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ji Jul 2015
We hate good-byes, yet we say it too often. After a phone call. After a visit. When classes end. When we leave a restaurant. Perhaps these tiny good-byes are said too much to prepare us for the greater good-byes of the future.

But isn't it just strange how the things we hate are often what our mouths are full of? And with the same mouth we whisper the sincerest 'I love you's'.

We love. And the ones we love leave or the love we have leaves us as time passes by. Perhaps it is not good-byes we hate. Perhaps good-byes, themselves, aren't painful at all. 'Cause maybe it is the loving that we hate but we never truly admit it. 'Cause maybe all along we knew, with loving comes good-byes, and that idea is what's painful.
'Twas midnight in the schoolroom
And every desk was shut
When suddenly from the alphabet
Was heard a loud "Tut-Tut!"

Said A to B, "I don't like C;
His manners are a lack.
For all I ever see of C
Is a semi-circular back!"

"I disagree," said D to B,
"I've never found C so.
From where I stand he seems to be
An uncompleted O."

C was vexed, "I'm much perplexed,
You criticise my shape.
I'm made like that, to help spell Cat
And Cow and Cool and Cape."

"He's right" said E; said F, "Whoopee!"
Said G, "'Ip, 'Ip, 'ooray!"
"You're dropping me," roared H to G.
"Don't do it please I pray."

"Out of my way," LL said to K.
"I'll make poor I look ILL."
To stop this stunt J stood in front,
And presto! ILL was JILL.

"U know," said V, "that W
Is twice the age of me.
For as a Roman V is five
I'm half as young as he."

X and Y yawned sleepily,
"Look at the time!" they said.
"Let's all get off to beddy byes."
They did, then "Z-z-z."
Emily Reardon Dec 2012
i can't stand good byes
those moments when the words
i am not ready to say,
never ready to say,
get caught in my throat
and choke the courage from my lungs.
eyes that sting with the
tears of longing
for one more moment to
simply sit and laugh
and be young like this
a little while more.
i hate good byes
the denying forever
as the minutes move faster
with the hands of the clock
to the time when
this car will pull out
of that driveway
and my hand waves its
last good bye
to you for a while.
i hate good byes
we need more hellos.
My dog has died.
I buried him in the garden
next to a rusted old machine.

Some day I'll join him right there,
but now he's gone with his shaggy coat,
his bad manners and his cold nose,
and I, the materialist, who never believed
in any promised heaven in the sky
for any human being,
I believe in a heaven I'll never enter.
Yes, I believe in a heaven for all dogdom
where my dog waits for my arrival
waving his fan-like tail in friendship.

Ai, I'll not speak of sadness here on earth,
of having lost a companion
who was never servile.
His friendship for me, like that of a porcupine
withholding its authority,
was the friendship of a star, aloof,
with no more intimacy than was called for,
with no exaggerations:
he never climbed all over my clothes
filling me full of his hair or his mange,
he never rubbed up against my knee
like other dogs obsessed with ***.

No, my dog used to gaze at me,
paying me the attention I need,
the attention required
to make a vain person like me understand
that, being a dog, he was wasting time,
but, with those eyes so much purer than mine,
he'd keep on gazing at me
with a look that reserved for me alone
all his sweet and shaggy life,
always near me, never troubling me,
and asking nothing.

Ai, how many times have I envied his tail
as we walked together on the shores of the sea
in the lonely winter of Isla Negra
where the wintering birds filled the sky
and my hairy dog was jumping about
full of the voltage of the sea's movement:
my wandering dog, sniffing away
with his golden tail held high,
face to face with the ocean's spray.

Joyful, joyful, joyful,
as only dogs know how to be happy
with only the autonomy
of their shameless spirit.

There are no good-byes for my dog who has died,
and we don't now and never did lie to each other.

So now he's gone and I buried him,
and that's all there is to it.
LCB Jul 2014
Good byes are the hardest.
Not see you laters
or catch ya next time
Real good byes.
High school good byes
They're hard.
Not because you'll never see that person again.
Although that is rough.
Knowing they won't be there
To share the joke
Give a knowing smile
Bring up that embarrassing moment
from high school
when you wet your pants in gym
They're hard.
Because how do you relive every moment
Of your time together
In two words.
That's what good-byes are
Collapsing relationships
Into two words.
Insane Reverie Nov 2014
He look at me,Smiles
I laugh at him,waving good byes
still's into me,that guy !
Sometime we girls can turn preety mean,when a guy approaches us.Its not that we hate'em but Sometime girls love to receive special treatment & attention. *giggles*
Wasted Youth Feb 2015
What I'm forced into is cold
I don't belong
I can never fathom what I'm told
How can I be on my own?  
No condolences, just good byes
No direction, no hope
Everyone can see the torment in my eyes

Cast astray to change that'll stay the same
I'm walking into a room full of cliffs blind
This noose fits my neck better than I'll ever fit in
The past no longer matters the future is what I want to leave behind
How can I be on my own?
I possess fear of the unknown
L B Nov 2017
Did I touch you as I left?
That night of beer and music
Almost tipsy,
laughing good-byes

Backing into blindly
I felt an arm... a moment
guide me
before I all but fall
against you
Knew that warmth
of mass was male

You exhale
I sense your being--
By accidental intimacy
I come unglued
By your flirtatious
catch of eyes
in lowered light
By faint fragrance
of whatever it is
you've drunk or used
to put yourself together

glancing down

Women always look, though
however briefly
Anyone ever been to this pub?  :D
Don Bouchard Jan 2015
At first,
Love is a Choice
To act,
Not in emotions,
Nor perceived rewards,
Done from duty as duty,
Because we would be

Love may mellow
Over time,
See traits worthy of surrender...
Take root,
Become reason of itself
For pleasure,
For staying true.

