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The screaming
children of Gaza
torment the sleep
of a troubled world,
and remain a real-time
unending nightmare;
anointing The Levant’s
fevered brow
with a diadem of
incessant grief.

Gaza is a burning
ankh that sears the
madness of sorrow
upon Egypt’s skull.

Gaza,
an unblinking
third eye
of shame,
peers into
Lower Egypt’s
closed window
ever reproaching
it’s turbulent
conscience;
chiding fellow
Muslims with
the ugly memory
of abject affliction,
the endless images
of a living Guernica
suspended in the hell
of indefinite imprisonment
all Palestinians are forced
to suffer.

As Zionists ***** the
steep walls of Apartheid to
extend its occupation
of Palestine, it
condemns the youth
of Gaza to a life of
incarceration with no
possibility of parole;
hardening the hearts
and steeling the resolve
of a new generation of
militants to demolish the
walls and the wardens
that imprison them.

The Zionist jailers
bestow upon
Ishmael’s Children
phylacteries of shame,
wearing the rolled
prayers of wailing pain
scribed with bits of
dust from the
the broken walls of
demolished buildings
and desolate homes
beyond habitation,
now housing grief
of trampled souls,
forcing recitations
of deliverance
to Allah while
davening an
incessant drone
of anguish at
the Wailing Wall
of Resentment;
decrying the
blood lust of
undying acrimony,
victimization and
the slaughter of
innocents, carried on
with the imperial license
of state sanctioned impunity.


Father Ibrahim's
feuding children may
share a sacred paternity
but remain the
divided brothers
of different mothers;
stoking a sibling rivalry
more bitter then
Cain and Abel.

Our anguish
never dissipates,
the gnawing
impulse of empathy
to assist the distressed
of Gaza is dashed
by omnipotent
powers recusing
the ability to act.

Sympathy is
embargoed
in the black
obfuscation
of religious
partisanship
while timely
assistance
to aid the
distressed
lie netted in
blockades of
realpolitik
affinities.

Gaza, where
Hashim is granted
his eternal rest,
restlessly inhabits
his unknown grave
from the destitution of
his profaned homeland.

Ghazzat,  “the stronghold”
countlessly conquered,
falling to Roman Emperors,
Lionhearted Crusaders
Ottoman Caliphates,
and British Mandates;
slipping from Egypt’s
geopolitical grasp as
as a casualty of
The Six Day War.

Gaza is now a stronghold of
resent and desperation for a
desperate conquered people.

Ghazzat, the prized city of
the western Mediterranean,
a four star Phoenician port of
caravansaries now unable
to trade with any partners
due to ungodly blockades.

Gaza, has grown wholly
dependent on the largess
of UN aid and meager
subsistence portions
doled out by well
meaning NGO’s.

Gaza, the foot stool of
the Levant and surely
the pathway Father
Ibrahim, Jacob,
Joseph and Jeremiah
traveled to escape
Canaan's famine;
finding at the close
of their sojourn
a table set with the
plenteous bounty
the Blue Nile
unconditionally offered;
the veritable feast
of abundance,
the generous yields
of the blessed delta
that sustained the
Prophets of Judah
and a thousand
generations of the
Nile’s Children.

Gaza, the Achilles
heal of Middle East
peace, land of the
Canaanites, Philistines
and Old Testament
heroes.

Gaza, a fortress for
Philistines who
imprisoned the storied
Sampson, revered for
breaking the chains of
imprisonment and righteously
destroying a pagan temple
in a suicidal act of heroism.

Gaza, where the myths and
legends of rapacious
holy crusaders captured
the western imagination
with the chivalrous gallantry
of religious warfare and
valiant last stands of
Templar Knights employing
the tactical imperatives
of terrorism in service to their
higher God.

Gaza, an oasis
by the sea now
lies dry and brittle
as the precious Hebron
waters of Wadi Ghazza
are diverted to serve
the agriculture of
Judah; condemning
a dehydrated Gaza
panting of thirst
to an imposed drought
and a war of
self preservation
to remove
the dammed rivers
of justice controlled
by intractable powers
laying upstream beyond
Gaza’s mean borders.

The Qassams
lunched by Hamas
are desperate
expressions of
exasperated people,
eager to call
world attention
to the growing
insufferable plight
of a people living
in a perpetual
state of siege.

Its a modern day
David slinging rocks
against an armor
clad Goliath.

Each Katusha
serves as
a justification
for Zionist
intransigence
and condemns
any possibility
for peaceful
coexistence
of a Two State
Solution.

The pointless attacks
invite massive
disproportionate
retaliation and succeed
in prolonging and
increasing the
measure of Gaza’s
agony.

The mystic grace,
the divine power
of satyagraha
-a non-violent
response to the
cruel enforcement of
Apartheid- is Allah’s
way to secure the
moral high-ground
and the surest way
for Palestinians to
expose it’s unholy
adversaries innate
contempt for civil rights
and a refusal to
recognized the
shared humanity of
all of Father Ibrahim’s
wayward progeny and
recalcitrant prodigal sons.

Mubarak’s fall
has allowed the
Rafah Gate
to swing open again.

The concertina
wire that separates
Gaza and Egypt
has been removed.

The prisoners
of Gaza have
an open portal
of freedom.

It is a Day of
Jubilee, a day
of pardon for
for the inmates
of prisons built
for victims.  

It is a day of
possibility for peace.  

It is a day to declare an
Exodus from the land
of bitterness.

Humanity is
offered the hope
of escape from
the prisons of
acrimony, to
freely move across
the staid borders
of intractability
and exclusion.

The hearts and
minds of Palestinians
and Egyptians
are free to connect
and unite once again.

