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The crossfires
Of our hearts desires
Will never get us far.
The lessons we learn
And the rewards we earn
Will shine as bright as a star.

The burdens we carry
Are nothing but heavy
With all the doubts we face.
In sickening times
Within all the hateful rhymes
We all eventually win the chase.

Till death do us part
Till the last beat of my heart
I will never let you go.
The darkness may come
But never forget to hum
The song of beautiful tomorrow.
-n.s.
I don't even know where to begin with this one - nothing could have prepared me for you.

Nothing.

I KNOW mental health issues are real, but if stigmas are the rain-clouds baby you are a hurricane.

No, more like a tornado, I finally understand why you can only get a few minutes warning to take cover.

No one can predict the sudden build of pressure. It's palpable. Raises every hair on my back it is animal fear, all wide eyes, lizard brain and heartbeats.

You lash out with the coordination of a drunk at the bottom of a bottle, sparing no one in the crossfires

But as fast as it begins, it is over, and I am left shaking teary-eyed in the rubble and ruin wondering if that natural disaster was actually real.

I look around and I can't figure out if I'm Dorothy or the witch beneath the house. And can a twister even hold remorse?

I close my eyes and click my heels three times, wishing I was anywhere but here.
not quite sold on the title
He Pa'amon Aug 2018
convinced she had no beauty,
she stared at her own reflection
into her pupils , down her throat , into her ear canals,
until her own face morphed into something unrecognizable.
she cut herself open , let her veins run like a stream , shed her skin, searching for any beauty that may exist
deep
deep
down.

and in her desperate searching
she found it ,
lines and bumps and curves she once thought were horrid
transformed before her eyes.
in her constant and endless willing ,
wanting ,
wishing for them to be beautiful,
they became.

and the world started to notice ,
eyes widened , heads turned , hearts opened , and groins awoke
and she reveled in her new-found power.
she wrapped men and women alike around her dainty but deft fingers,
shining jewels.
her beauty was a power ignited and fueled by herself alone
and she burned , a beautiful flame , with an intensity that left nothing but ash and scar in her wake.

exhausted after ******* the life out of yet another and already seeing the next one willfully align in her crossfires,
she tried to lessen the flame , to tame what she had now become ,
she wrapped herself in cloaks , shaved her lustrous locks , and swore herself to celibacy.

but her beauty was unleashed and could not be returned to her dark depths.
it shown through every crack and cloth and she ran ,
ran from herself ,
ran from the world.
touch became sinful and painful and unwanted ,
gazes became violating , haunting ,
and she cried out at the world blaming them for being so weak and lustful and victim to the wills of the skin

and she cried out at herself , brushing her finger tips over her own skin ,
for the power she had wished into being had become her greatest curse ,
the world , in which she only wished would see her ,
to love her ,
she consumed violently and she now found herself utterly alone ,
with only herself to love.
Elora Atwell Dec 2012
We were walking down the highway
Talking bout our desires
How we planned to see the world
Wanted to dance naked around fires

He looked over at me
And his eyes pierced into mine
He said he never met a girl
Who he thought was this fine
I blushed and looked away
And smiled and said you’re lying
I knew that he wasn’t, but still I was trying

We stopped off at the oak tree
To marvel at its wonder
All its branches reaching upward
All the shade that it left under

He grabbed up my hands
Slipped his fingers in with mine
We talked under that oak tree
Till we lost all sense of time
And the skies passed above us
And the stars waged wars
We got caught up in the crossfires
Between our heads and our hearts

When I woke up in the morning
I was cold and alone
I found laying on my heart
A note that he had wrote
It said you looked happy here
But I had to keep going
Know that I love you, and that this speaks nothing of you
Prodige Mar 2014
The sound of your voice,
that feeling of you next to me-
it used to be all I ever craved.
Just wanting to spend time with you-
get to know you-
It's all I ever thought of,
all I ever fantasized.