We performed the ritual courtesies:
Reiterated "Love yous,"
"Thank yous,"
Farewell prayers,
Waving good-bye,
We hoped our window tint
Hid relief shining in our eyes....

And then another farewell,
A mother crippled, old,
Bent low by time and widowed,
Gentle now, and grateful
For our shortest stays.
This mellowed love we would desire
When we have nearly lived our days.
Smiling tears and long embrace,
Juxtaposed these loves that end in sighs
The differences in love's good-byes.
juxtaposition of farewells between the two mothers
Brandon Nov 2013
She blew into town like a hurricane.

Back into our lives after a long excursion into the world of modeling and amateur wrestling. She showed up at our door after promising to arrive six hours earlier, negating whatever plans we had planned for the night and putting us on the edge of a bad mood that would prove to be harder to recover from as the night proceeded to move along.

She brought us food from a local cafe where a client of hers had wined and dined her for showing him an hours worth of affection, the kind of trade she had sworn she was moving away from but old habits die hard. She wrapped her arms around us in a bear hug a person of her stature seemed would not be possible to do but did anyway and planted one of her too soft tender kisses on both of our cheeks. Small talk ensued before she sat down at the kitchen table and rolled a blunt while We ate slivers of chicken and salmon with rice. Washing it down with some *** flavored lightly with coca cola and lime.

She rambled upstairs and perused thru my vast book collection noting in the way that she does that I have very few feminist authors. I am a guy was my typical response. She smiled and giggled. Talked of her love of names and two-stepped the steps back down the stairs where she picked up her blunt and waved it around as one does when they capture the flag in childhood war games. Shall we smoke she inquired and we agreed with a certain amount of hesitation that went unnoticed.

The truth was that we had weaned ourselves off of addiction only a few months before and while eagerness was bound we were still weary of smoking particularly with such a manic woman in our presence but we followed her down the stairs anyway and as she chose her seating we chose ours. She tore a piece off the end of the blunt and handed it to me to light for old time sakes.

I took another long sip of my dwindling drink and lit the end of the piece while inhaling and filling my lungs with poorly flavored mango smoke. I held it in for a few seconds while the blunt finished its lighting and blew the smoke at the tip to put out the flame that had grown and passed the blunt around, right to left.

We were short on words having spent all our day in wait but she was long winded and had a hell of a time on the road and proceeded to tell us a story of her adventures on the west coast using obscene hand gestures when needed and punctuating certain words with her voice while doing her best to imitate Zelda Fitzgerald at her craziest moments.

She nursed her drink and we drank our drunk as the blunt smoked and dwindled down to a stub she asked my opinion on a matter which I had nothing relevant to say so I went to the garage for a pair of pliers for use as roach clips but decided I had had my fill of crazy so stayed upstairs instead, finishing my drink and pouring another one.

My peace lasted for only a few moments before they came upstairs and sat down on the leather couch and flipped thru the television channels before stopping on some show that would have been canceled years ago had it not been for the beautiful girl keeping it and the cast still working. I lied down on the couch while they messed with their phones, one looking at food recipes and the other playing some of the worst pop music that I had ever heard.

She asked if we were hungry and tho we had already ate the effect of the **** sat heavily on us and our stomachs growled. She suggested pizza. I said we had some in the fridge. she said she would buy some from a place that delivers.

We contemplated about toppings. She said she likes weird toppings. We settled on half pepperoni and half pineapple. Her choices were not weird but i let it slide. She ordered a pizza using her prize money from some wrestling match or **** photo shoot she had done the previous day.

We ate.

We drank some wine to wash down the taste. We talked a few more hours, ending the night with glasses of water to cure the early headaches and speed up the feelings of sobriety so that the night would come to an end because we all had an early start the next day.

We said our good byes at the door and muttered a good riddance beneath our breaths and sighed a sigh of relief as we realized that some people no matter how great and mad can be intolerable to be around for longer than a very short night.
An old write that I never edited nor worked on more.
Phil Nov 2011
This is for the homies,
For the ones that have been through it all.
for the ones that have been here for so long.
For the ones that will share their ball.
The ones that will hit the ****.
For the ones that I can call,
any day and any time.
For the ones that are tall
and the ones that are small.
And for the ones that one day will be king.
For the ones that can't sing, and the ones that can.

For all the memories we had,
not a single one of them bad.
Our friendship was hopefully not a fad,
cause then I would be sad.

Good-byes are hard,
Good-byes do ****.
They can leave you scarred,
but won't with any luck.

I will miss all of you,
and cannot say it enough.  
On the day I leave the only sound will be a sad bird's coo.
if only there was time to drink some Duff.

That is all I can think of, and it is all true.  I will miss you all and hope to see you all again.  Don't forget to keep funkin' for fun.  Until we meet again homies, remember that I love you all and hope you will always be happy.  That there will be no more problems and no more regrets.  Keep a smile on your face and don't let anything keep you down.  Good-bye Homies, hopefully not forever.
aviisevil Mar 2018
my breath is blue
cold and forgettable
in this dark room
and with my eyes closed
composed of a mind
and all its follies,
that I cannot switch off;

i am lost, yes,
bless'd with a life
i never would have
known otherwise,

of minutes, mountains and
stones, wise men; a home
and sun rise,

here on this rock
me and so many like me
will die, pretending we
never would,

consuming blood and wood
even burning the forest down
'tis his kingdom, filled with
people bad and good,

some mad and filled with
scars and broken days
then there's that who
has no need for a place,
some wear stars and some
wear no face, some are meant
to die, some meant to stay

some go away never to
come back, some find
grey days soothing as they
pass by, some live
in good-byes, and some dye
themselves, some don't cry,

some won't die, and we'd
watch them live forever,
whilst we break our lies,

i live the lies too, yes,
but that's more bless'd, in
this storm of illusion,
outside this dark room
where i bleed away bits of
me, everytime i step out,

loud noises and the clock,
to break me down,

silence louder than words,
empty air for me to drown
trapped in a circle 'round
my neck,

eyes to dream me a crown,
and a mind for the countless
worthless things i've found
gagged and bound,
in the deepest layers
miles deeper than my skin
sinking, and inking my
breath blue.
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2017
one word - silence...

