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LexiSully Jan 2016
He** is there for you, He will always win, He will help you, He will stop the spin

He is our brother, He is always caring, He will comfort you, His love is always sharing

Though times are dark, and life seems weary, through His never-ending tenderness, we will be cheery.
Äŧül Apr 2015
If one day in the imaginary ideal future,
We get stuck by the rocky Konkan beach,
And not even a decent sand bed is there,
To you for resting my body I shall offer.

Waiting for the tourist bus back we talk,
Tired we are from taking the sunny walk,
The evening the sun we wish will balk,
Our neo-natal plans together we chalk.

We shall sit on the bench by the beach,
You'll then rest your head on my side,
In comforting you I will bear much pride,
About being one forever we did decide.

Then you will soon sleep in the evening,
I will watch our hands and even the ring,
Angel on my shoulder you'll be sleeping,
And me??? Oh, I'll just be calmly smiling.

The baby bump is now visible so happily,
I'll think of unique names for the baby,
Basis of our relationship is really lovely,
The healthy baby will be so very chubby.
The most cherished dream of mine in which I visualize myself and my ultimate lover.

My HP Poem #829
©Atul Kaushal
Kewayne Wadley Jan 2017
You've crossed my mind many nights.
Sometimes I just lay there, holding you tight in mind.
Wandering your body with my hands.
Filling my fingers with the skin I've dreamt so much about.
The things you keep hidden. unraveled in empty sheets, blankets.
Your warmth becoming the only comforter that dictates whether or not I'll have sweet dreams.
What justifies the stain our breath has left on one another's.
The press of your face against my neck.
The marks left on each other in anticipation. Refusing to pull ourselves away.
Clinging tight to the ****** of being beside ourselves.
Deliberately keeping each other awake in the promise of sleeping wild moments later.
To watch your face scrunch up as it breaks your gasp. Bringing a halt to anticipation,
The comfort of bodies becoming pillows harboring us into a deep sleep. Soft, still.
My head laying on your shoulder.
As we ourselves become lost in the sheets
soft sun Jan 2017
High on wheat and cheese
more, more, we always want more
my stomach hurts but I'm happy
and gross
my toes are covered in dirt
tucked beneath my comforter
it could be worse
Tom Spencer Jul 2015
The trail rose up
through the sand
and sage covered hills
following the sinews of a land
scoured by fire and flood.
Even the most severe carving
here was nothing
compared to the city below-
its concrete grid
glaring over my shoulder-
sprawled out,
******* on its dingy
comforter of smog-
******* up
the dust of the desert
around it.

The trail led me up.
Up past twisted
juniper bones,
past pale green yuccas
curling
fine white filagree
from their dagger blades,
past sandstone boulders
swirled like confections,
past ancient cooking pits
nested with ash,
and ghost-like hands
outlined on stone-
to a white cliff face
up-******
beneath the cloudless sky.


From a lone stump
a pinyon jay squawked
drawing my eyes down.
A sentinel
to its comrades-
who rose up
from the draw to my left
and sailed in twos and threes
sinking down into
the draw on my right.
Right before me,
around me, behind me,
first two- then six,
then tens of metallic blue
wings beating heavily against
the unfamiliar desert air.

They had come down.
Down from the scrubby
forests of pine.
Down from snow
covered slopes.
Hungry,
they searched the green
fingers of the washes-
the winter forcing them
down across the trail
that was drawing me up.
They passed close by,
wing beats feathered my ears,
first up, then down-
the sentinel
keeping an eye .


Listening, suddenly hearing
my breath beat
against the wind-
I stood motionless, perched
beyond starting
and destination-
blue wings lifting
the hunger within.