I used to imagine
the moment you'd walk up,
and whisper.
Whisper words
that would make my heart
skip a beat.

With you,
I wished to develop a love.
A love so powerful
that noone
could ever tell us otherwise.
Yet,
you insist on war.

You wish to fire away
and prove you're superior.
Strike,
when I least expect it.
Attack.
Attack me witha  sense of doubt
in your heart.

But my treasure,
answer something for me.
If you truly feel nothing,
then why do you hesitate?

Your passion for me
is beginning to show
through your amour of pride.
A sense of stability
is what you crave.
But how can you
when you're trapped
between the crossfires
of love and war?
Ugur Kupeli Jul 2019
i linger too much on the exhale
my eyes get lost in space
table and the desk are unfocused
and i choke and i squint.

i wake up with ancient stomach aches
slow and deliberate and warm
and subtle i might say
not like someone's poking me.

there's death in my mouth
dozed off again without
following proper hygiene
i watch old dreams drift off.

air pushes down on me
i'm not who i want to be
a war against gravity
is to breathe in.

let me fill in the boxes for you
get me my crayons, get the blue
get the red and yellow
and i will mix in some pretty lie.

get me the critics
i want a deeper look into my heart
i want cyber conversations
with the soon to be dead.

find me crossfires of too old
to be this way parents
and crossed eyes of unintentional
interruptions of voice.

and how could some vibration
not faster than a color
become a rusty old wrench
and break me in half?

but a dog barks outside
cars whizz on by, honking sometimes
breakfasts still make metal noises --
you'll brush your teeth later.
Grayce Hobart Jul 2019
Our situation
It was too messy
Best friends with feelings
A high-school sweetheart
A husband

4 years age difference
Both hot heads
Too many people in the crossfires

So I said never again
And you agreed
We're over it

But why do I still look for that red bubble
From you
Norbert Tasev Sep 2020
My feet are swaying to the extermination next to the bird-mountain, studded with the rivets of surgical scars, where the old forest once dreamed of an even fuller and calmer harmony, a happy fulfillment: At most a grumpy bush, if you look at me! Offended, pregnant Sisyphean gorge resumes their orphaned tears with offended clouds: Abandoned, heavenly continents. Twilight's red blood kiss is still haunted by a dying, pisla sundial!

Semi-rich pasture, half-built concrete Atlantis — plenty. I continue to walk and take my feet, the attention that has moved far away involuntarily wanders, and it hovers here and there in the shadows of pasts: I have seen a beautifully decorated celebratory girl. There was an immortal emotion on his red lips, like a ripe and irrevocable cherry!

But now, like me, the departing one is moving away, because he himself is certainly a conflict avoider - he looks at my beautifully, understandingly barren, magpie-legged face, the year rings of my suddenly silver-turned hair. The unfaithful lover, by saving himself, makes a bargain, betrays him.

And between the vague crossfires of exploratory glances, two pounding, innocent hearts dream of the risk of a rechargeable, earthly universe! - Twilight haze is still simmering and struggling on a soft hilltop; The time of the singing birds may have been sacrificed forever, and the beautified Time will not deceive either - but in the solid and uncompromising captivity of the valleys there, the immortal transcendence still remains patient, secretly longing for Someone!
Javanne Jan 2020
Still want Love and
Someone to depend on it
Tread through trenches
Tell them I sent for them
Then died for it
'Cause I perished my love
When I was caught in the crossfires
of the endless ache that it brings
I'm rusty I won't lie.
Is it still poetry if all you write about is feeling unworthy of love because your idea of love is still adolescent in nature? Probably.
Norbert Tasev Jun 2021
A self-grinding thought of a hesitant train at night; only the Heart can guess the eternal secrets! He clings to the infinite desire of the Universe in hopes of kissing, and the desire for a sparkling phenomenon dissipates in the sadness of Finality! We are full of Eternity and as a pure contradiction we lie to ourselves! The blade edge of Kanganó Time boldly cuts off its possibilities for aspirants, and in the crossfires of lost gazes you will find the only precious Treasure hard to find!
 