Liberation is
possible only
when we uphold
and honor the
affirmation
of all humanity.

Music Video:

Silk Road
We Will Not Go Down

Oakland
2/9/12
jbm
a poem from the epilogue section of Tahrir Square Voices
Sixolile Sep 2015
Usually, I let words come to me,
tonight; however,
I am going to formulate something.

I am tired of whining about love - the lack of it,
really;
in my life.

Tonight, I'll whine about, countlessly, contemplating.
Countlessly desiring;
countlessly yearning;
For - your physical touch.

My placement of my hands on yours.
My placement of my hands on your body.
My placement of my lips on yours.
My placement of my lips on every crevice of your body.

Tonight; I whine about yearning to touch you.
I whine about your lips, softly - sensually;
rubbing on my face, lowering -
Mine, rubbing on your forehead - as you lower;
down -
my body.

Tonight; I whine about my lips, yearning -
the taste of your body.
Your skin rubbing against my tongue;
Your skin, satisfying my taste buds.

Tonight; I whine about the love my body has for yours.
The love in need of no words;
the love only touch understands.

Tonight; My body wants yours.
I hope you are shivering, in hope -
that our bodies will quench the thirst causing tension between us.
Dresden Aug 2018
Life has many milestones.
Each bringing a significant change to one's life.
Whether that be a birthday, a wedding, a child.
But it's difficult to admit the sadder milestones that we carry with us.
However these negative moments also have a significant effect on us.
This is my list of milestones I hate to admit.
But they have impacted me tramendously.
It's time I released them so I can look ahead.

Molested by a boy at age 4.
Countlessly ***** by my sister starting at age 5.
***** by my therapist at age 7.
Beat by my sister throughout childhood.
Bribed and verbally abused by my step father to condition me to keep my issues to myself.
Traumatized at 10 by my father and his ex due to a domestic abuse situation.
Almost drowned from my first public panic attack at age 16.
Harassed by a man at a concert at age 20.
Endured the hell that relationships always bring.
Attempted suicide twice at age 21.
And a man attempted to **** me at a party last week while I was intoxicated.

I know I'm not the only one with these difficult memories.
And knowing I'm not alone will always be my comfort.
But I'm letting it all out;
purging out the evil so I can be releaved.
And now my hope is to heal and become whole again in the healthiest way possible.

I can overcome these milestones.
I know I can.
Destiny Berry Dec 2020
i am not her
the woman who had countlessly betrayed your trust,
the woman who constantly made you feel like what you did and who you were was never enough,
the woman who would only hit you up for not true love but a convenient lust.

i am not her
the woman who so willingly took advantage,
the woman who without the slightest hesitation, took you for granted.

i am not her
the woman who took everything as a joke; to upset you was to be seen as funny,
the woman who only seen you as a dollar sign and finessed you of your money.

i am not her
the woman who spilled bitter lies from her lips like coffee to a wooden table,
the woman who convinced you that you could never achieve anything, as if you were unable.

i am not her
the woman who was filled with nothing but anger and spite,
the woman who seeked joy from causing you pain,
the woman who was given gift after gift and yet still found a reason to complain.

i am not her
the woman who mission was to use and abuse,
the woman who wronged you then turned around and you were the one being accused.

i am not her.


- d.berry
Tara Marie Apr 2016
I am sun and you are moon.
Caressing countlessly
Cranes and Starlings swoon
With love effortlessly.

I paint the daybreak flawless
with color sinking in
Moon is gathering the waves
while Mantas sink and swim.

You wrap yourself in darkness
with holes and craters deep,
Orbiting a world that has you
shackled at your feet.

I can see it spinning, with
everything it holds.
And I'm afraid that one dark day,
it might just steal your soul.

I can't control your presence
parading atmosphere,
And must not always worry
That the waves will disappear.

Nor reminisce on memories
so many "moons" ago,
That orbit other planets,
of which we'll never know.

And maybe all this warmth
inside my soul so bright,
is overtaking judgment
and misjudging moon at night.

The heat within me rising
might be unwarranted.
So I will just shine brighter
and make flowers bloom instead.
symbolism is life.
How countlessly they congregate
  O’er our tumultuous snow,
Which flows in shapes as tall as trees
  When wintry winds do blow!—

As if with keenness for our fate,
  Our faltering few steps on
To white rest, and a place of rest
  Invisible at dawn,—

And yet with neither love nor hate,
  Those stars like some snow-white
Minerva’s snow-white marble eyes
  Without the gift of sight.
Dieter Muniz Oct 2011
Am I,
protected and Ignorant?
Instead, choose to
countlessly amount problems.
Often wondering that romance, anyways
blind being without shade:
Sun-gazer;
fry pain from eyes.
As closed eyes turn,
eyes open for curiousity
you punish
No, just no…
Punish you, curiousity for open eyes.
turn eyes closed
as eyes, from pain, fry.
sun-gazer;
shade without being blind.                    
anyways, romance that wondering, often.
problems amount countlessly
to choose instead:
Ignorant
and
protected;
I am.
Desmond the poet Jun 2018
I’ve had myriad seizures in my life.
I’m however, still alive.
An obscure force constantly attacked me.
A force directly proportional to gravity.
God granted serenity to accept the certainty,

Epilepsy, you’re in my life.
You don’t own my life.
My cognitive function has been dented.
I’ve been labelled and painted.
Sometimes even laughed at.

Seized, fell and rose countlessly.
I soldiered on courageously.
Giving up has never been an option.
I never took my eyes off the goal posts.
Epilepsy tried to shift the goal posts.

