine.

In the darkness of confussion.
A glimpse of thy light is shone on my fertile heart.
A seed of attention is planted,
Watered with joy and happiness.
Dung of eternity is applied,
A vineyard of love is brought forth.

I sleep but my heart waketh,
Thy eyes have overcome me,
This love is strong as death,
Jealousy is cruel as the grave,
All for thee as well deserved.
Author: Qhakazile N. Thabethe
Completed: 27th March 2018
Darryl M May 8
Take me to thy mellow of thy shakesperean heart.
If thy love be wine, let me imbibe.
Drunken I am not, but sober I must not be.
A little bit more would be addiction.

The crops of thy attention towards me, I shall uproot not.
The juicy vines of thy beauty, I shall lay a hand not.
For the fields of my heart **** not.
Let the seasons of thy rainy love prolong.
Let the showers flood my smiles.

My heart you’ve stolen,
My attention you’ve robbed.
Like a burglar after my designer love,
You’ve been peeping through the windows to my heart.

The windows crack, all for thee as well deserved.
A sonnet written as a response to Windows to My Heart_Part 1 by Q.N. Thabethe
Eyes are supposed to be
the windows to the soul...

I think they’re really
Just funhouse mirrors

Taking something
And twisting it
Into something that is not
My thoughts illuminate a face of cool regret
while feelings grow hot behind her shaded eyes.

I know not what to say
Her windows do not glow with emotions
Wisdom has gone home, afraid to entertain without the sweetness of ice cream.

A distortion of combating ideas
floating here and there,
salient among the scatter objects
left today, to be swept under the rug tomorrow.

I could say I am sorry
and she could forgive
but Rome wasn't built in a day.

I'll open my windows instead of my mouth
no words, just open books
staring.
About wanting to say something, but instead letting your eyes say it.
Staring out the window
I only see your face
Smiling, joking, laughing

Across the way, there’s a house
And in it, all the lights are on
Warming, glowing, sharing

And there I could see us
Radiant in all that brilliance
Dancing, living, loving
Emily Miller Mar 18
No matter which window I look out of,
the world is still on fire.
Upstairs,
Downstairs,
gleaming with the orange-gold of
indiscriminate destruction.
When I was young,
I thought the framed oil paintings were real,
and enjoyed the pleasant, static serenity-
but one day,
I noticed a shadow glance across the edges of the curtains,
and when I parted them,
the glass was aflame.
Every bay,
every aperture,
glowing hot and chaotic,
apathetic to my plight.
I scoured the halls,
reached high on the basement walls,
searched the attic,
but every window framed the same vision-
a fatal inferno.
It wasn't until I caught fire myself that I realized-
the world is not on fire.
My house is.
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