#premonition
Foreseen
Oh, did you see?
The spell's been cast
Or is it me again?
dwelling on the past
but with you in mind
I cease to think irrationally
Since I foresee
you're bound to be with me
Mar 26, 2024
Mar 26, 2024 at 7:21 AM UTC
As shadows take the stage, patterns merge into design.
Not shapes nor in lines, more like visions in the mind.
Through this foreseeing lens, light dances with the dark.
My Conscience, transmogrified. Truth is leaving its mark.
Actors step with intent, and I see the revelation.
Their motions send spears into my imagination.
The audience watches in awe. They're spellbound.
As the story unfolds, I conclude without sound.
On stage, Something hides what I somehow can know.
Like a whisper in my ear, secrets are already told.
There's a clairevoyant truth behind the gaze of my eye.
The creator himself is showing me all that hides.
The stage becomes dim, the actors in place.
A dark, twisted tale. An ending I can taste.
Curtains fall as I reflect, to the cue of a song.
I see all the outcomes, Why can’t I be wrong?
Apr 3, 2025
Apr 3, 2025 at 2:08 PM UTC
If this is at all possible
Take time out of day to appreciate the little things
A little gratitude goes a very long way
Reason to celebrate can be found
In the ********* situations
I know life is difficult
It is not impossible
Do not know what the future has in store but the one thing I can always foresee is laughter
Is this a premonition?
Dec 10, 2020
Dec 10, 2020 at 5:15 AM UTC
Is that danger in the distance?
Or do my eyes deceive?
****
Like dark clouds
gathering above mountains.
Like how the young see their futures.
(Though it's not like the world hasn't been ending
this entire time.
In billions of years the sun will explode.
In hundreds, our planet will be just dust and stone,
and the bones of industry.
And at my rate
I'll self-destruct by sixty years of age.
But) what is this thing that sticks and stings
and irks
like a mirage?
Not the flavor of fingers dipped in deliciousness.
Not the freshness of a newborn babe.
Not the scent of flowers.
Not feet in a hot bath.
Not fumbling a lovers face,
frolicking through foxglove fields,
flitting a fiery frevo,
finishing first.
No,
none of that.
It's not a thing,
but a feeling.
Fear
Fear
Fear
And it sticks and stings
and irks,
like a mirage.
-
by Aleksander Mielnikow | Alek the Poet
Nov 19, 2020
Nov 19, 2020 at 4:42 AM UTC
I can see the road ahead of me. I try to make adjustments so I can be ready. I breathe slower to get a fast beating heart steady.
The rocks slide sweeping the ground from beneath me; carring me over a tune in the pattering of my fingers.
The water in the poison dollutes the pain from the stingers.
The pace of the tone hits a pause followed by pounding of the keys dangaling from theyre stringers.
I am unequivacly astonished by the clarity of my sight in the breath of the moments leading after. My body tenses up. After all who could be prepared for this fall. I am getting to the point. Im not trying to pad the time or trying to stall.
I have came so far. So I can again. But this is not some story..My life could seriously end. I go back and forth until I come back to the moment that lead me to where and when.
Head first, I going over the deep end. I am tip towing over the glass shards of where I began.
Flashes of memories and aspiration from yearning within. Zero to sixty taking my second, third and fourth chances over and failing again.
Suspended in the air and this is what I bargain with.
The moment ends and all the noise and stimulation comes to a sudden end. I notice I am still in my car on the shoulder with hazards blinking. Did I black out again?
The road ahead me washes away collapsing to a crack several feet away.
I am still here.
Where do I even begin?
-RSC
Oct 21, 2020
Oct 21, 2020 at 7:43 PM UTC
Premonition
by Michael R. Burch
Now the evening has come to a close and the party is over ...
we stand in the doorway and watch as they go—
each stranger, each acquaintance, each unembraceable lover.
They walk to their cars and they laugh as they go,
though we know their bright laughter’s the wine ...
then they pause at the road where the dark asphalt flows
endlessly on toward Zion ...
and they kiss one another as though they were friends,
and they promise to meet again “soon” ...
but the rivers of Jordan roll on without end,
and the mockingbird calls to the moon ...
and the katydids climb up the cropped hanging vines,
and the crickets chirp on out of tune ...
and their shadows, defined by the cryptic starlight,
seem spirits torn loose from their tombs.
And I know their brief lives are just eddies in time,
that their words are unreadable runes
unlikely to stand in this waterlogged land
when their corpses lie ravaged and ruined ...