Against all odds, I graduated.
Applause as I approach the podium.
They applaud for academic success.
I however applaud for overcoming epilepsy.
Hospital was my other home during studies.
Marks capped, academic record not true image of success.
During my university years, I used to constantly get admitted to hospital due to epilepsy and it reflected badly on my academic record due to supplementary exams.
Alex Feb 2019
Journal entry #2

Today I finally decide to truly let go.
I no longer want her friendship, just like she has countlessly rejected my love. It is cruel and unfair to expect opposite feelings of the other.
We found each other against all odds, she approached me with intrigue and decadence, hoped for comfort, but let it all go when the bell rang. Like holding an infant in your arms, looking for care and attention, begging for patience and vision to give it the chance to grow strong and beautiful. Instead left under a bridge too weak and brittle to keep it.
I think I made her happy, but her warmth dissipated as soon as I had to leave, the mistake perhaps was to tell her that I love you. But she never wanted a serious relationship, she just wanted a connection with a man who acknowledged her, made her feel good, desired, important and seek out thrill in her stressful mundane life.
My purpose was served, and I felt disposed of. It has been one long year since the day I had to go, hoping to return.
I don’t want to know anything about her life anymore. Any news will hurt and enrage me. She hurt me so deeply and profoundly she is afraid of what she has done, she feels guilt for not loving me and rejecting a loving man, while I now feel guilt for expecting and forcing feelings onto her fragile soul.
We are equally selfish.
I burdened her with emotional presence from afar, when all she desired was peace and repent in silence. I don’t want to keep hurting her by caring. Today she said, “as soon as you appear in my life it becomes too hard and painful that I will not answer you in return”. Being friends with me would make her happy, she wants to be friends. But being friends is all that it will ever be while we shared such passionate and intimate times together. Her friendship is not enough, I want her in her entirety. I am convinced at this stage there is nothing I can do or say to change her mind. You may think you’re not good enough for me or that you cannot be with someone who you cannot love because love is alien to you, or because circumstances make it so. If you just let go, I would travel across the world and catch you.
It is all in your mind…
Now… By letting go of you entirely. By letting go of the constant hum of your omnipresence in my heart, of wondering what you’re thinking and if you will keep remembering me. We let each other heal and gradually forget a little more each passing day. You will find a man, I am sure. But you will never find someone who loved you more than I do now. Never.
I cherish the time I had with you. I wish things could go differently. I may still decide to go to Russia, perhaps not so soon and for different reasons. But I would also like to deliver on my promise, the promise I made to you a year ago. “I promise to come back”. Perhaps as friends this time, if I’m ready. Oh God. If I become a new man.
To my beloved Nastya. I love you. Goodbye.
A Mar 2016
We don’t have a name,
And our love isn’t something they write about.
I watch you scrawl some stains on a paper
As you tell me to go,
But I can’t.
I try to leave, but my molten feet stick to the floor.
The space between us is different from the others.
Am I a scribble in your black notebook?
Because your name is written countlessly,
In elegant, clear penmanship in mine.
But we aren’t that obvious and clear.
Our names aren’t printed on the latest newspaper,
To read all about.
Our hands don’t rush together in unison
When we walk down the sidewalk.
We survive through secrets,
Sending letters through underground cities.
We dance around the words of others,
As my mouth slowly meets yours.
We are a garden that ceased to exist,
But instead reversed..
You are a mystery,
Not in the typical manner.
You are not the one you can solve again and again;
But one that puzzles me every time.
You find me at midnight,
My hands are shaking, as I hold you, eyes bright.
Your palms are cold, thawed by the heat of your breath
And we sit.
Your peculiar eyes dazzle me.
It’s not an emerald green,
But the kind of green in a forest
Among an earl gray coast.
Nostalgic, but warm.
Rainy, but bright.
We are tenacious as one.
Through you I’ve lived a thousand lives;
Sipping pink lemonade in a rainy diner,
Standing on the Oregon coast,
The navy ocean biting at our feet and
Inviting us for an icy swim,
Chasing you down the Champs-Elysses,
Watching your eyes turn into London skies.
I’ve seen every bitter moment of your life,
From the bruises on your thighs,
To the thoughts you try so hard to bury away.
I love you from the faded buttons of your flannel
To the burning tips of your hair.