         but there's also something infectious
about being polite -

     i once owned this keyring with the maxim:

   - tact -
    telling someone to go to hell, with them
anticipating the trip

     but what's stranger is talking to a receptionist
at your local surgery, booking a telephone
appointment with your general practitioner
to get a sick note for half a year...

    i'm hardly the one to extort the english
taxpayers... i get "paid" just over five grand a year
to be sick...
                 what the **** is that in comparison
to the Somalian family of 7, living in plush
accommodation somewhere in east london?

        you going to ask me whether my head is
properly ******* on? i find it strange that someone
could ask the insanity question -
                      i already told it to someone:
they thought i was mad... then this polish
(home-boy) neurologist tell me looking at my
m.r.i. scan: whoever says that you're mad...
         they're mad themselves.

now i'm ******* about in england going: *******,
and you... and you.
                          i can't be converted to be your
***** doll, or poodle for that matter...
          of all the celtic tribes: i can stomach
the scots like i might eat ben & jerry's ice-cream
infused with cookie dough... the irish?
                just bring me the guinness and *******;
i haven't got the time for your "wit".
     socts? oh i hear them perfectly, it's like listening
to ukranians in poland... they sing their language:
they don't speak it, they sing it.

       so i was on hold for about half an hour...
- you're 11th in line...
    - you're 9th in line      (what an annoying muzak
though! was it a mandolin? was it something quasi
rodrigo? they could really do with some decent
music when you're in the telephone queue...
some marvin gaye?)
   - you're 6th in line
      - you're 4th in line
- you're 2nd in line
- you're 1st in line...             HALLELUJAH!

so we start talking, and obviously i greet her:
good morning...
               and we make proper arrangements
for my (what i like to call) debility cheque
      (i stopped trusting certain minorities in this country,
first they tell you: oh yeah man,
you're going to have this l.s.d. trip smoking
this funky amazonian ****) -
   next thing you know you take to having
a ******* stephen hawking expression and sliding
into a sofa...

                        so we arranged it for friday,
the pick up... she'll get in touch with my sikh doctor
(the whole turban shabang... nice guy: very... what's the word?
ah... genteel) -
          and i'm like: thank **** for that,
i was brewing this idea that i wouldn't get paid for
being sick...

                   so i ask her: but i need a reference...
- what's your name?
- Nicola.

         great... that will do...
then i bid her a pleasant day hopeful that it would be so...
and then she does this "thing" that couples
do when using telephones ending conversations:

- bye bye, bye bye...
                                        about 4 or 5 bye byes...
        maybe i should work in a call centre, or something?
nah... i rather bullshitting people in the form
of poetry, it gives me the giggles, staging what it's really
like and having no real motive to lie -

but that's how being polite works,
you butter people up - you smooch up and they do
what you want them to do...
                  a bit like my grandfather's memory
of these two ᛋᛋ men in black uniforms stationed
in my home city who gave him sweets, who he came
to call: herrbittebonbon - and he recounts that memory
in the german form: it's not punctured by punctuation
proper: herr, bitte bonbon!

so that's why i've been waking up early for
the past few days? god... spring... all the insects are
waking up from their larvae hibernation and there's
this excess of colour, and the buzzing, and the sun -
and it's sunny... and it's warm...
                                               what of the glorious
frost on pavement that, when walked on, feels like
a throng of paparazzi camera flashes on the red carpet
(frost does indeed contort when walking) -

i may indeed consider my face to be akin to shrek's -
but my telephone etiquette is spot on -
     who'd think that the receptionist would end our
exchange like i might be telling her:
   honey, i'll be back by 5 - 30 and i'll bring some
take away, ok? bye
   - bye bye
   - bye
      - bye bye...
                             it's almost like a western with
two "opponents" taunting each other to draw their
6-shooter, and no one knows who's going to end
the bluff first, before putting down the telephone.
It was like camp
But I spent the first night
On a thin plastic mattress with ****** sheets freezing
Instead of encircling a campfire
Singing cowboy songs of the West
And little dogs

My first activity was not making a bow and arrow or a target but instead I was
sitting after breakfast
on a concrete bench
in the Sun
Trying to fill myself with that allusive happiness.
That was my plan.

On the next occasion in the open
I did not get a compass
nor a map
but I sat with a table of girls
And spoke up without being asked
They started to show off their pale pinkish arms
I was at the cutters’ table
Smoker’s edition
Layers upon layers of
Rippling Scar tissue
at the elbows in particular
It is thick.
Bleeding and healing
To be sliced open again
For crusting over.
They were cheerful
Despite hallucinations and panic attacks,
Lost children or tomorrow
Scuttling along a murky seabed that did not want them but
Here’s a cigarette

I did not make a sundial or find my canoe
Or make shoes out of leaves
but let the morning sun stick around
while the smoke issuing from their chatty mouths pinched my nose
I would take their smoking breaks with them.
I claimed two for myself and once lit,
slyly handed them over
As I listened to the chatter and laughed
I feel a faint yellow heat
From up over there.

We didn’t at first hover around each other
Talking about nothing like high school
Girls with braces and dorky pajamas
Or bend over from the top bunk to say
one more thing before lights out
At first I never added more than a informed observation about lipgloss or
a roll over the eyes over the next dumbbell talking about nothing that existed
But I was tolerated
And as their numbers diminished
only to be refreshed again
my comfort grew
I made “friends”
We laughed and co-conspired
Over pills, soda and what’s that on your tray?

