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Traveler Jun 2014
Cold-hearted world
Nobody seems to care
I held you so tightly
When I was once there...

How this emptiness
Quiets your voice
Drier than dry
A love once moist...

I'm lost in darkness
Without your glow
I grasp for your light
With borrowed soul...
re po
Shang Dec 2013
my sister thought my mother
had died on her lap;
she walked to the bathroom
inside that depthless hospital hotel.

the putrid smell of life and death
all through-out this concrete heaven
and hell.

at the age of fifty-four
my mother's bones would
carry no more weight.

her gentle heart
her forgiving mind
her words so strong

but mine,
they are forced out
by constricted wind-pipes
and angry words

i glanced down at the cot, where my mother died
as I made contact with my mother's pale-blue eyes
she looked at me with the most helpless,
childish face I've ever seen.
as if to say:
"he isn't here.. where is he...
where could he be?"


she lived thirty more minutes.

he arrived a few hours later, asking:
"how's she doin'?"

never take for granted,
someone's borrowed time.
(C) Shang
Jordan Rowan Dec 2015
If it's easy, let it go
Don't let it come without a fight
I haven't seen this much blood
Since last Christmas night
I was buried in a haze
And it's taken way too long
I'm doing better these days
I've got good friends that came along

There's something I gotta say
Before I walk back home
It isn't easy to walk away
So don't say I have to go
I've got a little in the tank
I can drive around this town
I've got too many to thank
For keeping me around

Have you seen a simple suicide?
There's no ease to this one too
I'm simply ******* terrified
I hope I'm alive to see it through
I've been trying to get the hang of it
Trying to gain some control
I've been wondering what to do with it
But it's impossible to know

Is there a way to recall
Every little thing you said?
If I can point to it all
I'd say it all stuck in my head
If I go to bed tomorrow
With a smile on my face
Then I won't have to borrow
One from another place
Harriet Cleve Aug 2018
...the threshold of a borrowed day stood before him mocking his manhood. He had refused to die when the levers of death were unleashed.A scorched black skull betrayed the ineptitude of mechanics. Yes, he had tremored and shook violently when the surge of electricity flowed throughout his flesh and veins. The vividness of the images projected from his memory onto his brains widescreen
horrified the very mind which had committed the atrocity of ******.

It was his hand he saw brandishing the footstool and crashing it into the terrified head of his neighbour. The frenzied last minute pathetic attempt of his victim to defend the most vicious injury inflicted with severe hostility. He heard once again the anguished brief scream screeching in the last desperate utterance of his victim. The pulped brain tissue seemed to spatter in microseconds and with it every thought and memory once possessed by this desecrated being
sprayed his face and accused him of wanton cruelty.

The eyes too accused him and stared with bitter intensity until their life force blinkered out and suddenly it was dark.

One brief instant caused him to bite on his tongue and split it in two as the electricity claimed justice shaking his conscience with bitter recrimination, defying him to live and yet live he did.

An unexpected power cut severed the link between life and death.
He was only aware of the eyes of the living in the death cell looking on incredulously at this unwanted twist of fate. The smell of burning flesh was like a taste of the fires of hell and damnation.
He knew too he had survived and took a callous satisfaction in his phyric victory,

As they warden unstrapped the clamps from his wrists and legs he felt a tangible relief. Fate had intervened and taken his side.

Suddenly through the door came a family member of his victim brandishing a wooden footstool as if he had suspected justice would take an absence of leave. Holding it high above his arms he swung it down on the head of the murderer and smashed his brains to a pulp.
A ****** had claimed a murderer and in that moment of terror the air was permeated with the fragrance of rough justice.

Silence settled on the scene and the tragic realisation that violence lay within the grasp of every man who chose to act on mindless impulse.

The power suddenly returned and an arc of electricity flashed in the air. It came too late for all who had come to see righteousness
prevailing.

Tomorrow another man would await the threshold of a borrowed
day.
Oli Dec 2018
i'm singing this borrowed tune
i took from Neil Young
alone in this empty room
too wasted to write my own
Andrew Kerklaan Jun 2018
"If I wanted to breathe air, then I wouldn't be smoking"

Simple as that
Sometimes others say it better...


Quote by Haley Brown
I have been riding the hand of the clock at the very second I met you.

I held as it tick and tock completing a minute, and I held more as it ran an hour.

I was grateful as it counted a day. I was screaming with joy as it reached more than months.