Please let us exist as one.
Jade Massey Dec 2014
People assume things. They tend to do so every day, no matter the situation. Why? Who knows. What? All kinds of things. For example, they assume that the happiness I show them is real, when it is only a faqade. My happiness is the mask I use to hide my bitterness, my hate, my depression, my anxiety, my lonliness, my helplessness, and the broken pieces that I truly am. I mask many more things than this. My sanity is the mask I use to cover the fact that I truly am not in the right mind. I might not be insane, but I am certainly mentally unstable. My wholesomeness is the mask I use to hide the fact that I am beyond repair. I am broken in heart, mind, and spirit. My body may be intact, but the soul it masks is broken. It is broken in a million pieces and these pieces are slowly turning to dust - beyond repair. My smile is the mask that hides my tears. The tears that fall when no one is looking. My laugh is the mask that hides the screams of pain that constantly **** me from sleep. The screams echo in my ears and they never vanish until sleep takes over again. The make-up on my face is the mask that covers the tear tracks. My empty, emotionless eyes are the mask that keep my inner despair hidden. The hat, or hood of my hoodie are the masks that hide my scarred scalp. The scars there are from countless hairs being pulled out by my bare hands when I have a breakdown. My pants are the mask that cover my scarred thighs. The scars are from countless nights of countlessly and raggedly drawing razorblades across my sensitive skin. I am completely and utterly masked, hiding everything true about myself like a coward. I even take it so far as to hide my cowardice with a mask called strength. It is better to be masked than left out in the open with nothing to shield yourself, wouldn't you think?
sav Jan 2016
I want to start off by telling you that there have been days I can't remember my own name, but I could never forget yours. You used to look at me with a way that made me remember to drink more water and do whatever it takes to stay here, but now I'm just ashamed of where I am. I never wanted this to be my fault. You and I both know that.
One day, I will find someone who loves the way I stutter when I'm nervous and they'll kiss me whenever I say I hate the way it sounds.
I don't think that anyone ever really understood who I was. I'm a different person for everyone but you were the closest I ever got to being myself. I never felt my mask when I was with you.
I thought I would be okay with you but I find myself still crying into my coffee and turning off my music when certain songs come on. No amount of poetry or metaphors could ever make this pain beautiful, all it's really done is help distract me.
All I wanted to do was hold your hand so tightly that you regretted the night you stopped believing in love.
Let's talk about being gentle. You were never gentle with me. I had a dream that you caressed my face and I woke up crying. Your abuse has scarred me so much that the thought of you raising your hand to me is more realistic than a kiss. I wanted to be gentle with you everyday, even on the days you couldn't find it in you to be gentle with yourself. I wanted to be your home. I wanted to love you in every way there is to love a person and you only want to love me when I'm in your sheets. I think that my chest is a graveyard of all of the versions of myself I killed while trying to be a better person for you.
Do not ever let anyone tell you that home can't be a lonely place because sometimes home is a person who doesn't want you around anymore. Homes burn down every day, but there was something deadly about the way I woke up and decided I didn't love you anymore.
Let's go back. The first night I saw you smile I started praying to a god I stopped believing in years ago. We were in a Taco Bell drive thru. The night that you held my thigh in my car was the first time I hadn't wanted to crash it in forever. I can still hear Come As You Are by Yuna play in the background and the way you said you liked the song. I can't listen to that song anymore.
I'm so sorry for leaving. I'm terrified that there will never be an end to this mess and you're the only thing that never scared me about forever. The worst part of all of this is I'll probably spend the next few years trying to love someone how I loved you. It'll take me a while to heal from the emotional abuse and turmoil you've put me through this past year and a half. It's been a wild ride. I don't regret you. I knew you were a snake when I licked you up and it's my fault for sticking around after countlessly being bitten. You've shown me more about myself than I will ever learn with anyone else.
Your hands are so sharp, all I wanted was to hold them till you became gentle with me again.
I'm sorry. I love you.
Savanna.
Melody Mann Dec 2023
life is unpredictable in its fickle nature,

moments can transform into a lifetime of shared splendor or somber recollection,

healing isn’t linear nor is life’s trajectory as we tread this path scattered with trials and tribulations,

time challenges our wit and forces our hand at resilience as we build ourselves countlessly to brace the changes that come our way,

that is the beauty of existing— understanding the significance of loss and relishing the triumph of union,

savoring the essence within us and radiating faith amid our silent prayers,

healing isn’t linear, nor is life’s trajectory as we are riddled with fates that at times make us question our purpose in retrospect to the everyday,

this breath is but a gift of chance for us to continue walking mindfully with the beauty that surrounds us,

you are but a flower in the garden of tomorrow; blossom endlessly.
Inspired by the art of letting go, this was written for a soul I cherish deeply. To personify the notion of healing and immortalize a bond that formed freely and gently… it’s the art of acceptance. A familiar dance that duets itself time and time again; resilience. Here is an ode to the persistence and strength nestled in overcoming the obstacles life bounces our way.
daisies Apr 2015
Make peace with yourself,
inspite of the everlasting riot in your head.
I have been placing one foot in front of the other,
creeping my way mindlessly through melancholy.
This isn't how it's supposed to be.

Have faith in what you do,
so that one day faith will repay you.
I have been contemplating doing all,
but the things I should be doing primarily.
This isn't how it's supposed to be.

Save time for your unique hobbies;
write all the poetry you need to be happy.
I have given up on the words, and the dialect,
and the books piled up on the shelves countlessly.
This isn't how it's supposed to be.

Draw yourself a tigh-fitting box,
then burst right out of it.
I have been confined to my comfort zone,
unkowingly losing a handful of opportunities.
This isn't how it's supposed to be.

Fall in love with yourself,
instead of spending time finding it with somebody else.
I have loved him too hard, yet ended it abruptly
just so I could set myself free.
And that's how it's supposed to be.
LycanTheThrope Mar 2017
Confession.
I miss you.

The first thing I professed
was not the warm feeling I had whenever I saw her
Nor was it that it was I who had sent her flowers
And signed it
"your admirer”


The first thing I admitted
Was my fear
That everything I touched
broke

I remember what you did,
Just like it was yesterday.

Your eyes brimmed with tears,
And you smiled a sad smile.
I smiled back.
-
The first time we were together
It was at your house
You showed me your dearly loved piano
And played me my favorite song
“Clair de Lune”

Wringing the keys dry of passion
I remember thinking
If I poured my soul out like you had
Maybe,
Just maybe,
you’d fall for me.

You showed me
The spines of books you read countlessly
Finger fluttering over every title,
Tracing each word
Like I would your stomach
Each night you spent in my bed
You told me that I
“was like the ocean.”
I didn’t know what that meant at the time.
-
Moon
Moon moon moon moon
The word I engraved in your ribs
every time I touched you.
Moon
My moon.
My lovely moon with sky blue eyes,
That never stopped moving.

I wish you could stare at me like I had you
Maybe you could have seen
That every moment I spent
My gaze was on yours.
But perhaps it was better that way.