You take my clenched fist and you give it a kiss
as though it’s something to be loved,
and the tears fill your eyes, outshining the night
and all the stars ringed high above ...
and you whisper, "It's time that we went back inside;
if you'd like, we can sit and just talk for a while."
And the hope in your eyes burns too deep, so I lie
and I say, "Yes, I would," to your small, troubled smile.
I vividly remember writing this poem after an office party the year I co-oped with AT&T (at that time the largest company in the world, with a lot of office parties). This was after my sophomore year in college, making me around 20 years old. The poem is “true” except that I was not the host because the party was at the house of one of the managers. Nor was I dating anyone seriously at the time.
Keywords/Tags: premonition, foreboding, time, loss, death, office party, wine, laughter, shadows
Apr 11, 2020
Apr 11, 2020 at 5:15 AM UTC
When I first learned of color,
I entered a world of vivid possibilities.
When I heard my first sound,
I was no longer at a loss of words.
In the beginning,
Never once did I imagine the day
When it would all start to fade.
As the years past,
The world lost its shimmer.
No longer were the roses as red
Or the words on a page as crisp.
No longer was thunder's clap as loud
Or song of the wind as melodious.
Never once did I imagine
a gift once gained
would be stolen away.
Mar 11, 2020
Mar 11, 2020 at 12:26 AM UTC
If only it is meant to happen
No persuasion will bring a hindrance.
Pain is subjective, sorrows are possessed
Light aches my eyes, in the dark I am depressed
Insomnia bothers me, maybe I should curse it.
I should not swallow the bitter, maybe just spit.
It wasn’t a matter of months, but my wishes took so long
Thoughts beyond west of the west but emotions don’t go so long
In spite of respite, desolate notions are still popping
Worst is to happen, nothing is for stopping.
Feb 28, 2020
Feb 28, 2020 at 5:12 AM UTC
Finding the right words to articulate our fragmented memories, stained ink and silence to fill the void of your absence;
We became the passive voice of our generation who cannot muster up the courage.
The generation who couldn't face to face challenge the odds and ask you to stop and simply utter, "Stay".
Stay so that we can face the music together.
Stay because it hurts without you.
Stay because it challenges me to fight my battle against the crowd in proving out that
I'll stand by you.
Stay because you're the hand I'd love to hold amidst the crowd.
But silently, the meek voice which couldn't make the right choice,
Still struggling to find terms and conditions in order to address the wound we are silently suffering; deep down where no could see,
How painful it could be!
Dec 8, 2019
Dec 8, 2019 at 5:11 AM UTC
I’ve submitted my applications.
To be the proxy if need be.
You’ve read my papers;
The clause of letting go,
It is set in stone hearts.
You’ve been left alone and hurting,
I’ve become the proxy for him.
The bandaid over your wound,
To be discarded once healed.
When will you fire me?
Setting me ablaze by losing my job?
When will I be thrown?
Discarded once my purpose is served?
I have had a premonition,
That things will slowly fall into place.
I will be left alone once more,
After my purpose is done.
I’ve served many masters,
All of which are of my choosing.
I’ve been let go before,
After my time has been reached.
It’s normal for me to be forgotten,
Left rotting six-feet beneath.
I have died a thousand deaths,
All to save those in need.
I am dedicated to this unlife,
Of sacrifice and giving everything.
It is my purpose and duty,
To give my life up for others.
Despite the pain and suffering,
Despite chipping away at my heart,
Despite depleting my soul,
I will give and give and give.
All in the spirit of love,
All in the hope of receiving it,
All in the faith of enduring it,
All in the love of sacrifice.
I’m just a proxy,
To replace those ***** lost.
My papers are here,
When will my contract end?
I think it will soon enough.
Oct 29, 2019
Oct 29, 2019 at 11:05 AM UTC
All my old writing was as accurate as premonition, as if I wanted a tragedy to JOLT ME from my sleep.
The silver lining is I suppose I got what I wanted,
it just wasn't the tragic self harm I dreamed of.
More like a tragic mistake that destroyed the boy I once was, and the girl I once knew.
Sep 25, 2019
Sep 25, 2019 at 2:52 AM UTC
Walking through this abyss of road,
I can feel the wind rushing towards me,
Warning me about what’s next to come,
The trees towards my right,
A synchronization of tales
about the seasonal changes that
they have yet to overcome.