Tom Spencer © 2017
liv Sep 2018
a bestfriend is unbreakable
firm yet shapable
a living gift learning to drift
away, from her problems
a living comforter made sweet
Emeka Mokeme Nov 2018
Agape unconditional love
leaves world's mouth
agape (wide open).
Love unreservedly
and lavishly with
unrestricted abandon.
Forgive everything
and be free.
Contentment comes
from within the
heart of the freed,
and a soul that
is truly beautiful,
happy and full of grace
with joyful tenderness.
Without striving but
thriving in prosperity,
full of light
and the living ions.
Powered by the
force of the spirit.
Even though surrounded
by numerous tumults,
immense profound peace
engulfed such a one.
The unforgettable and
unusual unspeakable elixir
of life is unleashed
to comfort him.
Delightful with
a grateful heart,
pleasant and pleasing,
so easy to placate.
A comforter full
of wisdom and knowledge.
Versatile and eclectic nature
is abundantly lavished on him.
His presence heals.
Not judgemental but
full of unimaginable
tenderness and understanding.
Such is the way of love.
Agape love.
©2018,Emeka Mokeme. All Rights Reserved.
Travis Green Dec 2018
I stood in the closed space
trembling all over, cracked
eyelids slowly falling in
deadened existences, somber
cheeks sinking in the air, as
I stared at the shadowed walls,
the Spiderman comforter
covering the stained bed,
a square of Lego blocks,
blue polished tricycle,
game consoles, a spinning
yo-yo that my baby boy
used to hold onto like
he'd discovered his new
best friend.  I remember
the days when we used
to watch Recess together,
?his bright blue eyes staring
excitedly at the screen,
picture perfect animation
elevating into heightened
equations, ecstatic smiles
and sparkly cheeks.  He was
my world, the one that kept
me working hard every day
to make sure he never went
hungry, a shining star in
my dreams that made being
a father the greatest joy.
And some days when I was
in the kitchen fixing his
favorite dish, fried chicken
and crinkled French fries,
I could hear the satisfying
delight in his face.  His
exuberant words,
This tastes amazing dad,
as I smiled at him and
thought how lucky I was
to be a part of his life.
And when it came time
to put him to bed, I'd
read, "Life and Dreams,"
his chipper frame smiling
in the moment, seeping
inside the lovely diction.
And as he drifted off to
sleep, I could see his
lips moving at a slow
pace, I love you, dad.
I'd kiss him on his
cheeks and reply,
I love you too
my little man.
Now as I stand here
gazing at everything
surrounding me,
how my life is
screaming inside
and out, harboring
in brokenness, I can
feel the suffocating
breaths in the distance
creeping around me,
a sunken flame
disintegrating into
greyed ashes.
Ken Pepiton Apr 2018
there are others like me I see. Lost as I was.
So
What could I do to ease their fretting,
would I be comforted?  No.
Back then,
no.
I refused the comforter
*** outchacom'fit zone
Oh, they be **** to pay,

-----
among the ideas that possess men,
there are tells,
among the men of both varieties possessed by or of
(as you shall see, it may be both) ideas ,
there are tells, twitches and ticks and unconscious daemons sorting
sayings
aphorisms, proverbs,
memes 'n' such.
Confusion sayin'
H.R. Puffin'stuff, that neveh me'nt a thang. Jes't aname anime annie mae, where's
annie mae moved to okinawa wa wa wa

Imps. Pulses of them flow through heare…
(those slips shall hereafter be known as di-sensical-utterences or dsu, in writing. i.e. here and hear, he-are, heare, here is heard hear and means something else, intensionally. We, augmented Adamkind of all kinds, can inject meaning at will.)

commonly on Sunday mornings,
though I doubt the impulses
have a calendar that might map to any ex- or im-
I'm never sure what goes properly with perience.
Prior to the trial, experience is so limited,
I'm going with perience, in and of itself,
perience is plenty. Ex-cepting,
you know, the lessons learned,
those have earned their proper
nomenclature.
Those are experience.
Lesson learned.
Twixt thee and me is no more mix-up,
idiot-syncrecy fused with two-mind
hate of knowing and unknown;
we know what experience really means to us.

We are bound in syncret oath sealed with shibboloths in unutterable names.
As it is written in the law of Moses,

"all this evil is come upon us:
yet made we not our prayer before YHWH our God,
that we might turn from our iniquities,
and understand thy truth. 
Therefore hath YHWH watched upon the evil,
and brought it upon us:
for YHWH our God is righteous in all his works which he doeth:
for we obeyed not his voice.

From <http://biblehub.com/kjv/daniel/9.htm>
Shame that such once breathed thoughts threading pearls and jade,
or was that chalcedony? - scatter when the thread breaks
. Shame, such thoughts, frail as smoke.
Sanctity sanity sanctify sanity,

We think such thoughts. Fragile spokes.
Sanctity sanity sanctify sanity,
time and time again,
what I called holy in my darkness, is holy in my light.