-

I was bitter.
You told me not to be.
and so I wasn’t

-

Christmas Eve I came over for dinner
And I bought your mother chocolates
In hopes she would learn to savor you
Like the box she held in her hand.

I never told you how jealous I was
That you had your mother
Despite her flaws


That night I saw you cry for the first time.
When I held you in my arms
You shook because of your father.
You asked me why god would do this to you.

I had no answer
Other than
“I don’t know.”

I should’ve told you
How I had wished I was in your place
That I would take the pain for you.
But I didn’t.
I know you never would have wanted it that way.
-
When your birthday came
I gave you a jadestone bracelet I had crafted myself
I did not tell you the time I took,
Or what it had cost.
I had hoped you would treasure it
Like I to you.
-
A month ago I saw my loving jade
On your best friend’s wrist.

I did not tell you how much that had hurt.
-
You gravitated towards him
And grew closer with others
I drifted
Oh like the sea
-
That March I went to California to see my ma.
I don’t recall if I told you
That every night
I watched that sun sink into the coast.
And it reminded me
The way your hand held mine.

When I came back you spoke of nothing but sadness
I tried endlessly
To tie a knot in that poison-filled vein.
But the sickness spread.
I wish I could’ve been your cure.

You were sand slipping between my fingers
And I did not know how to tell you
That my waves had lost purpose
If there was no shore.
Come Back
-

“Captain O’ Captain,
The eye of the sea
Was the bottom of her heart.”


-
Summer had come
We had spent one tired night watching fields of fireflies
At 1:49 am

I couldn’t find words
To tell you my heart had danced
Like every one of those little lights
When someone even breathed your name.
I wish I had
Summer had gone

-

When fall had struck
You left me.

-

My thoughts clammered in disbelief

You told me it was because it was you and not me.
Just some sort of cliché I suppose.
-
Months later when I asked
You said it was because you thought I had feelings for another.
How foolish I was for letting you believe that
For even a second.

I should have told you
Your soul had sunk a hole in my chest
that beated to the sound of your voice.


My heart sang a sick melody*
-
Two years have past
Last week you told me you left
Because you didn’t feel loved.
You never saw the way my eyes traced up and down your body
but always pulled back to your face

I remember what you did,
Just like it was yesterday.
-
When I confessed
You kissed every one of my fingertips,
And said that you did
so that everything I touched
would feel loved.

Oh, how I wish those words were true.
My Captain O' Captain,
I know not where the moon dips from the sky,
Nor where she sunk in the sapphire sea.
Darkin Nov 2015
I dance alone and countlessly wonder
if you're as confused as I am
I want to fall in love again
I want to find your gaze
and feel violated and connected
and be confused about what it is you mean
and what you mean to me
it's all some sultry dream.
I want your kisses again
I want you in my dreams again.
RDR Feb 2015
Approaches with adoration:
Beckoning benevolent beauty being blessed
Countlessly with contouring cryptic          cuteness.
Dazzling, distracting, divine.
Elegance that will endure
forever.
Grateful for the gracefulness and
Heartfelt feelings.
Impetuously invoked by each other,yet  
Joyfully jump starting and
Keenly kicking off
Lasting Luck for two.
Daan Nov 2013
Second place achieved, after cheating.
You can say I have failed, I was beaten,
it's true, I lost. My number one did not
let me win, let me in, gave me hope

and now I have to cope with the feelings,
mixture of much, turns out to be just one,
indignant. The country loves his winners,
losers are not worthy. I'm more into blues.

Rock her world, making plans, another
man's idea, my misery, it's easy to understand.
Yet I'm the only one who does. I told you
I was wrong and sorry and hopeless.

Now, 24 seconds after timeless, countlessly,
trying, I give up. I am made to be second.
I guess I didn't even have to cheat after all
I'll never win.
Em Jul 2016
I don't know what it means to be a good person anymore.

It was easier when my head was full of pigtails
instead of politics,
when good was opening doors
and doing your chores.
When it was easier to pick out the bad.

Children are gifted with innocence
and a diagram shaded with generalizations
that their parents hold as truths.
Mine shaded family members green,
male strangers red.
Mine shaded police officers green,
black people pink -
a whisper of bigotry, a silent justification.
Mine shaded teachers green,
playground bullies red.
But when innocence fades,
colors mix
and saturations grow stronger.