There were movies on the tv
But no westerns
With horses trekking through the tall grasses
Smoke arising in the distance
Imitating a life that we were imitating as well
Yes we were!
Just a slightly different tale about
Endless treks and wandering

On the weekends
The rules relaxed and the counselors,
Had there been any,
Would have been preoccupied with private intrigues and how to make pineapple cocktails
And we, left to our own devises,
Would saunter in and around each other
Braiding hair and reading magazines.

There was a telephone.

When it was time to get into the car to go back home by way of the freeway
I didn’t have a hat that I had painted myself with only three colors
Nor feathers
or a blue ribbon for starting fires
We all said our good-byes
Even the mean one called me by my name
And we shot off like the explosive plumes of fireworks
into a dimming sky.
Clarisa Mar 2013
The fear of tomorrow
The rush of today
The sorrows of good-bye
Bombs in the distance
Bad smells and loud yells
Don't forget me
I'll come home I promise
You'll see
© Clarisa Taylor 2013n
Cat Lynn Jul 2019
It's all Hellos, and No Good Byes
Yes it hurts, but still, I'll try

No more See Ya, only getting Hi
Yes you leave, but still, I ignite
Emotions are gross
And contagious...
Claudia Ramirez May 2013
I can’t make friends and I can’t make love so I will say good bye to this world
Open my eyes for the last time as I play and laugh like in the good old days
The sun will come down and so will the tears
Don’t worry you will have to let go I don’t say this to you I say it to my soul
I can’t make friends and I can’t make love so good bye I say to the sky who held my home
I say good bye to you and every one who knew my names
I can’t make friends and I can’t make love so long world
take care of you and the ones to come
Jon Shierling Jan 2015
I always forget
that Bourbon takes longer
to hit me than any other
type of libation, including
palm wine and fermented mare's milk.

This is possibly why I never
drink Bourbon when I'm in public,
except for those few major mistakes
which always resulted in near death.

The problem with near death experiences
when completely wasted,
is that you don't realize it at the time
so that you don't get the adrenaline
rush which you were looking for to begin with.

All that's left of that sort of night
are the moments of sheer terror
in between retching into the toilet
when you remember bits and snatches
of a bar fight or racing a Harley down
A1A in your beat up Honda.

It's moments like that when I wonder
if maybe I ought to have chosen some
other, less egregious drug to ruin myself
with, something mellow like ****** or
au'natural like ****, but the potheads I know
only ever spit up cheesy rap, and let's face it
****** just makes you nod off while ****** your soul.

We all have our vices, I've said before
and personally, I'm okay with mine sometimes.

Much rather have my own personal demons
than ones that I don't know so well.

I still think it's strange when people
tell me that I intimidate them,
always have and probably always will,
especially when women tell me that,
because by being able to say
exactly what I mean and how I feel
is threatening somehow?

I've been thinking about this lately,
the disparity between how I interpret
myself, and how others interpret me;
betting that if I could take a poll to
those that had some fire for me,
they'd agree with Angela that said she
cared for me mostly because I didn't judge.

Who am I to judge though?
It makes no sense to me, for people
to think that just because I stand up straight
and can speak well, I'm sophisticated or superior?
I know my own history, the things I've done
and more importantly not done, so then
how can I look down my nose at someone
whose shoes I've never walked in?

I guess I'm getting to the part that
should have been written about a
while back, should've been examined
and accepted rather than have the manly
thing done to it and buried like a dead dream.

I did care, I could have loved,
probably should have now that I
really think about it, could have had
something worth fighting for in a
place never expected or looked for.

But I'm good at walking away,
too good at cutting people out of
my life when things just get complicated
and frankly, complicated equals very painful.

This is the life I've made for myself,
much as I may hate it, I have nobody
to blame really, since we all have our
choices and we all have to live with them.

So I'll take another shot
and smoke another Camel
hoping that I made the right
decision to walk away once more,
but knowing deep down that
the only reason I ever did
was complete and utter *******.
Skarlet D Jun 2015
Saying My Good Byes is always hard,
And I will expect it is for you,
But I can't say good bye to everything,
And you can't either,
I have said good bye to a lot of things in my life,
And some things I regret saying good bye to,
Like I really do regret,
By saying good bye to those things it has made me very sad,
But very open about what goes on in my head,

Not everyone can repeat life but I wan't to,
I wan't to say good bye to the things that made me who I really am,
Who I am now is not who I wanted to be,
I wanted to be someone totally different,
I wanted to be more like her,
The girl inside of me,
The girl who can speak in front of hundreds and thousands of people,
Not the girl who is always fighting her battles inside of her head,
NowI am starting to realize that I am starting to say hello to that girl,
And good bye to the girl I am now.
D Conors May 2010
"Tell me where all past years are...
or who cleft the Devil's foot.
Teach me to hear mermaid's singing..."

...and all other lessons
came to pass,
those of night-fall,
fallen too fast.
Crickets screeched within the leaves
around the rocks,
rocking the weeds
...instructions lost in lonliness,
good-byes, good-byes,
hello to death,
not breath nor sounds
of love or life,
just lessons passing
throughout the night:
by memories of times long gone
to Hell and high Heaven
in the Mermad's song.

The Devil seems
to have had his share,
he ate our dreams,
left none to spare.
But, who can blame
the poor ol' man,
he's only doing
the best he can;
and what we don't,
(because we won't)
in language lost on sailing ships,
as we the cargo
are shipped off to crypts;
still wondering now
as the dank ground surrounds:
where went those years?*
whilst the dirge resounds.
D. Conors
c. 1995 (?)
A Aug 2010
I must recognize impermanence.
The curtain falls,
Good-byes are said.

I sit here in the darkness, waiting.
The end will come,

This odd, close-knit family will be gone.
Yet it does stay,
Just in memory.