Words that lose the sacred salt are calcereous
grains of time, dust memes in the sun,
launched by centuries of tramping feet.
'haps the highest parts of the dust of the earth ever.
Oh,
how the masters love mastery of mystery.
"The old man on the mountain, he knew if he lied."
You, the observer of it all,
know.

"you knew nothing of my work"
"have a think"
"never thirst, imagine standing under knowing that"
Voices, the walls heard, stones speak, historically speaking
happens all the time, a frequency lock prevents it bleeding into now, but that becomes tyranny, believe me.

The ideas that possess men and provoke good works
or big, power-consumptive,

tale-swallowing feats,
those ideas are servants.
lacking any knowledge of good and evil,
such ideas are everywhere,
men who know say so. None of this was done in secret.
Twisted minds twist servant to ***** labor. Magi-minds,
high-minded, relative to the belly-crawlers and creeping things,
see servant as tool and teacher. Same idea.
The original ideas we have to deal with.
They were seen to be good, by God.
There are no bad ideas, there are bad actions caused by mad ideas locked to single mindless anger impulses so callused as to appear gigantic,
certainly so, when they are known to lurk under beds and in selfish old men.
"Dark sayings, dear reader, pro fess pro verbs, action words snip "No lie is of the truth" snip
the lie and loose listing truth to the wind.
Who told you that inheriting the wind was like inheriting nothing?
You. You troubled your own house and you inherited the wind.
You came not to bring peace, but a sword…

The good news. Inheriting the wind is inheriting everything that ever matters, all the power in heaven and in earth was how simpler minds imagined shaping the idea.
Idyll minds, the devil's workshop, eh?
Comfort thought.
Who told you desiring comfort was a ***** thing?
Same voice went real deep and whispered,
"What price glory? Eh, pilgrim?"
stop. think

Sweet, for instance,
sweet, as an idea, can **** the man who makes it the basis of his value calculations.
Shame, came to prevent such impinging on subroutines intent on manifesting destiny,
as the sweet little ones imagined forevers in their pioneer-daze plays.
Shame is not blamed for being known,
the lying spirit who spoke with forked tongue,
sweet
little people, please, believe my lie,
there is a reason why
I know

There. Message in a bottle.
If you know what you know.
Messenger is what angel means, right? right. Who asks? Who knows?
No. I know you know this is
purposefully useful for
helping
crazy ideas
come back to some sem-sym-balance beneath the branches of the tree of knowledge, nestled in the twisting roots,
golden eggs, oh, far,
far
beyond Faberge, I must say. These, you must see to believe.
Any feedback reflecting enjoyment or confusion, please. This is a chapter from my book "Judging Angels" a memoir. Would you read such a book?
Ken Pepiton Dec 2018
This is how I saw it said John.

Jesus heard from God, YHWH, biggest imaginable mind,

mind to mind,
I and my father are one

the scripture can't be broken
if I do not the works of my father which I have been sent to finish

believe me not, I wrote. I write. There is a bubble
where if one were to say I  write
and by writing, I ask,
what are you
debating?

Who is this old man?
standing afar from the scorners

I was asked. Was it challenge, scorn or

curiosity tickling the child in the blindman who
said he could not see me writing,
therefore
I am not a writer,
in the bubble that man lives in.
He now lives in my reality.

In my world I am the light.
I banish darkness with light from my phone

Fantasize, know ye not what I have done unto you?
Granted. Ignoring is easier. Truth makes you free.
After a while, you know when you are lying.

If ye know these things happy are ye if ye do them
Some one among you
has lifted up his heel against me
has lifted up his heel against me
has lifted up his heel against me to crush my head

who is it?
Judas,

Oh, thank God, I thought it was me who received the sop.
What kind of Christian am I?

One like the writer of the manuscript taken as good news

do your works, whatsoever your hand finds to do, do it
the spirit of truth

I will not leave you comfortless,

the word which ye hear is not mine, but the fathers
My Peace Give I unto you

Did that burning monk in Saigon do that for me?
My Peace Give I unto you
he said that, I bet.

Not as the world gives? Am I alone in hope?
I do
write, hoping...
chosen out of the world, oh my am I
to
follow through
good news from a far country
now have they both seen and hated

the spirit of truth

you should not be offended.
If you are, get over it.