My grandma tells me that she wishes she could think like me
because she grew up
in a world without rainbows,
where white was good,
and everything else was bad.
But I don't know what good is
when all I see is gray.
It's not a generalization or a stereotype.
I'm not whining because I countlessly fail at using my privileges to help people,
I'm shouting
because I've been beaten down with criticism
for trying to be what I thought was
good.
My vision has been fogged with fear,
and whatever shade of green that trust used to be
is bleeding burgundy.
*What the hell does it mean to be a good person?
Silence can't coexist injustice.
Anna Dec 2013
This is my final goodbye to you. And I'm so sorry. I know I said that you would always have me. I know I promised that I would be waiting right here for you to come back to me. But outside, as the seasons passes countlessly, the air chilled me to the bone and the wind howled into my ears, shaking and beating my body into havoc. I'm not retreating; I'm moving forward.
Maybe I waited so long because I'm used to the abuse. It's all I have ever loved. And up till now, I believed it was all I deserved. I grew up never knowing love and so I ended up searching for it in all the wrong places. I'm afraid you're another misguided destination. But I don't really mean that. I guess. We were somewhat good for each other. If we hadn't met, neither of us would be in existence today. I still remember how you convinced me there is a reason to live on my 17th birthday. I was the one, despite your anger and will, that saved you from the damage you inflicted on yourself.
It's rather upsetting how clearly I can remember all of the good memories. How you were so truly in love with me before you even knew it. You treated me like the most beautiful and fascinating girl and for once in my life, I believed it. I really believed it. I miss it all. The nights that we stayed up, endlessly asking each other questions because we wanted to know every little detail. At 4 a.m. you apologized for keeping me up on a school night and I told you that I would much rather talk to you than sleep. And by your reaction, I knew you were not used to that and so tried from there on to make you feel as special as you truly are. Our first date, exploring downtown, you never let go of my hand. I had boyfriends before but...they never held my hand in public. And I thought that was the loveliest thing. And when you kissed me for the first time, or rather every time, every atom of my body electrified. The early mornings, under covers, you touched my skin so gently....But ever before we knew each other, when we just gazed at each other across campfires and crowded rooms, I knew I wasn't through with you. However, I'm afraid that time has arrived. I knew this time would eventually come, but nothing could have prepared me.
The happy moments may exist in distant memories, but this overwhelming pain, hatred, sadness, and desperation is constant proof of the reckless and apathetic wreckage you have inflicted. How you chose every single thing over me. Over us. Our relationship was such a joke. You will never love anything more than those **** chemicals in that ******* needle. I could never be close to you because that blonde *** covered ***** was between us from the start. And in the end, you acted as if this relationship was too much effort for you.
When you said goodbye, I knew it wasn't for the last time. We always find our way back to each other. But I have to close the door. I can't allow you to enter  my life again. Although I love you to the ends of the earth, I have to start loving myself. No matter how difficult that may be. I'm sorry.

*Te amo, mi novio.
spiral-whirl Mar 2018
spread your broken wings, dove
flap them countlessly,
take off and forget about me,
you can leave,
i don't mind,
spread your love around my dove,
don't let anything grasp your broken wings once more,
be love.
voyager Aug 2015
I can smell the rains
dark skys can tell too
to cease and ease the pain
and count on the coming gains

the swaying of the trees could be seen
cool tones of droplets settled on my skin
seated under my usual tree

I hear the chirping of birds next to their nest
I noticed the dancing of the calves and lambs
my mind on the coming treasure
to end these echos of doom

echos of doom

worst of a season
dry streams dusty field and clear skys
will be a thing of the past
should I judge a book by its cover?/

I countlessly count on the rewards of rain
the seasons will be as usual as my conscience tell me
sooner than later the echos of doom appear again
no rains,no gain but more pain
I shouldn't  have counted my chicks before being hatched

echos of doom are at it again
Marilyn O Dec 2020
You came along with your bags,
All arranged and looking neat.
To find a place for a vacation,
To spend quality time within.

To your surprise, the door was shut.
No one welcomed you like before.
You questioned yourself countlessly
And tried knocking even harder.

All your efforts left no reward.
The ****** deal had finally ended.
There's no more room for you in there,
Embrace your shame and take your leave.

The damage you caused was terrific.
Never again will you get that chance
So carry your bags and cease knocking.
You're not welcome here, never again.
There's nothing as dangerous as an angry man. It's time to throw this vice away
Hannah Payne Dec 2016
Beneath the mask quivers and shivers weak and fragile flesh
Frigid and frozen with chills of fear.
I am crippling in-security secured, where they countlessly hide and whisper at the endings of each breath
Riddles veiled with gleams of chemicals disposed and recomposed between night and day,
Until the light hits it and the wind gusts it and incessant defections rise from the deepest depths of my horrific broken authenticity.
And they are all staring at me.
But this time not into the toxicity of my rusty razor eyes.

Beneath the mask is where my falling tears secrete
Pouring vacancy as a smile that feels more like a cracking cut that screams, "I do not belong here" , forms and quietly disarrays.
Buried, piercing eternal reminders that what is shrouded is and never will be clean.
Dig far enough and you'll unravel my roaring encrypted codes.
I want to feel the inner me. I want to let go. So please let me go.
I'm sick, surveying perplexed eyebrows and transient smug slugs that pass through me like a hundred and five venomous knives.

Beneath the mask rests squashed hope branded in the never seen.
Examine the clothed truth that's mounting me into a false entity
If only this was an illusion derived from my bitter history.
But the lights begin to flicker as endless passing heads and lifeless expressions come and go. Stop requested.
The laughing fluorescence continues.

Beneath the mask, recycled empty, plasticity.
Carried with titanium, Styrofoam delirium, impalpable veined elasticity.
And if you come close enough you may just see,
From the scabs and scrapes of doom that are bombarded by and masqueraded with false decadence.
Clipping the wings of individuation,
Don't label me innocent.

Beneath the mask are humorous symbols, layered with obscurity and decay residue.
Of shattered dreams and scattered stars drenched in solitude.
Guide me to the darkness so I can feel blended in, meaning comfortable in my own crumbling skin, and once again soak into my unsuccessful fantasies.
Cause I am stifled from a thousand suffocating bandages weighing me down,
I am the under-works of the ground, sleeping in the soil.
Like meds morphed into led, showered with alcohol.

Beneath the mask it is hard for me to breathe
It is hard for me to belong and it's hard for me to believe
Seek and create your deciphers and you will find deception draped in reverie.
But I've been inflicted with a mistaken realism.
Destined for something that will seemingly never ever be.

I am captivated behind nauseating smirks and painful smiles
So today please let me astray so I can remove this mask for just a little while?
I wrote this a few years back.
Complications define our choice.
Day by day, we fear.
True love needs no voice.
Each smile faithfully followed by tear.

Confusion muddles our tormented minds.
Day by day, we hope.
Yet we are windows housing unruly blinds.
We are the threads of fate, forever intertwined as rope.

