I am the pip in your apple.
I am the cloud in your sky.
I am the air that you breathe in and out.
I am the tear in your eye.

I am the reason you're weeping.
I am the season you love.
I am your favourite colour.
I am the sun up above.

I am the coin in your treasure.
I am the prize in your win.
I am the drought in your river of doubt.
I am your heartbeat within.
Seanathon Mar 13
If you are the dawn
Awake and alive
Then I am the moment of the day which breaks
And turns into the bitter night

My own masked by starlight
Your left alone crowned with a sparkling retina alive

It's to you that I turn
At the end of all things
When the day first began to realize its own light

We are young and alive
Ever ready to strive
Towards the hours invested within, without sight
Lots of truth embedded within this one. Be it not immediately visible.
Black Diamond Mar 11
within us lies something so resplendent that it appears
void, an endless nihility, from which your singularity is grown

We all know the trope of nothing becoming something, a crane lamenting to the orbs above, flowers opening with the fall.
You've seen the time lapses, you know the spin around us. Yet nothing could be farther from our reality. We weren't built to be nothing, we weren't built from nothing. Lachesis draws for us, but her luck is strong. There isn't reason to believe otherwise.

Enveloping our corporeal flesh, resolving away our dissolve, filling us up from the outside and pooling into the hollows of our eyelids, we forget to find wisdom in emptiness
Lost inside the flow of time, hands outstretched, fingers melting through our friends, our parents, our lovers, the human population revolves around revolutions, anchored in place by only the weakest force in the universe
Held down by the stuff that composes planets, moons, stars, all pointless to us

The only thing that matters lays at our feet, trod upon day and night, it lays in our chests, wrenched from our chests, lays at our feet, and is trampled.
I started this February 7th
And it was a gift for him
But now it can't be
Because it tastes wrong
Kim Essary Mar 7
There's nothing more to overcome as this  battle from within,  pounds, burns, sharp as a knife then pounds, burns and tingles til numb. My nerves fighting my muscles,  as my bones are deteriating away ,
  How can it be the anatomy of my being is fighting to survive
The rate of my existence said to be extinguished seven years ago.
  Whom is it they think they are to set my death. Indeed I should have boundaries  The mind is a powerful thing
  I wake from my short slumber to roll from my bed, the pain unbearable but it's all in my head, or so I make myself believe
   I think and I ponder and speak to my mind so my body can hear.
  Questions without answers so why even inquire. Take this take that you need one no maybe five. Please put your pad away for I will take only my mind, no doubt in my mind it is the meaning and will as to why I'm still alive. So keep all your poison, for I will fight this battle from within and show them I will survive.
To wake is a blessing as is every step that I take
  I know my pain will never go away so what more can be done, sadly nothing so I deal with it and go on with the day
I am a survivor and not a victom, 20 prescriptions not to mention the dose,if I can overcome all of my illness I hope to inspire anyone that thinks that they can't. I'm living proof
your breath is sweet and tender
like rain upon my skin
your eyes carve out a river
flowing from the ocean within

with every kiss you draw up
another dewdrop of desire
I'm so scared that I'll wake up
and have to live without your fire

your fingers taste my
brittle flesh
your movements speak of
life and death
I've lost you somehow
in the fading stars
but you're still with me
in my healing scars
I'm not sure if I've posted this one before, but I just came across it in one of my journals and felt like I needed to post it now regardless. Enjoy my lovelies!
Hi De Mar 1

are the definition of

the outside
what's within

see beauty in you,
a loving soul
there is.
How do I tell a lily
it is perfect where it lives
and to pluck it from its birthright
would wither what it gives.

How do I tell a mirror
its worth is what it shows
the truth it holds is infinite
its depth nobody knows

How do I tell a mountain
Where it might begin
A determined defiant monalith
its strength is deep within

How do I show a sunset
The colors we all see
giving happiness to the mighty sky
and the relentless iron sea

How do I tell a butterfly
its beauty is not its wings
but in the natural way it always has
brought life to many things
Perspective is sometimes the only medicine
Poetic T Feb 2
Her lips were
       razorblade kisses,
bleeding the lust from
every motion that leant me
For the inevitable
           torture of our wounded love.

We were bound by the chains that
gripped within our small collection
of touching moments.
                    You would sculpture
my endless intrusion, forge me into
someone I wasn't before I feel below you.

Now I pray for you to free me,
          the bondage of our coupling.
Constricted to the many time you
cut the voice of our reasoning from me.

*"Love is a hell of our own creations,
         "And your's cuts me deep enough
                     to love you more with each laceration,
(ah...a flickr of nostalgia washes over my psyche for those days of yore, when going to the local playground ranked as a big deal to offspring well prepared for young adulthood).

Paradise visage and eyes a bulge with dollar signs
   whets imagination with PowerBall ticket bought
expect the usual outcome after next drawing
   to yield monetary naught
temptation for instant millions

   human foible to reach for elusive pot of gold
   streak of universal desire
   for potential wealth overtakes rational self
   with delusions of grandeur caught

allow, enable and provide flirtation
   with fate to experience rich draught
envision emancipation from penury
   a distant battle fought
and tacked hard scrapple existence wrought.
at the core
legal tender in such precious chronically
   in short supply within this family of four
though times eye desire at least

   another son or daughter more
at such urge (long silenced of this
   ram by ewe to who) did vehemently roar

boot budding young girls
   I whole-heartedly love and adore
who rush into my arms whenever back
   from trivial pursuits

   nearly squeezing out digested gore
when casually and nonchalantly
   turn the key to open the front door
akin to the finest crafted clock work

   to sound the time of day
   they still dance and frolic like kittens or puppies
   bring newspaper and slippers

   sharing silly concocted faux pa lore
inviting me to play make believe games on the floor
enjoying revelry without keeping score
yet…creating memories I will forever store.
Financial straits
   make our existence hand to mouth
all grandiose aspirations to succeed
   in life frequently head south.
Creative endeavors find excitement
   and linguistic pleasure
   thru the attempt to pry
   poem or prose from mind

deliberate semblance to communicate
   and extract idea from cranial rind
words that synchronize suitably
   in poetic third eye bind

readers may espy hidden puns
   within this rhyme lined
with challenges or commiserate
   and complement via words of positive kind

although large sum of money would be  a dog send
   delivered by one blessed angel in disguise
   redemption and salvation considered thankful find.
Much rather be cursed with excess wealth
Deliverance to life, liberty and mental health
Depravity foreign concept never to rue by stealth.
mint Jan 17
i had so much love within me
and all of it wanted to go to you
and then you left and it all
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