The sending required the going
the spirit of truth

What kind of Christian am I?
This is an old man, retelling
he chuckles when he recalls, do ye now believe?

was followed by a wink,
I have overcome the world

and this is finished, all beyond is unbelievable.

Timeless stateless state
Thy Word,
John said, as it flows from me in my comfortzone.

Be with me where I am, these have known…

Am i? Are those old words words for now, 2019?
Whom seek ye?

As soon as he said I am he
It's the next day old man John woke up

spent some time in his carnal mind sorting
things out.

If I have spoken evil,
bear witness of the evil, then the story
of Peter's tri-denial,

the poet, John, tells the tale

the legendary good news

What is Truth? I find in him no fault at all.

Barabbas was a robber. Ecce ****.
Whence art thou?

How did John know? The comforter? What kind of Christian am I?
The spirit of truth

Joy to the world, that was the message.
conciliation where ciliation itself was never known

ere now.
It is finished, he bowed his head and gave up
the ghost.

My witness is truth.

Confident, competent

compete to win
winning is not sinning

kachunkonnect
we're in.
Comfortzone verified. My peace is my witness.
Don't test me.

Patience, do your perfect work.
Truth, inspire expired hopes.
While listening to Alexander Scourby reading the Goodnews from John, the deepest walk down that road, for me, in quite some time.
Yenson Feb 17
Woman child, man child, Kidadults
I hear your voices, I feel your pain,
I was pushed on the tracks you walk
I see the sorrows of the known and unknown days
the hopelessness of feeling insignificant
the destitutes of needs unmet, wants unattainable
the searing pain of the unsupported, the pitiful cries unheard
the anger of mediocrity, the stupefying lull of mundanity
that shaming feeling of feeling disrespected and unworthy

I can appreciate your rages and outrages
the compulsion to lash out, to hate, to get back at them
the frustrations that begets violence, the creeping disillusionments
the insecurities, the fears, the paralyses, the absence of stability
that pervasive feeling of inadequacies of minds unfulfilled
the crazed tensions that always sits at the door and gnawed often
the need for escapisms, to drink and live recklessly atimes
the pain that bornes rejections of cooperation with those others
the sheer horrors that make you think the world is against you

But I've been one of you even before I was made one of you
I come from the capital of Suffering, paid fees at Adversity alley
I too know what it's like to go hungry, to do without
Know what it's like to yell in frustration and bemoan my lot
while the wealthy kids swarmed around with foreign goodies
I know the humiliation being barred from class and school lessons
because my school fees were late in coming and being laughed at
but I had parents who gave tough love and bred worthy sons
and values to work hard, stand tall and respect your name

Don't look at others, be positive, be the best you can be
be helpful, be polite, be kind and fear your God but nothing else
you are a man, go like a man and never ever take what's not yours
Be grateful for what you have anf thankful for the privilege
Yes, I had breaks, but I stand knowing I earned from my sweat
and nothing was expected or given or taken for nothing
so Yes, I know suffering and hardship ain't going to break me now
No woman, I was bred to care for, love and provide, *****, they are not for ****** release, or comforter to abate my pain or strifes
Loneliness is nothing, I have slept in dark forest and quiet beaches
I have faced darkness and fears that would traumatize older men

Destroying me achieves nothing other than glorify inhumanity
there will always be talented people who seem to have more
these days the're few elitists only does who took opportunities
If you want to change the palaces, do a Megan Mackle
Be good enough to marry inside and change lives from within
Hating privileged serves no purpose other than reinforce them
You can bring the walls down from the inside better than outside
Hate destroys the haters, why court cancer when love cures all

Woman child, man child, Kidadults
I hear your voices, I feel your pain,
I have walked the tracks you walk
I know well the sorrows of the known and unknown days
I can talk the talk and walk the walk
I have done it more than any of you born in the West.....
Brooke Ayana Dec 2018
You can call me many things, but clueless is not one of them.

My intuition is something serious-

I came in and saw two half burned candles sitting on top of the mini fridge.
- the cheap kind.

The room was particularly clean, almost like you had company.
- Your shoes were evenly stacked, thats new.

The closet and dry erase board oozed out secrets of a planned night.
- spontaneity has never been your strong suit.