This wish is all that remains after.
Never forget
What we have done.
The magic made,
The illusion, the theatre.
Written 8-1-2010
Amanda Jul 2014
There's always an
inexplicable something
about all things old.

Maybe, these yellowing, crinkled, slightly forgotten
-slipped off the inky azure of the mind's corners-
have felt the way a pair of lips
moves & crinkles
they make
wide-eyed wishes and closed mouth good-byes.
Hey lovely soul!
Cecil Miller May 2015
You stopped by to see me on your way out of town.
You said you were headed west because the locals were bringing you down.
As you sat across from me,
I looked into your eyes.
Then it hit, how much I'd miss my friend, as we said our good-byes.

I stood on the darkened sidewalk beneath a lamp that wasn't lit,
As you drove your car away from me,
My heart broke a little bit.
I would never tell a young man never to explore,
Because nobody could have held me back in my days of yesteryore.

A piece of me feels envy.
I'm no longer a young man.
If I were, then I would be with you,
Hand in loving hand.

Maybe once in a while think of me, When. like a stallion, you roam free.
When you kiss the pretty ponies,
Give a kiss for me.
As you blaze your fiery trail until you reach the ocean shore,
Remember that my heart is with you
And shall be evermore.
I have been on both sides of this song. Most recently when a friend went to make his way in California a few months ago. I wrote it just now in about twenty minutes. 5/30/15
Dawn of Lighten Oct 2016
As winter bids to summer, spring renews with vigor.

As summer bows to winter, prologue of fall ensues.

As the daily night sky illuminates less, so to our welcoming days sooner to good night.

The leaves are dispersed by the coming wind, and the frost seem to say hello in dawn, it is a day to say farewell to the beloved warmth sooner than later.

Why is it so hard to say goodbye, and see you again next year?
Do people dread fall, for we remember the December, the coming of white winter and the reckless roads with fender ******.
J C May 2017
We're stardust, you and I.
The iron and calcium and magnesium
in the [stars], collide
within and beneath skin and bones;
and I've never felt—saw—myself alone
when I see the galaxy in your eyes.

We're electric, you and I.
The protons and neutrons and electrons
dance and [fade] into a trance
when our lips first sealed;
the first kiss—electric—wrecked on
the idea of bad good-byes.

We're thunderstorms, you and I.
The heat and the pressure and the cold
form tornadoes [slowly], thrashing
the home we built in our hearts;
and I've never felt—myself—more alone,
more paralyzed watching you cry.

We're supernovae, you and I.
The explosions and light and blackness
consume all matter [away], leaving
nothing in our souls—left—nothing
but the stardust in you and I.
emmaline Dec 2013
Time is something that is always changing, yet it always moves at a constant pace. My story includes such a small period of time. In one day, there are twenty-four hours, and somewhere in those few hours of January 15th, 2011, my life changed in the blink of an eye. Within seconds, someone I love stopped breathing. It changed everything. But, my story begins a few hours before that.
Wake up. I always have to tell myself to wake up. I wake up and it is a beautiful Saturday. I walk into the living room of my house, where the sun is shining bright through all the windows and I feel like it is going to be a good day. I usually wake up on the weekend home alone, but this time I walk around until I find my dad and my little brother, Phillip.
Dad: “Phillip and I are going to a Valdosta State basketball game later today, if you would like to come.”
I immediately think of my best friend James. James is a part of my family. He got along with my dad and brother better than I did. The basketball game with them would be a lot easier to endure if James went along. He is the older brother I never had.
I pick up my phone and call James, to invite him to join us. He doesn’t answer. James always answers. His phone goes straight to voicemail. I remember a time in the past that I called James with a stupid boy dilemma. James was in the middle of football camp, but he called a timeout. He picked up the phone for me then. I am always James’ first priority, so something seems wrong. I call Drew, James’ best friend, and his phone goes straight to voicemail as well. Something definitely seems wrong. I try to convince myself that I’m overthinking. I always overthink and I always worry too much, so this could be nothing. James is just busy. He’ll call me back later.
An hour or two pass by without response from either James or Drew. As I am cleaning up my room trying to keep my mind busy, I receive a text message from my friend Emily.
Emily: “What’s wrong with James?”
Emmaline (me): “What are you talking about?”
Emily: “I see on Facebook that many people are writing on James’ wall, saying that they are praying for him. Why are people praying for him? What happened?”
Little did she know that I was asking myself the same questions. What in the world is going on!?
Emmaline (me): “Umm, I’m not sure. He hasn’t been answering my calls. I’ll try to find out.”
James was a huge part of the church community. He was the first person that brought me to the church I’ve been attending for the past three years. He was a mentor to me; if it weren’t for James I would not have found the faith that has saved me. After those texts messages, I decided to call someone from the church to see if they knew what was going on with him. Mackenzie answered my call.
Mackenzie: “James and Drew went out duck hunting this morning at a place called Ocean Pond, and James is missing. Drew is fine, but he doesn’t know where James is.”

