#sliver - Hello Poetry

I walked a mile searching for the sunset but couldn't quite find it the storm clouds tried to cover the trees tried to hide the darkness tried to smother it but I still found slivers of color and beauty covered in clouds hidden behind trees smothered by darkness but still alive still visible is this what grief looks like? darkness slowly eclipsing the beauty of life

0

May 31, 2020

May 31, 2020 at 3:15 PM UTC

sadiegpage

the hidden and the hiding

I walked a mile searching for the sunset but couldn't quite find it the storm clouds tried to cover the trees tried to hide the darkness tried to smother it but I still found slivers of color and beauty covered in clouds hidden behind trees smothered by darkness but still alive still visible is this what grief looks like? darkness slowly eclipsing the beauty of life

13

It feels like particles are peeling apart Connecting Separating as they please There is undeniable space growing in my heart Observable to who peeks and sees Fate to blame I have no doubt Touching tears that won't mend Beneath skin circuits start to short-out Barriers between emotions blur and blend Real is rare so bare all imperfections Fake the majority of what others share Everywhere I go is overdissection Judgement is blatantly unfair Which only adds to distress Taken without one sound Cork up inconvenient emotions unless They overflow Then I'm drowned You cannot imagine what it's like Kills self-esteem to reflect Each time negativity strikes Is impossible to correct Bottle after bottle emerges emptied Sink in a sea of distraction Forever smoky air will not recede Chilly dreams prevent satisfaction None of our dreams visible anymore What are we doing wrong? Many bad decisions Too many to ignore I guess failure's where we belong We will never be proud living like this We are in darkness's constant shadow Sins overtake any chance we have at bliss Dragging troubles in tow Trust we will be able to grow Takes years to heal wounds deep Bridges over teardrops that flow Seconds wasted we could not keep To conclude Retain a sliver of hope Though happiness may be lost I build and maintain ways to cope Stay warm amidst the permanent frost

0

Apr 24, 2020

Apr 24, 2020 at 7:31 PM UTC

AmandaKayBurke

Blurred Barriers Bending

It feels like particles are peeling apart Connecting Separating as they please There is undeniable space growing in my heart Observable to who peeks and sees Fate to blame I have no doubt Touching tears that won't mend Beneath skin circuits start to short-out Barriers between emotions blur and blend Real is rare so bare all imperfections Fake the majority of what others share Everywhere I go is overdissection Judgement is blatantly unfair Which only adds to distress Taken without one sound Cork up inconvenient emotions unless They overflow Then I'm drowned You cannot imagine what it's like Kills self-esteem to reflect Each time negativity strikes Is impossible to correct Bottle after bottle emerges emptied Sink in a sea of distraction Forever smoky air will not recede Chilly dreams prevent satisfaction None of our dreams visible anymore What are we doing wrong? Many bad decisions Too many to ignore I guess failure's where we belong We will never be proud living like this We are in darkness's constant shadow Sins overtake any chance we have at bliss Dragging troubles in tow Trust we will be able to grow Takes years to heal wounds deep Bridges over teardrops that flow Seconds wasted we could not keep To conclude Retain a sliver of hope Though happiness may be lost I build and maintain ways to cope Stay warm amidst the permanent frost

44

She had the cat-like grace Of an infatuation betrayed, Love, but never forgotten. She’d sneer promises today, As she’d perfected prior, With that same curl of the lip, The smirk born Juarez, Cacti and Rio, whilst I’d only show my tummy; Something tougher and Catalyzed within a scar, This chasm stained the, “We” atop yesteryear And the “me” I’d be Tomorrow – One more hour, Wanting, wasted, waylaid, And never to let go. The first love’s an archetype, This first kiss, an epitaph, Did you ever let me go?

0

Nov 12, 2015

Nov 12, 2015 at 9:45 AM UTC

liam-c-calhoun

Cats at the Edge, Part I

She had the cat-like grace Of an infatuation betrayed, Love, but never forgotten. She’d sneer promises today, As she’d perfected prior, With that same curl of the lip, The smirk born Juarez, Cacti and Rio, whilst I’d only show my tummy; Something tougher and Catalyzed within a scar, This chasm stained the, “We” atop yesteryear And the “me” I’d be Tomorrow – One more hour, Wanting, wasted, waylaid, And never to let go. The first love’s an archetype, This first kiss, an epitaph, Did you ever let me go?

21

The lines in between the green are full of dirt and human feces, but I find comfort. Yellow, bright as the sun, but they don't blind me. Red, hot with anger and hate, but they don't burn me. Grey, fading to a dim, cold, colorless stone and yet is still my silver lining

0

Nov 13, 2014

Nov 13, 2014 at 9:38 PM UTC

eli-seth-salazar

restroom tiles

The lines in between the green are full of dirt and human feces, but I find comfort. Yellow, bright as the sun, but they don't blind me. Red, hot with anger and hate, but they don't burn me. Grey, fading to a dim, cold, colorless stone and yet is still my silver lining

4

I drink in the sweet light Of the honey coloured moon as it floats high at midnight hoping it doesn't leave soon As I stare at the full moon The world falls away and I lose my peripheral vision bathing in the moon's rays Sliver beams of light That reflects off the ocean And seem to be too bright to be moonshine I began to see now understand how myths and legends of the moon began Egyptian, Aztec, Celtic and Greek Khonsu, Metzli, Elatha and Artemis And even poor Starveling with his dog and thorn bush All trying to capture the raw beauty that is the moon and it's light The rarest jewel of them all Shining bright through out the night But all attempts of personification contain to much complication to represent to simplicity of the moon So I'll stop trying to convey what I can see because no matter what I say will not match what floats above the sea