Sheets & comforter- smelled of fake passion and sweat.

No stain on the sheets,
- you better believe I checked.

You created a soul tie-

-  with someone new.

& your single, so you ought too.

So why did I feel my stomach go empty-

It doesn’t matter,
I know she didn’t make your back arch how I did.

My skills- she lacked.

Thank you for letting me walk in an see this.

Everything was so perfectly staged-

I know you didn’t want to tell me, probably hoped that I would peep it.

At first, I was shocked by blatant disrespect.

I could feel your lack of care deepen.

But there’s no need to apologize

- I finally got everything I needed.

Sincerely,

Closure. 12/5/18
Sjr1000 Oct 2018
Sleep baby sleep
It's been a rough go
without release,
your road has been a thorny one
Feels like you've been cut and sliced
Diced and dangled over high cliffs
And that fear of heights, doesn't help.

The sheets here are a thousand thread
The comforter, grandma's quilt,
Sleep baby sleep
Rest your head.

Life has its ups and has its downs
Streaks and slumps
All in one day.

Put your head down on my chest,
I'll do the rest.

Sometimes the tears are going to slide
Right on down your cheek,
The intensity of our grief is equal to our capacity to love, my own cliche I know
But it's okay
Your day is done

Sleep baby sleep
Rest deep.
The line "the road you walk is a thorny one", the  Gypsy said it to The Wolf Man, circa 1941
NC Burchett Jan 15
The drone of the bedside fan
a soundtrack to a racing mind
as the anxieties elucidate

The comforter grows heavy
a slab of lead pinning me here
splayed like a corpse

A boundless dark without horizon
where I float disembodied
treading eternal
Janna Aug 2018
I Pray
In the quiet
In the silence of the night
Among the stillness of sleeping bodies
I Pray

I Cry
In the raging heat
Burning inside my heart
Devouring my words into tears
I Cry

I Wait
Patiently, on His voice
I am waiting
To see, hear, dream
Of a new awakening
I Wait

I Believe
In the Great, the Almighty
My Greatest Counsellor
My Strongest Comforter
I Believe

I Love
With my whole heart
I am loving you
All that I am
For all that you are
And all that you can become
I Love

I Plead
With my whole body
And being
For the Magic to touch you
For the Miracle to heal you
For the Blood to wash you clean
I Plead

I Remember
Your broken heart
Your wilting spirit
Dying a death too soon
I Remember

I Hope
For the silenced and fearful
For the lost and broken
For the weak and poor
That we reach Eternity together
I Hope

-soulwriterj
Everything is white and a little blue

I spilt expensive expresso on the comforter
Late nights chatting, spinning
I never seem to stop twirling
In the color, in the light, in the buzz
My face and my body often feels tired
It's honestly no wonder
Sometimes I just want to get ******
And my eyes looked into
So that I don't even have to remember
My purpose in this world.

When I go out, I'll end up drinking a lot
Champagne tastes best
When you enjoy every drop
I'm glistening I'm listening
I'm just trying to move through the
Awareness of losing you
The loss of letting you go
Into the rest of your existence
Without me.

I know that if I wanted to change that
I probably easily could
I wonder how you wonder on me
My head tilts to the side
Like a newborn puppy dog
Or a plastic figurine
Like the ones I would tear apart
And reinvent as a girl.

I'm in search of another rebirth
I don't know where or how I'll find it
I grow my hair out long
Shaping, shaping who I'm evolving into
And in my weak moments
I think it's all just too bad
It's bad we couldn't grow any further
Together.

Do you remember how
I scouted all around Chinatown
Do you remember how when you wanted something
I'd make it so?

I dance among bridges that burn
But it's because of my own light
I lit the flames
I'm always blossoming
It wasn't until the end
You were even with another
Reading my poetry
Reaching out for me almost steadily
And as I put it
You then went and ran.

It hurts but it feels like truth
I saw you for who you really are
And it doesn't make you evil
Undesirable
I just saw you.

You gazed at me
Remarking on the intensity
I'm like a drug
What you have with me is like a drug you said.

In the end
I know I did nothing wrong here
And that's been the thing I come back to sometimes
Maybe when we're older
And it's all past me
You'll see
But it's gone for me already
It's always been all gone.