I was a fool for not knowing it was a timer set to end.
Jaz Nov 8
If I think about you too much
My eyes begin to water
The warm salty tears
Begin to roll down my face
If I block you from my memory
From my mind
I feel selfish
For I am attempting to forget you
Risking the loss of our memories
Yet saving me pain
I have only the fondest memories of you
Which is why it hurts so much to recall
That is when I simply rather
Turn the switch of my feelings off
So please forgive me
For not thinking of you every day
For putting the pictures of you
Far down in my drawer
The moments we shared in the back of my mind
It just hurts so much to remember you
To know those memories
will never be relived
that's all of you I’ll ever get
Dreamt that if you miss your turn
You wander about
As if you are never truly awake

You will feel your ill
Yet always wonder why

You will feel tired
Yet never granted any sleep

You then just wait
Until your turn comes again
A borrowed history
A second hand life
A true heritage denied.
This stranger sapling grafted to your family tree.
And the story told, to them and me;
“ You were chosen, you are special, we were lucky...”

So you won.
Here's your prize;
A commodity baby, a charity child
Love conditionality and gratitude implied.
Woken from connection and amniotic peace
To a secret story of threefold grief.
The first of a some poems about my closed adoption... I couldn't have written this while my Dad was still alive, as it would have hurt him.  I have more positive poems about adoption and identity which will make themselves apparent, as they do.  This is not the whole story, but it is truth.
Poppy Fields Apr 2017
**** them, they don’t
have to pay for parking.

My feet have tread there
a thousand times,
but only now do I see
the weight of
my million pictures.

I borrowed your eyes
for a moment,
to think through you
in a drunken view.
annh Jul 7
You build your nest of pretty words,
Sly threads of verbiage,
Plucked from outworn phrases,
Secondhand sentiments and frayed metaphors.

A thorny simile, a faded pink ribbon,
Of rhetoric woven with silky streamers;
A warp and weft of fond and found,
Borrowed references and stolen verses.

You recycle the shining heart,
Of another’s penmanship,
Modelling it into a tarnished,
Uninspired and untitled composition
...OF YOUR OWN...

‘I get a lot of big ideas, and occasionally I actually come up with one myself.’
- Bauvard, Some Inspiration for the Overenthusiastic
Genious, that Borrowed Word I will Subscribe
From the Land of Prayer, thanks be to you
With this Device my Social Tracker bide
To stomp Hypocrisy for Friends so True
Yet in Earnings for my Dimed Attitude
This Child did more than just create
Is to be True myself; And pursue the Good
Past Stunning Hassles our Frustrations relate
Must I consider to promote to Prime
If only Assets my Wallet can fill
At least I return the Favour in Kind
And try to maintain my Loyalty still.
Now with that done, our Voices carry on
My Heart uplift; Though Feelings weigh a Ton.
#nischalshetty
MeanAileen May 2018
This is not a love poem, my dear,
no....this is a poem of defeat.
To let you know you have won this war...
I give up....you have me beat.
I can no longer fight for your heart
while scraping my own from the floor.
I can't ask you to feel something you won't,
and I can't handle hurting much more.
Your will of disdain is so very strong,
it's one I just can not break.
I thought I was worthy, but I was wrong...
was dreaming, but now I'm awake.
I've been running a race I just can't win,
chasing what will never be mine.
And at some point I fell, head over heels...
now I'm just running on borrowed time.
I think I thought there was something more,
a real connection between you and I.
And I guess I thought you felt it too...
I swore I saw that same spark in your eye.
But I'm just a fool and you a joker,
roles we both play well.
So where does our charade go from here?
I guess only time will tell...
Just a poem...
There is a Year part from which is assigned
Asides from your Truce to cover and rest
Till then, your Crafted Show to Fame consigned
My Girl's Centenniary will look its Best
This I Pledge, by the added Fifty-Four,
Honouring the Godfather I borrowed
If still, no Sound, least Assignment for more
Shall I conclude all my Efforts sorrowed
By then, to see and calculate for once
Despite I embrace this Familiar Ghost
This Truth - to Drill my steeling nerves upon
And cross-hair your Freedom which mattered most.
By that time, I should look for Someone else
Though in my Conscience I cast the same Spell.
#tomdaleytv #tomdaley1994
With that, my Parapets should find Content
Knowing you and all Involved will migrate
But only sever out those Post-Chains sent
Will I be Enlightened from this Debate
I should go first, seeing this Program, I,
The Valleyed Entrepreneur once invest
For special - Hearts which ferrimost go by
And boost this Capital for all your Best
Only a matter when my eyes Break Lens
Which, for once, these Songs never did Exist
Since configured to Sportive Water's sense
Those Borrowed Drums whose Beat will now resist.
With my lips pursed, to the top of my mane
I Thank you once again, Beauty's Maiden Name.
#tomdaleytv #tomdaley1994
“the pleasuring words”