Courageously we defy what others say.
Day by day, we trust.
But the ends of our rope must soon fray.
And we shall discover if such love was merely lust.

Countlessly, I think of you.
Day by day, I remember.
From your hello to my adieu...
My passion is a fire, and each memory an ember.
Wind and frost carves
Countlessly, silently
Meander along the timber
String together
Pearls of November
Echo the waves
of mercury atlas
ever-changing
and the pavements
of silver reflections
ever-blurring
Mirror sparkles and streams
of shivering lights afar

A whistle of a train leaving station
A stillframe of illunimation
A scent of deep autumn
A taste of earth burn
A burst of desire
A touch of you
For JR
eileen Jan 2020
somedays
I need all the lights on
everytime I do wrong
+ + +
rest well
turn off the lights
I did my best
Daan Jun 2014
Different direction, apart from the mass,
it's just a cold, patient, let it pass.
But let me check, one last time, I'll
see if it is certain.

I've grown a beard while

he was searching, read a book and wrote
a song. It won't be long, is what he said,
is what he said,
pass me the remote.

I have laid my eyes on you, countlessly,
but this will be my last,
a burden for a future past.
If this doctor says it's nothing,
go see a real doctor.
SeaChel Jan 2018
Countlessly,
I have found myself with the fleeting desire
to be all the people who have replaced me
and those whose memory I was meant to erase.
Though as quickly as I process the thought,
the wish to be who I am not dies
and I am left only feeling shame.

Shame that for even a split second -
I didn't see my worth,
I thought I wasn't good enough,
I compared myself to another.

Although, mainly shame for in that brief moment,
I didn't love myself.
Always working on self-love.
Poetoftheway Jun 2020
it’s a daiquiri colored morn, countlessly
as I, gazing never tiring, of a vista I’ve seen,
awoken to, endlessly changing, voyagers of
birds and boats, the redecorating minimalists,
moving pieces on a latticed shadow lawn

the Sun eastern, asking the trees to turn and bow,
hence the shadows their branches cast are a waffling,
hopscotch pattern irregular, so jumping from/to
yellow-green sunspots, the children are delighted by a
new game, moving to and from and between an ever
changing crazy chessboard of light-patches unsquared

described, written of, yet here I am, once again, a servant
despairing, looking for new combinations of superlatives,
though I never spoke before of it as a vista,
until today, wondering why, perhaps because
it’s here, one lives, one doesn’t conceive of  being
part and parcel of a vista, humans, just visitors,
pawn observers, gallery visitors, art appreciators,
transient hobos after forty years, truthfully claiming
that they’re merely still, passing thru, passing by

9:40 am, respectable hour to meander over
to the throne room, the four Adirondacks, them,
the year round poetry nook authorities, are equal
sunned, shaded, simultaneous, stately shadowing,
observing, advertising as perfect for composing,
willing to make verbal suggestions, rhyming notions,
especially when the poem pays proper obeisance

and so it does, and so it is, as you can clearly read


9:53am Sunday Jun 14
Year of the Pandemic
see cover photo
a flower Apr 2014
We could climb to your roof top every night
If I get to see your eyes wandering under muted moonlight
If I can trace my fingers slowly down your torso, your unblemished body built effortlessly by the gods
Feel your heartbeat pound hard enough to stop my inconsistent breathing from nicotine tainted lungs

My hands shake to meet yours every morning I wake up in an empty bed
There's too much space between my fingers and next to my head
If eyes could burn through souls, you have melted every compound of my being
I don't think you understand what it feels like to gasp for air when you find someone who makes you want to keep living

The pills that tickle my throat
I could drown them in the alcohol that used to stain my veins daily without a second thought
If that's what makes me strong enough to outlive you
To have the time to study everything you do
Map you out like this city I've countlessly burned to the ground through numerous delirium filled 4 AM mornings

It's somewhat melancholic to plant a seed just to watch the flower that blooms wither to it's death
Almost like being dressed for a funeral that hasn't happened yet
I can't bear the thought of your diminishing existence
I truly thought we could enjoy the time we have while we can
But I might be too selfish to let you go

I need you here, under the moonlight
I need your warmth and flawless skin against my own
I need you to take up space, all the space, too much space
Drown me in your presence and feed me your oxygen
Because you are the only person that has made me want to stay alive


Just to watch the flowers grow
How I wish
I had being your brush,
Like I would have smooch
Your lips and tongue
Each morning and night
And spew crystals on your teeth
So you laugh out wide
O!How I wish,

How I wish
I had being your cloths
Like I would have being long
Like a marathon
And deluge all my affectionate~warmth
On your shells
And countlessly tell you
How I adore you
O!How I wish

How I wish
I had being your food
Like I would have broken all the rules embalming digestion
And pace straight to your heart;and embross my name
So you wouldn't forget me
O!How I wish,

How I wish
I had being your cellphone
Like I would have run on a solar
So you wouldn't run-out
And stop caressing me with your fingers
O!How I wish

How I wish
I had being your pillow
And stay by your side all night
Singing all the love songs
Till you wake and smile
At the first crow
O!How I wish

How I wish
I had being your owner,
Like I would have slaved all year
With pleasure but no leisure
For you to know your worth
O!How I wish

But how I wish
I had not known you
Like non-existence
So I wouldn't have haboured
All these deep emotions and feelings
Parasitic on me persistently
O!How I wish

How I wish
©Historian E.Lexano
Lexander J Sep 2015
My heart bleeds, oh friend can you hear it cry?
Strength gone, pride shrivelled up to die,
ignorance, fear; the only defences I've known
shuttering up that place where hope should have grown

dreams plagued with her beauty, and lure
I breathe from a body indulgent, impure
her eyes bite, her voice hits with a fist,
fangs protrude from the mouth I have countlessly kissed

the sun does shine but my mood still wanes
not my fault yet it's myself I still blame,
am not good enough, do I not appeal
will she spit humiliation upon me as I beg and kneel

will she take me in her arms, kiss me, say it's alright
will she caress my blackened heart, love me all through the night
will she **** the voices that tempt me to sin
will she be mine to keep, if only I could win

or will she burn me in the fires of rejection
**** me off into a world of deceit and deception -

a question that burns like an ember within my brain,
do I really want to know if she feels the same?