My heart immediately dropped to my chest. The gut feeling I had been experiencing all day that something was wrong was rapidly increasing, and I suddenly couldn’t keep still.  
My thought processes jumped to visualize duck hunting. I thought, when you go duck hunting, it is a little different from hunting ground animals like deer. When you hunt ducks, you spend the entire time on a boat. You don’t go missing on a small boat. James wasn’t playing hide-and-seek. James being missing meant that he was lost somewhere in the water. The odds weren’t looking very good. Maybe I’m worrying too much, but I’m being rational. Right? I put my phone down and slowly slid out of my chair onto the floor. I lay on the floor for hours, crying. My brother came in from outside and just stared at me. My chest was on fire; I have never felt so much pain in my life. The amount of emotional pain transformed to a physical pain that I felt in the pit of my stomach. The sun that made me happy when I first woke up now began to burn my eyes. I felt like I was sinking, but in reality the only person sinking was my best friend, drowning in icy water.
When I could finally stop crying enough to talk, I call my mom. My mom was not home this weekend; she was at the beach with some of her good friends from college. She did not take the news as heavily as I did.
Mom: “He’s just sitting somewhere in the marsh where the water is really shallow. Someone will find him. He’ll be fine, I know he will.”
I begin to feel somewhat better. I tell myself that this does not have to be a death sentence. James could be fine. I decide to call Mackenzie from church again and invite her and her mom to my house to keep me company while we wait for news.
Hours and hours pass by, yet still no news comes. The church and community decides to hold a prayer session at a local park for all the people worried about James. Mackenzie, her mom and I drive out to the park. Hundreds of people were at the park. All of them were there for James. All of us stood in a circle, teary-eyed, and prayed. I have never seen my community come together like that. Rival schools and teammates, people old, young, and teenage. Teachers, preachers, friends, athletes, fathers, mothers, so many people were at the park for James.
We went around in the circle and each person told their story of how much James meant to them. James was a brother to many. He was a mentor, a friend, a shoulder to cry on, a pal to laugh with. James was the one person that convinced a girl to graduate from high school. James was the friendly face that ate lunch with a boy that was alone and contemplating suicide. I had no idea that James meant so much to people other than me.
All it took was seconds, maybe minutes for James to drown. The water was below freezing. The gear that he was wearing was built to weigh him down in order to be able to wade in shallow waters. In deeper waters, he would surely and quickly sink. He drowned quickly, and within seconds he stopped breathing. However, it took search and rescue a month to recover his body. Days of worry and prayer turned into weeks. I had to return to school and try to go on with my life, as if I didn’t feel like it was all falling apart.

Finally, one crisp February morning, a search dog found my James’ body.

I was in my Advanced Placement Environmental Science class, and my phone rang from a number of different people. I went to the bathroom to return a call and found out that someone found my best friend’s dead body. I knew it wasn’t smart to hold on to any kind of hope that he was alive, but knowing he was actually dead made the situation suddenly very real. I tried to return to class, but I ended up sitting right beside the door, crying harder than ever. I had to go out to Ocean Pond, where I spent most of my time for the past month watching divers search for him. I had to go out there and see it.
By the time I arrived at the site, there was nothing left to see. James’ body had been recovered and I would never see him again. All that was left was a teary funeral, and abrupt good-byes that I wasn’t ready to give. To this day I don’t know how to say good-bye to James. I visit his grave, and I don’t know how to leave the picture of his face.
Losing someone you so deeply love so quickly is probably one of the most excruciating human experiences. I am so thankful that James left behind such a beautiful story, and such a powerful legacy. The first day I met James, he told me, “Hey girl. You know, I love you. I really do. I would take a bullet for you.” When someone says those kinds of things to you without even knowing you for twenty-four hours, it feels strange. But, James knew time meant everything. He knew that all it takes is minutes, seconds, to change someone’s life forever.
The thing that is so astonishing about James’ story, is that he understood how quickly everything can change. When James was alive, a fellow student of his died in a motorcycle crash. James was devastated that he had not reached out to this boy before it was too late. That night, in a note on Facebook entitled “The Clock is Ticking,” James wrote a short paragraph that showed the depth of his understanding of life. He wrote, “Take time to love someone. Today, Tomorrow, For the rest of your life. Because when that unexpected day comes that they pass on, you'll be left wondering what you could've done better. How you could have made them feel more welcome, and show that you do care for them. Don't wait until it's too late like I did. Show the love that Jesus has for you to everyone you see. Let your heart break for what breaks His. Christ is enough. Let Him show you life. You never know who He may touch through you. It is so sad that it takes a tragedy like this to comprehend how our days are numbered. Only He knows. Keep your faith in Him. He will bless you beyond belief. Our job is right now. This very second. So often, God gives me a little nudge towards someone.. and I put it off until the next day.. and then the next and then the next. Stop stalling. God put us on this earth for HIS glory. Not ours.. and so many times, the things I do always point back to me and my stupid self righteousness. So do something with me. Everyone. If this just touches one person, I will have done my job. Don't stall. Judgement is a heart beat away.”
Kendal Anne Apr 2013
Lonely there is a female, just a small girl in all punctuality
and she sits upon the curb of a lovely looking marble paved road
Only the road is no longer marble, it is dusted with the fragments of ash
from the cigarettes she puffs away at, every day until her lungs constrict
The boa made of exaggerated smoke always is pulling upon her air passages
never wanting to let her esophagus be cooled by crisp and clean air
Her feet are bare, frozen and bleeding, leaving drops of blood behind
trails from where she's once been, and where the girls' feet will travel
Beaten and bruised, thrown and spat out, she was the trash of society and its remains
but in all actuality, society was the men she slept with, and she, only wanting cover of the rain at night
Forced into what they called sensuality, but the young girl closes off her emotions and senses
and wished for a home to call her own, but never feeling the want in her heart enough to stay
This girls clothing is ragged, shredded and torn, wrinkled from the nights she's spent
in a strangers arms, she takes danger by the horn, receives herself a death call instead
A disease has been forming, and it grows in magnitude with each passing strangers call
thus the girl has fallen upon her knees, and the disease still finds a way to pass along its young
The female has tried to quit, with her way of life, but the bills keep a'coming, and she is still in need
the hunger inside her drives her raving mad, it is slightly ludicrous, this lunatic she's become
To feed upon a strangers flesh, to conquer her unrighteous lusting and her want
this is the girl that we see who is foolish in her ways, as she folds her hands to her breast
Hands are paled and over worked, dry and calloused never have a bout of rest
so trustful in their own ways, hardy they work like crusted placid tools
Still upon the paved road she sits, crunching her bones into a ball
her skin is increasingly thin, no wonder she gasps with pain for every movement she makes
This young girl, is young enough to let the tears cascade over her heavily dolled up face
her cosmetic encrusted eyes run, covering her make-up splashed face even more
The grime and dirt smudged upon her face from being splashed by non-helping passer byes
and her mouth is made up of a slashed and jagged pair of lips, from lipstick she put on
Smears her great complexion , with the fiery burn of stained glass that was meant for cheeks
thinning roses of auburn, painted with a closed precision, soaked with raccoon cosmetics
Fearfully she sits, silent as water, her fluid running out as if the air around
whips her inside, and eats her on the outside, it begun by freezing her skeleton over
For she was always their (as in men)collected victim and she begun to wonder why
her fellow human's never had believed her she saw through her crystal tears
That doll faced men and doll faced women, had a secret they kept
they only wanted to play God with the clown she had become
I'll probably change this once I actually read all of it. Cheers :))
Zell Oct 2018
So she settled for something as simple as a hug.
For even if it could not be,
All she ever wanted was to get close to his heart.
And she knew that it was the nearest she could get.