Even so, our existence is a flutter of fire, a creation of fire-flame; we want to rise and rescue from the ground with will! In extended tranquility, it would be so good to relax even to slip into endless seas! I would accustom my heart to joy if I still had, and if my friends, who believed me eternal, could stay by my side in my difficult times! On the collapsing wall of Being and non-being hangs the renewing Being by the swirling Nihil-nothing; where will the coffees of Grace stay then ?! Frozen Solitude as melted darkness settles on the inner self to proliferate the Apocalpic culture!  
You should learn to trust again in a rainbow of joy! The feasible could still be dreamed back into the waves of reverie, and in the immeasurable night the broken Plans can only be understood by your immortal Beloved as a nurse wishing to rock! You would be wondering more and more about the holy moment for Someone to be saved from this earthly hell where you have always been left with a pathetic shipwreck! Don't let Maya's veil tempt you once and for all and bring her to death
Norbert Tasev Jul 2020
By the age of thirty, with only a year left, he was slowly approaching, and the selfish pity of self-pity is still on the verge of restlessness. Like a hermit from Tutyimutyi, like a prisoner stuck in a cell, to whom the majestic taste, air and atmosphere of Freedom is a burden and an irreplaceable message!

A self-digesting fleshy wall, a scoop with the hopeless trials of Arthur-headed Sisyphus, he could always just try the unknown nature of things! I sent a message with deliberate, conscious fear, I escaped myself in the ruins of days, every day and finally I just got into the rotating uncertainty: Moments of fortune left you all, maybe deprived of some secret confidence, maybe permanently deprived of it!

I have not wasted the precious and precious time given down here. I still stare at Glorious tear-stars, I would have tried to find out the small secrets of my personal vulnerability.

To preserve with a susceptible and selfless soul ultrasound itself, as a seismic radar, it detects the telltale traces of molasses: S while he comforts and helps as a mother; while I do: I wash the dishes, I bake and cook, and I kiss his blessed fragile hands with the thick waterfall of my tears!

And you have not yet learned enough in the crossfires of so many conscious ordeals, bone-breaking paw turns! - In your shelter that protects the security of your home, you listen more and more desperately with your melancholy-numbness to the mortal and tormenting countless minutes of the gift: The grotesque story of every click, lost, or inaction of your life.
Norbert Tasev Aug 2020
Beautiful, Shameless Lover Love: He lurks, rubs against you, sweetens the best of his ****** abilities, and pleads with determination for you: Then the Universe is already in flaming sensual hell, and the Heart is full of golden fire, and the Heart is trembling! Budding immortality appears in kisses-crossfires! His smile is disarming intoxication, and yet you know: his honey-glazed words

like the tangled winding of amber tendrils surrounds him, strangling him with his senses! It is absorbed into the secret concealment of blood craters, vascular networks and bone domes, the visionary disappointment of the senses is completely absorbed! Who has not appreciated the crumbs of minutes dedicated to the eternal, the fractions of glances, he can no longer know when the spark of the found Heureka first ignited with a secret flame at that time!

Perhaps they are already mature and old kobak for the decision: Mulya should always be honest with faith, ready to show the ancient secrets of the heart! - Two orphaned fountains of the Eye: From the richly springed craters of the Eye, angels and saints sometimes sin with tears of blood! The robbed flesh of old, truncated fingertips is eaten and eaten by the robber.

Demonstrable skepticism is already knocking in the minds of my head: can there have been once again an immortal, unrepeatable, and eternal Spark that can ignite our deceptive dreams, sincere emotions, hidden in the open gates of hearts? "I already knew, I guessed from the beginning that we hadn't talked in a long time - and yet with selfless zeal, you always are in it and you exist!" What can a vulnerable soul do if there is no stranger beside Someone to heal?

— The End —