AJ
Isabella Mar 2020
The sky was an ocean, clouds of foam washing against the mountains.
The sun was a golden drop of honey, casting light upon the emerald grass.
A pond lay still in the field of green, motionless and peaceful.
Calm was the water, and silent was the breeze.

One day when the sun was barely peeking over the mountains and the field was full of an early mist, the wind carried a single drop of water to the center of the emerald meadow.
The droplet fell into the grass and sunk deep into the earth.
For days of sun and nights of moonlight, the water and soil bonded to create roots.
The roots grew stronger by each morning, until one day a bit of a stem rose from the ground.
Hidden by the tall grass, it was still unseen.
The sun nor the moon could see what was slowly growing just before their gaze.
While the sky changed colors countlessly and the mountains woke again and again, something was slowly rising from the grass.

Soon it grew taller than the emerald field, and indeed the sun and moon did see it.
They awed over the astonishing beauty of the small flower.
A body of green and a head of white, the flower stood proud in the center of the meadow.

As the sun was retiring and the moon was beginning to cast its eerie light, the clouds grew violent and a storm arose.
The sky was dark and rain fell.
The grass swayed in the crying wind but the flower did not wilt.
It held still, its roots in fact digging deeper into the earth.

The next dawn was quiet and dreary.
The sun was dimmer, the grass was duller, the pond was still resting, and even the mountains looked asleep.
The white flower was seemingly untouched and even more bright than it was prior the storm, morning dew resting on its delicate petals.

Later the same day, a soft wind came.
Though it was a small gust, it unexpectedly swept right under the flower and pulled it from the ground.
It was carried with the breeze and dropped gracefully into the pond.
It drifted down the river, floating peacefully in the blue water.
Then a current pulled it down, and the flower swirled down to the bottom of the pond, never to be seen by the sun or the moon again.


Many sunrises later, a drop of water was carried by the wind to the center of the field.
When it fell to the earth, it sunk into the soil and felt the familiar roots of a flower.
The water built upon the roots and eventually, in the field stood a single flower.
I stumbled upon a story I wrote in 2018...
Ben At93 Apr 2016
I still have nightmares about you,
the ones that used to be my sweet dreams,
I'd tell you all about them the next day.
They are fewer, these days. Much fewer. Be happy for me.

I still feel like someone hit my chest,
whenever people mention your name,
I liked it you know.
But it hurts less and less as time goes by. Be happy for me.

I still make hot chocolate,
just the way you liked it, put on your sweater,
and drink myself to sleep.
It's hard to let go of such sweet chocolate,
and such warm sweater.
I'm starting to hate them though. Be happy for me.

I walk around the house,
and it still smells of you while I've cleaned it countlessly,
should I move out? Sigh A guy passed me on the streets the other day,
stinking with your cologne,
I didn't turn to look at him. Be happy for me.

I see you and her sometimes,
she's very beautiful, you laugh louder by her side,
it stings just a little now. Be happy for me.

You wished me well when you left,
as I broke on the living room floor,
you said it wasn't me, it was you. And you were sorry.
You said you'll pray that I heal soon.
Didn't know soon would be this long. But I'm getting there.
Be happy for me.
Stacie Lynn Nov 2019
the state of mind you trapped me in when you locked me inside my own body, confining me to perceive the natural motions of life as if I’m falling from a twenty-story building and perpetually climbing back up the stairs

I have fallen on this same pavement so many times before that I can mutter every name of its  frequent passerby’s, i can mentally trace every skid-mark, every link to your DNA from your musky scent to your bristled hair follicles

How you’ve managed to follow me everywhere I go though I haven’t laid eyes on you in two years,
how those around me sigh with hopeless exhaust when they countlessly attempt to rescue me from another inevitable fall onto the cold concrete,
How you breathe fresh air that holds your feet up from the ground, saving you the trouble of having to empathize with Mother Earth’s raw flesh beneath  you

Yet, I am still heaving through corrupted lungs, still swelling the epithelial tissue lining my throat,
still expectorating old memories just to swallow them again and again, each time forcing me to upchuck ****** acid from a place inside of me that implies no medical explanation

I have become so sick and fractured that i can no longer see,
I cannot hear, I cannot speak
But somehow when I touch, all of my delusional senses return as a shadowy figure that resembles the monster of whom I fear most

My vision funnels in, and out
until I feel nothing but the same cold pavement cushioning my bones like a disjunct lullaby

And as my mind melts into a dissociative puddle of nothingness,
I plant my feet on Mother Earth’s raw flesh, and her magnetic waves of energy wrap around my nimble toes, bringing me back to the staircase upward
ivory Jun 2017
i became restless when
the path suddenly opened up before me
the cocoon in which i spent these years curled up inside
has now cursed me with an itch
that refuses to reside
i have only just noticed the mold on my edges
in this cupboard for too long

a still life, a stale life

but i dare not say that the time was ever wasted;
i have grown gardens of strength
through floods and fires i have resurrected myself countlessly,
standing in those currents that should have knocked me down

and now in them i walk on,
towards the mouth of the river

i want to be swallowed whole

— The End —