~
are not of necessity singularly complected or of one nature

know them by many other names, colorations, languages,
throat growling purring, pretty soft and stern, singsong,
begged borrowed stolen, barked and pleaded

but when the eyes quietly say,

come to me
darling

in manner unspoken,
the pleasuring of the silence
greater than if sullied by a vocalization,
the wild sounds my heart commit
pounding mounting ever louder,
requiring no translation, though with repetition,
they grow louder
with every heart throbbing,
a new language relearning

the pleasuring words are spoken
by silent eyes when you

call me by my other name

*darling
Darcy Aug 2018
Yellow lit talks
Beside a borrowed car
Empty parking lot
Underneath the stars

Three feet apart
We mindlessly converse
About nothing and everything
Prolix and terse

You render me breathless
My ghost lungs deflate
You exhale the stars
And I respirate

I am so tense
With minutes too swift
Too late; you’re gone
My hands must have slipped
Jasmin Jul 2015
May mga oras na alam **** nasaksaktan ka
Ngunit hindi mo malaman kung bakit ba
Mga emosyong ayaw magpakita
Kahit sa mga mata'y hindi ito madama.

                             May mga araw na ang iyong puso'y nangungulila
                             Sa mga memorya ng ulan na tumila
                             Nagmumuni-muni habang nakahiga sa maliit na kama
                             Hindi malaman, bakit ba nagkaganito na?

May mga gabi na mapapaupo ka sa inyong balkonahe
Mga titig ay nasa mga tala na tila may sinasabi
Ang hiling **** kaytagal nang naisantabi
Ngayon kaya ay mangyayari?

                Oh, aking sarili!
                Minsa'y kailangan mo ring magpahinga
                Sa mga problemang dahilan ng iyong panlulumbay
                Iyong harapin ng positibo ang hiram na buhay.



*There are times that you know you're in pain
Yet you can't figure out the reason you feel lame
Hidden emotions, unclear, unseen
Even the eyes can't give the look of what you're feelin'

                               There are some days when your heart feels empty
                               Yearning for the memory of the downpour that had stopped
                               Meditating while lying on the bed that is tiny
                               Asking yourself, how did this happen, it feels so rough

There's this kind of night when you'd sit outside at the balcony
Gazing at the stars that seem to be saying something
Your wish that was set aside and buried in your mind
Would it be granted now?

                My dear self,
                Sometimes you need to stop and take a rest
                From your problems that sadden you the deepest
               And face the positivity of life; "our lives are borrowed,
                  don't let the eyebrows be furrowed."
DivineDao May 2016
‘Ik hou van poëzie!‘
~~~~

Netherlands' open tulip fields are
Reflecting the dutch eclectic Symphony
A diverse blending of languages, coloured
Sounds, vowels n' consonants borrowed through Time

I'm able to decode :

English prolonged hound dog howlings ... Dignified
German high class hardness ... Uncompromising
Scandinavian fractally crashed sound waves ... Rocking
French  'Crème de la crème' soft erotica ... Tempting
Hi-**  hi-** Hi-**  Beaujolais  pistacchio  Heineken
Friendly rascal naughtiness
Loud laughter
Cheering
Celebrating
The chocolate desires
The spectrum light alleys
Like Hollander ridden bicycles
The resplendant diamond empires
Delicious sandwiches, allkindofberry yoghurts,
Ships, colourful cargo and windmills of Vintage nostalgia

I think I dig them!!!

In English I can dream and write down
at least one
perfect present sentence: "I think I love you!"
In German "Ich habe hunger für dich ~ Rilke & Goethe" & "Meine lieblings" & "Bitte schön ..."  & "Lass mich in ruhe. . .shatzi!" &
"Meine seele ist{nicht}verlossen." & "Ich liebe dich!"
In Scandinavian only one word: **Skåll!!!
‘Ik hou van poëzie!‘ ~ in Dutch
Translated to English language means
I LOVE POETRY : )
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