Jun 13, 2019
Jun 13, 2019 at 10:47 AM UTC
The Glimpse©
As he rode down the escalator
Eyes upon the next step
Caution on his mind
The throng of people
Surrounding him like a fence
Something told him to look up
Was it an inkling
Was it intuition
Was it a premonition
Was it fate
But look up he did
And in that moment their eyes met
It was a mere seconds of a lifetime
But they were both transfixed
He going down
She coming up
A passing of two strangers
Eyes locked
Was this a flight of fancy
Or the real thing
He would never know
For she was gone around the corner
And he was on his way to work
Destiny would have to prevail
Someday but not today
Andreas Simic©
Oct 13, 2017
Oct 13, 2017 at 4:22 PM UTC
My capricious mind
Where have you wandered today?
Who have you offended?
What retribution awaits?
I let you out to absorb the Sun’s rays
And you amble off to seek shade
Your stubbornness has no limits
As you fail to return at the appointed time
My unsympathetic mind
Why have you turned your back on your friends?
Do they not attend to your ego?
Like flies on carrion, their interest is symbiotic
This morning I had a premonition
It was perplexing and brought consternation
There was a rabbit that crossed my path
So many bad things happen to rabbits
May 28, 2016
May 28, 2016 at 6:55 AM UTC
I walk in this dense realm, with shattered memory's of my past life.
The gods are afraid to come down into the dense wilderness.
Its grown Hard to escape this plain.
what are the memories trying to tell me!
This time I will come back with my horsemen, frequency's aligned.
Shifting into the next degree of time.
Is it impending doom or is it just rebirth?
a next stage of evolution on this earth.
breaking walls, yet they took over the surface world.
The true nature of the world surfaces.
What is this vision trying to show me.
Should I climb the tree of life for answers?
Apr 19, 2016
Apr 19, 2016 at 6:41 AM UTC
*It was the kind of day
to visit a fortune teller.*
Your faint smile remains a mystery,
because you preserve yourself
more than anything.
You prophesy at will and turn wheels.
That is what you do best.
Candle wax dare not scald you.
Strings are woven long.
The day I cut my hair was a cool summer,
two weeks before my birthday.
I left town never to come back.
Your daughters laughed so hard
at the money you threw their way they
probably had spit coming out of their eyes.
That was what they wanted.
It was simple, clean.
*The child is young,
he won't know the difference*,
convinced yourself thus,
but young 'uns do. They know more
than you ever let on, and they remember,
not the glaring presents or permission to speak moments,
it's the little things, the lilt in your voice
the brush aside look, the pursed lips,
the endless drone of the television
and ipad volume turned up max.
Allow me to demonstrate.
The sky before and after a thunderstorm is the same shade,
but the land changes,
and the air that breathes in it.
The slight rustle in the trees could mean anything.
Indian spirits once danced around the flames
summoning blessings and visions
that may never come.
Yet, in my dreams were two apples --
green and red, both eaten by worms.
They grew voracious in my hands.
I bathe in heated waters and scrub
lavender and chamomile.
The stew left in the pressure cooker was soft and fell apart,
little droplets of oil cling to me,
I am scented thus.
On a footbridge, I see
the once pristine ground muddied and stars
replaced by fireworks.
Couples hold hands
and smile for any reason.
Taxis come and go, foraging
the next big opportunity.
My flipflops are fine
but my feet are freezing.
I can order coffee
with what I have left
but don't.
Mar 16, 2016
Mar 16, 2016 at 12:43 PM UTC
I love your hands. I know it's a strange thing to say, but I really do. You were leaning back, drumming your fingers on the stage and I caught myself thinking how perfectly made they were, how every line was so important, so lovely and smooth. Long fingers, and surprisingly graceful in their movements, at odds with the rest of you at times. They are hands I could picture cupping clear water from a pure stream, holding that kind of liquid light in a very natural way. I could picture them parting velvety soil to coax young green sprouts from it, lines and creases made more bold by the clinging love the earth would show you. I could picture them, too, gliding along piano keys, although I know you don't play. I think you could. I think those keys would love your fingertips. They'd sing for you. In the safety of my mind, I sometimes long to hold them, turn them over and learn the valleys of your palms like braille, follow the paths the years have carved in them. Not in a covetous way, but in a soft, gentle way. Those are the thoughts that make me blush, that make me keep my distance.
May 16, 2015
May 16, 2015 at 1:18 PM UTC
I want you to know that
The time I get with you
I treasure.