It's time to lift weights
Time to cleanse
Time to find and sustain confidence
Buried in work, I long for kisses
And give myself deep doses
Of a lasting self love.
Nicole Sep 2018
It feels like ants are crawling over my hands and removing the skin to carry back to their hill.
My eyes are like two cotton *****, dry and heavy.
There is a blockage in my throat like a python has curled up in a ball right at the back of my neck.
And now my torso is no longer connected to my legs,
they are two separate entities.
One scrambling around the room trying to find something to do
while the other half lays stuck in bed, too heavy to even lift a skeletal finger.
The ants have take away all the skin and muscle from my hands to build their nest.
But it's not enough so they make their way down my throat, past the python, to my stomach, where they begin devouring me from the inside out.
Once all that’s left is a graveyard of bones,
the ants move along,
onto the next source for their ever-growing hill.
My skeleton is left to the elements,
well as much of the elements it can be exposed to laying in a pile of sheets and comforter.
I shed one last tear from my eye socket even though there are no tear ducts left for me to use.
My soul fades completely from the scene as the last straggling ant jumps from my skull and the python abandons the vertebrae left behind, needing a new food source to thrive.
A sad sack of bones,
what’s left of me lays in the bed as everything around it falls apart year after year.
Until all the decay is over and the process of rebirth begins.
Saplings shoot up through my ribcage
and flowers grow through the eye sockets where my tears used to fall silently.
Beauty replaces the feelings of death and dread as
the last piece of my soul is finally laid to rest.
Anxiety is a real pain
Cheese pizza
Macaroni and cheese
Spaghetti with extra parmesan
Quesadillas  
Mozzarella sticks
Green Chile tamales
Grilled cheeses
Your smile in the morning
While you lay in your bed with the dark blue almost black comforter you call a blanket
The melted butter your friend ruined grilling some cheese
This ******* book
Your ******* playlist
I could never be a vegan

When I want to give you all the cheesiest stuff in the world
Weeb.
his nickname is weeb also part of the sunshine collection.
Drew Vincent Jul 2018
There is someone in my house.

It's late at night and I can hear the sound of vegetables being chopped in the kitchen.
I am supposed to be home alone;
all of my family is out of town.

Why do I hear someone in my house?

Hiding in my room,
I wait.
Could this be just another hallucination?
Could this really be happening?

There is someone in my house,
and I know it now,
because the chopping stops.
I hear footsteps.
I pull the covers over my head,
as if being completely covered in my comforter
will make me invisible to the stranger creeping in my house.

There is a child at my bedroom door.
She is very small and very young.
She barely is taller than my arm rest on my desk chair.
She is staring at me with the one eye not being covered by her hair.
Her hair is long and midnight black,
the street lights pouring in from outside are visible in her hair,
creating a silver glow to her dark complexion.
Her head is cocked to one side,
hair falling in her face.
I start to move and realize I'm paralyzed.
I try to speak but I cannot move my mouth either.

There is a man in my doorway.
He appears suddenly,
like the wind on a chilly day.
He's tall and has broad shoulders.
It's obvious he never skips out on the gym.
He has a pale complexion,
his skin glows in the amber street lights.
He moves swiftly,
taking two long strides to reach my bed.
In my head I'm screaming,
in all reality the only sound that could be heard,
is the sound of the plastic the man is tying around me.
Plastic wraps around my
throat,
mouth,
arms,
legs,
and I still cannot move.
I cannot breathe.
Plastic wraps perfectly around my throat,
keeping me from being able to breathe easily.
I cannot even open my mouth to gasp for air,
I am completely restrained and paralyzed with fear.

There is a man in my bedroom,
and he picks me up with ease and tosses me into my hallway
before checking the other rooms.
The voice in my head echoes,
You're dreaming,
Wake up Drew.
He is not real.
That child is not real.
You're suffocating.
Your arms are burning.
You're not breathing.
You must wake up.
Wake up.
Wake up!
Wake up now, Drew!

With all the energy I had,
I catapult out of my bed.
Breathing heavily,
I rub my arms,
happy to feel they are no longer burning.
I think to myself,
thank God this was all just a nightmare.
I look up and see

There is a man standing in my doorway;
I'm no longer dreaming.
I had an awful awful nightmare. I believe it was sleep paralysis. I'm so sick and tired of having nightmares all the time. God how I wish they would stop.

— The End —