It was the good nights and good mornings,
The good byes and hellos,
And the silent stares and smiles of what cannot be
That made things still seem so perfect.
© 2018 D.A. Barreras
Alice Kay Jan 2013
Let's dance in style, let's dance for a while
Heaven can wait, we're only watching the skies
Hoping for the best, but expecting the worst
Are you gonna drop the bomb or not?

Let us die young or let us live forever
We don't have the power, but we never say never
Sitting in a sandpit, life is a short trip
The music's for the sad man

Forever young, I wanna be forever young
Do you really want to live forever, forever and ever?
Forever young, I wanna be forever young
Do you really want to live forever, forever, forever?

So we livin' life like a video where the sun is always out
And you never get old and the champagne's always cold
And the music's always good
And the pretty girls just happen to stop by in the hood

And they hop their pretty *** up on the hood of that pretty *** car
Without a wrinkle in today 'cause there's no tomorr'
Just a picture perfect day that lasts a whole lifetime
And it never ends 'cause all we have to do is hit rewind

So let's just stay in the moment, smoke some ****, drink some wine
Reminisce, talk some ****, forever young is in your mind
Leave a mark that can't erase neither space nor time
So when the director yells "cut," I'll be fine, I'm forever young

Forever young, I wanna be forever young
Do you really want to live forever, forever and ever?
Forever young, I wanna be forever young
Do you really want to live forever, forever, forever?

Fear not when, fear not why, fear not much while we're alive
Life is for living, not living uptight, see ya somewhere up in the sky
Fear not die, I'll be alive for a million years
Bye-byes are not for legends, I'm forever young, my name shall survive

Through the darkest blocks, over kitchen stoves, over Pyrex pots
My name shall be passed down to generations
While debating up in barber shops
Young Slung hung here, Shorty, the ***** from here
With a little ambition, just what we can become here

And as the father passed his story down to his son's ears
Younger kid, younger every year, yeah
So if you love me, baby, this is how you let me know
Don't ever let me go, that's how you let me know, baby

Forever young, I wanna be forever young
Do you really want to live forever, forever and ever?
Forever young, I wanna be forever young
Do you really want to live forever, forever, forever?

Slamming Bentley doors, hopping out of Porsches
Popping up on Forbes lists, gorgeous
Hold up, ****** thought I lost it, they be talking *******
I be talking more ****, they nauseous

Hold up, I'll be here forever you know I'm on my fall ****
And I ain't waiting for closure, I will never forfeit less than four bars
Guru bring the chorus in, did you get the picture yet?
I'm painting you a portrait of young

Forever young, I wanna be forever young
Do you really want to live forever, forever and ever?
Forever young, I wanna be forever young
Do you really want to live forever, forever, forever young?
****...I really don't want to get any older.

Song by Kay-Z and Mr. Hudson
Joshua Haines May 2014
I cut myself on the future
I thought of kissing your picture
I detached myself from
lullabies and sorry eyes
only to realize:

I want to make love to you in November,
just before the empty of December.
Where snow blankets
and suffocating leaf-beds
aren't the only dreams
to fall asleep in our heads.

I could hear your voice trip
as my hands started to drip
around your hips and thighs-
You could tranquilize
with your lips and byes.

You look so sleepy-headed
Many words I have threaded
to weave a dream
but you prefer my
Innocent Oct 2014
Babe please don't cry
I hate to have to say good bye
This was not the plan
We were to only play not stay

Now is not our time
I am not yours and you are not mine
Two souls like ours are destined to withstand the wars
Our time will come and we will open the doors

You are my breath, my light
Nothing is black and white
I will forever know you
Now you are gone and I have to stay
Go out, get laid, pretending not to be afraid

To see you again, feel your breath on my neck
Your lips caressing the inside of my thigh
Wrapped in your arms at sunrise
To look into those dazzling blue eyes

I've been around and  I've seen it all
Next we will meet at the popcorn ball
Please babe do not cry
I promise this is not our last goodbye
Elizabeth Nov 2013
of innocent and
illicit meetings,

of scalding coffee
and **** cider,

of October air
and goosebumps,

of piercing stares
and demure blushes,

of nervous laughter
and bright eyed smiles,

of beautiful stupidity
and exquisite risk taking,

of sweet shyness
and hesitant touches,

of passionate giving
and exhausted joy,

of shared secrets
and utter honesty,

of motorcycle rides
and smiling skulls,

of early morning coffee
and late night magic tricks,

of story telling
and musical laughter,

of leopard spots
and three quick kisses,

of secret meetings
and getting caught,

of forbidden words
and transparent hearts,

of hands wiping
away escaped tears,

of sad departures
and naked good byes,

of miles and miles
of never ending distance,

of long awaited phone calls
and lengthy emails,

of sleepless nights
and lonely days,

of miles and miles
that separate,

of silence,

of war,

of long awaited contact,

of letters,

of wounds,

of silence,

of deafening silence,

of love

of heart ache.
Dev A Jun 2013
Clothes strewn across the floor
Boxes lining the walls.
There's an echo in the living room
That wasn't there before.
The walls have been painted white
And the carpets have all been rolled up.
The feeling of home has evaporated,
Leaving behind the feeling of eternal rush
Thinking that there isn't enough hours in enough days
To finish getting everything in their boxes.
Piles of books and junk fill the room
Blocking paths to and fro.
Empty walls reminders that it's time to leave.
Dust swirling up in the air,
A constant warning that time is flying by.