Whether we are lifelong friends
Or you leave tomorrow
The time I get with you
I treasure.
We are transient by nature.
I could have a hundred years to know you
And it would not be enough.
I could have a hundred years to feel the rain and watch the sun rise and laugh and cry and love
And it would not be enough.
It is not nearly enough
And so I
Treasure it.
I want you to know that
Any moment I spend with you
Any art I make with you in mind,
I am giving you a piece of my life,
The most precious thing I have,
Slipping through a sieve
More each day.
And I give it to you because
I know that yours will someday run out as well.
(And the thought lances through me,
And no wonder the sky weeps rain
With such a loss hurtling toward it
So inevitably.)
The time I get with you
I treasure
Because beautiful things
Are always transient
And I mean to love them all
While I still can.
May 16, 2015
May 16, 2015 at 1:10 PM UTC
I am fragile as glass, fragile as silk.
You could but look at me
And I might crumble, a sculpture made of sugar.
And yet I have stripped away the layers of myself
Going on, always going on
Trusting you
To foolishness, to distraction, (to destruction?)
And I keep on shedding my disguises.
I keep tearing them down
Each after each and /oh!/
I am so small inside,
The universe pressed into a pebble
And trembling with its unresolved might.
And what if you touch me
And I shatter?
And what if you touch me
And find I'm not what you were hoping
You would hold in your palm?
(And what if
You recoil
And don't touch me at all?)
What if
My shivering gravity
Meets your soft light
And muddies it somehow, makes it less?
Sometimes I fear I am
Untouchable
By nature.
At once delicate
(the way a butterfly's wing will crumple and wilt
If your fingers touch it)
And devastating,
For there is so MUCH in here
So much that wants out.
So much that /bends/ toward you when you come too close
Like glass heated to smooth billows
Where once it was sharp and brittle
(and will be
Again.)
Don't you see?
You could take me in your hands and shape me,
Make me different forever,
And walk away to leave me cold and cutting again.
You could,
And I would leave such burns on your palms
And you would create
Such edges in me
Such fingerprints
Such caverns of space where the light gets in and won't leave, trapped and pressing and empty,
Unfillable.
You could do all of that.
And I could let you.
And I could let you close, knowing this
And... I /do/
I do and it amazes me.
I do, I tear off my many masks with eager hands
And smash them at your feet.
And I don't know
Why.
May 16, 2015
May 16, 2015 at 1:03 PM UTC
I move through the world
And I want to give
Like a soft rain.
Quiet and gentle,
Never demanding, never harsh, never desperate.
Like breathing
I want to give
And it falls over everything like a shimmering veil.
It is unhurried and strangely detached,
A love that floats lazily down to alight wherever it may.
Most of the time
My need to give is like that.
I have made it so.
But
Every so often I turn and see someone.
I trip and fall and quite by accident I SEE.
And suddenly it courses through me like lightning.
Suddenly the earth cannot accept the light that roots me to it,
Reaching its crackling fingers outward for ANYTHING that will survive its touch.
Unsatisfied and violent with motion, it doubles back and sears through me
Filling my veins with molten silver.
Do you know what it is to love something so completely
That if you were to ever touch it it would powder to ash in seconds
And everything you saw to love
Would catch the wind like cinders?
When I read as a child
That at the smallest level we never TRULY touch-
Our atoms repelling one another by magnetism-
I wept.
And I could still weep
For I have always known the excruciating sensation of "so close",
I was born of it
And the sobering understanding that to touch
Destroys.
Oil paintings, butterfly wings, tearstained cheeks-
My fingertips are weapons.
I have been kissed and thought,
"Unmake me."
I have loved so hard that,
Desperate,
I held my smoldering hands against my stomach,
Willing to burn to keep my arms from seeking purchase.
Oh, all hands are weapons!
And I have held them,
Felt the heat.
I have kissed palms,
Clutched them to my chest and tried to burn away the space
The maddening space
Between my skin and theirs.
If I had my way
If I knew I wouldn't leave equal scars
I would cover myself with the handprints of people I love,
Let them change me.
Let them make me.
I am gentle
Because inside I am chaos.
I am soft
Because inside I burn.
And every time I
Don't
Brush my fingers along the cheek of someone I worship,
I count it as an act
Of unutterable love,
To hold back such tender violence.
May 16, 2015
May 16, 2015 at 1:01 PM UTC