0

Jun 14, 2014

Jun 14, 2014 at 7:26 PM UTC

aar505n

Moon

I drink in the sweet light Of the honey coloured moon as it floats high at midnight hoping it doesn't leave soon As I stare at the full moon The world falls away and I lose my peripheral vision bathing in the moon's rays Sliver beams of light That reflects off the ocean And seem to be too bright to be moonshine I began to see now understand how myths and legends of the moon began Egyptian, Aztec, Celtic and Greek Khonsu, Metzli, Elatha and Artemis And even poor Starveling with his dog and thorn bush All trying to capture the raw beauty that is the moon and it's light The rarest jewel of them all Shining bright through out the night But all attempts of personification contain to much complication to represent to simplicity of the moon So I'll stop trying to convey what I can see because no matter what I say will not match what floats above the sea

32

angry men who do not know I do not have a dollar or a cig to spare. Ugly irrefutable contagion-handed howlers. Angry mischievous heathens that pantomime on 6:00a.m. sidewalk, Wicker Park gallow stop-sign, choreographed gutter-punk drunk walk. And of all he wants and could ever want splits down his gooey membrane brain in the outline of a noun shaped fragment of a clause, "Couldja spare 80¢ for the train," but of course I don't spare on the ellipsis or the period. Semi-colons I won't! My rubber-bottomed leather boots lash out, heavy scraping sounds trail this mirrored shadow half an angle behind me. ***** Blonde framed sunglasses from American Apparel, a gift from my sister in a folded Ray-Ban case is scattered on last nights bedroom floor, my girlfriend has certainly not noticed, the gloom-coated morning sun spray has not noticed; but I have unzipped a fissure in the ocular lens. My heart skips a beat. Her bedroom might as well have swallowed them whole. Now the house can halt and have the shade, swaying in Spring air in 10:22a.m. shadows. The aviator himself Howard Hughes would strike me with his 488 aircraft. Edwin Starr in his invincible sinister calypso of War would turn me round. I was sturdy as a rock until I began to forget my forgottens. These unknown unknowns I knew I needed. I'm over a quarter-century on to noon going nowhere- and quite blindly. But then, still she could stand upright and find me. Her neck crooked, looking onward through the East, the gristly roots of rhubarb buried in her searching fingernails. She's threaded worse, and of course if I could just tell her- this is the kind of nursing which requires acute temperament and flexibility. I am thus on a journey to strike nonsense and fear from the idiotic vocabulary that put this nonsense in my head. Split through me like a butter knife into my apotropaic. Perhaps tar water could cure my ails. If not, certainly a sliver of vanilla would set me straight. Or if could just rain rain rain all day, then I'd make do without, but she is at school. My pistons are racked and nervous, and I'm not going anywhere but my rucksack stoop. I am camped in midwestern Spring soup. Fog, rain, and shade. The nightmare of day.

0

Apr 30, 2014

Apr 30, 2014 at 5:54 PM UTC

martin-narrod

Day Lights

angry men who do not know I do not have a dollar or a cig to spare. Ugly irrefutable contagion-handed howlers. Angry mischievous heathens that pantomime on 6:00a.m. sidewalk, Wicker Park gallow stop-sign, choreographed gutter-punk drunk walk. And of all he wants and could ever want splits down his gooey membrane brain in the outline of a noun shaped fragment of a clause, "Couldja spare 80¢ for the train," but of course I don't spare on the ellipsis or the period. Semi-colons I won't! My rubber-bottomed leather boots lash out, heavy scraping sounds trail this mirrored shadow half an angle behind me. ***** Blonde framed sunglasses from American Apparel, a gift from my sister in a folded Ray-Ban case is scattered on last nights bedroom floor, my girlfriend has certainly not noticed, the gloom-coated morning sun spray has not noticed; but I have unzipped a fissure in the ocular lens. My heart skips a beat. Her bedroom might as well have swallowed them whole. Now the house can halt and have the shade, swaying in Spring air in 10:22a.m. shadows. The aviator himself Howard Hughes would strike me with his 488 aircraft. Edwin Starr in his invincible sinister calypso of War would turn me round. I was sturdy as a rock until I began to forget my forgottens. These unknown unknowns I knew I needed. I'm over a quarter-century on to noon going nowhere- and quite blindly. But then, still she could stand upright and find me. Her neck crooked, looking onward through the East, the gristly roots of rhubarb buried in her searching fingernails. She's threaded worse, and of course if I could just tell her- this is the kind of nursing which requires acute temperament and flexibility. I am thus on a journey to strike nonsense and fear from the idiotic vocabulary that put this nonsense in my head. Split through me like a butter knife into my apotropaic. Perhaps tar water could cure my ails. If not, certainly a sliver of vanilla would set me straight. Or if could just rain rain rain all day, then I'd make do without, but she is at school. My pistons are racked and nervous, and I'm not going anywhere but my rucksack stoop. I am camped in midwestern Spring soup. Fog, rain, and shade. The nightmare of day.

3