Finally the emotions sink in:
This is the final week in a foreign country
That has been home for the past nine years.
It's time to return to a birth country
That was only a vacation home
That has long faded from memory.
Knowing that good-byes are only days away
Even hours
Pulls at the heart, unleashing the tears.
A sinking feeling sets in;
This is the last time,
For many years,
That travelling Asia will ever be so easy.
The last time this country will contain "home"
But not the last time it will call to the heart.
It will call and call but there will only be yearning
And longing but not action.
Who knows when this country will get its way?
Maybe a couple of years
Or maybe never
But the thought of leaving
Is just too hard to deal with.
With only days left
And the packers on the way,
The good-byes are looming.

I don't want to say good-bye again.
I don't want to leave my home.
I don't want to pack up my room.
I don't want to get rid of half my stuff.
I don't want to stop traveling Asia.
I don't want to lose my friends.
I don't want to go to college in America.
I don't want to miss out on the amazing foods here.
I don't want to decide what to take and what to leave.
I don't want to sell my books.
I don't want to acknowledge that I'll never see some of these people again.
I don't want to move another time.

With three days left
I have to finish packing.
But the tears keep threatening to burst free.
How do I say good-bye?
How can I leave my home?
Moving can be such a pain.
MMV Abad Aug 2011
The sun sets in the East.
Never good bye my friend,
tomorrow we shall see.
The sun will rise again.

A lovely page has turned.
Only the beginning,
never the end my friend.
A new tale is written.

Never farewell my friend.
Not good bye but good day.
I will see you again,
in my heart you will stay.
(c) MMV Abad as Phoenix Montoya @ May 29, 2010
'For my dearest friends.'
Axle Avatari May 2016
Tell me lies.
Such little white lies.
To you,
I may be,
Just another,
But you should know.
I'm old enough,
To get wise.

Tellin' me lies.
Tellin' me little white lies.
Tell me,
What I see,
In your eyes.

The heart I thought,
Was on fire.
Must've been,
Your own burning desire.

Tellin' me lies.
When you're tellin' me,
Little white lies.
I can hear it,
In your voice,
When you give those,
False alibi's.

I wish I never knew,
And the things,
That you do.

Tellin' me lies.
Tellin' me ***** white lies.
And now,
By your own choice.
You must wear,
Your own disguise.

I wonder how it seems,
For you,
To live,
In your world of,
Never ending Halloweens.

Tellin' me lies.
You're tellin' me lies.
I wonder how you feel.
When all around you,
Love dies.

Hungry eyes,
An' looks that ****.
How hard you try,
To get your fill.

Tellin' me lies.
Tellin' me more,
Little white lies.
But it's never,
The way you planned it.
There are no good,
Good Byes.

Love that is honest an' real,
Is found by so very few.
But how easy it is,
For you to steal,
Love from a fool.

Tellin' me so many lies.
Ain't nothin' new.
Ain't no big surprise.
Only one thing to do.
Say good-bye.
No more lies.
Vicki Kralapp Sep 2018
You play your song
and I am back once more,
to a day of crushing good-byes.
Sneaking in the back door
of my protected memories
you find me.

I try to hide away
from everyone,
and everything;
trying to hold back irrepressible tears
that stream down
my cheeks.

Collapsing in a pile on the beach,
at the end of a long trail
at the ocean's edge,
my emotions spill out
in pools like blood,
flooding over me.

A rock wall at my shoulder
and shells at my feet,
my tears fall heavy
as I sob through my thoughts.
Writing fails me and my words fall flat;
I am lost between two worlds.

Even after thirty years,
my breath still catches in my throat
to hear your haunting melody.
My eyes still hold tears,
from the heartbreak
of goodbye.
For my other homeland, Australia.

All poems are copy written and sole property of Vicki Kralapp.
soul in torment Sep 2013
Me and Ted

are off to bed...


John F McCullagh May 2013
For many years he'd traveled far,
a merchantman by trade.
His Mom passed on while he was gone-
she sleeps there in the glade.
Now he is home with tales to tell
of his trek on the Ocean Blue
but the one face he longed most to see
is not there to tell them to.
So he sat down on his duffel bag
beside her well tended grave,
and spoke his stories of the sea
when others might have prayed.
He left a white carnation there
upon her bed of clay.
It was well watered by the tears
he shed for her that day.
He said his last good byes to us
and turned back for the sea and the shore;
He'd search for peace on Neptune's deep
for Home wasn't home anymore.
A merchant ******, comes home from the sea on Mother's day  only to find that his Mother has passed on.
daniel f Mar 2013
night is the nation sleeping
except unlucky night workers

dawn is the whole country realising
dreams sadly are exactly that

early morning is getting up
and making the long journey
to a job you never loved
like some long forgotten ex girlfriend

mid morning is the first cigarette and coffee
"i'll take mine black"

lunch time is food
glorious food and time
to count the final hours of the working day

afternoon is children leaving school
parents waiting patiently to collect
there little darlings

the evening, good byes and
i'll see you tomorrows

I regret to inform you,
its only monday

— The End —