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Lily May 2018
I remember the evening
that we sat clinging
to paper cups
of coffee gone cold

over secrets spilled and memories told
two bodies cursed
with hearts grown old

behind your eyes
I found new worlds
A winding road stretched out for miles
to a small cafe at the end of the isle

Sweet pastries filled the mouths
of those who sat beside us
and stayed for a while.

How the hours went by,
people just passing through
The descending sun ending
a forever with you.
Matt Sol Jan 20
Had I been there
never lately
everything is
ever changing
everything is
over rated
a unique sense
of desperation
nothing less could
satiate this
nothing less could
alleviate us
Carter Ginter Oct 2012
When all alone, true emotions become exposed;
the memories are no longer hiding within.

The pain and sorrow that are so often closed,
are brought to the surface usually concealed by the skin.

Smiles turn down with descending tears,
empty thoughts flow through your mind.

Goals and content have begun to disappear,
replaced with heartache so blind.

In time the light will amply return
and you can once again make it easily through your days.

Each heartbreak brings a new lesson to learn;
new emotions, new feelings, will start to make way.

So in a moment of weakness,
where it feels as though your heart is broken

Divulge your uniqueness;
to new opportunities your eyes will be open.
ryn Nov 2014
The gentle reaches of the late afternoon sun
I'd bathe in this light abundant reverie
Swaying breeze... Caressing the web we've spun
In the warmth of this amber coloured spree...

Shades of gold, stretch beyond observable measure
My vision could only take me so far
Shining through between the green and azure
As if the window of heaven left slightly ajar.

Swathed in the glow... Laying on a bed of green
Eyes closed... Under the blue that spanned forever
Feast for my senses thus honed keen
Relishing the lingering touches of her radiating amber.

She's finally dipping, taking all of her light...
She'll sink behind the horizon, descending gracefully
I'd still remember all through my night
That amber...
                   *Amber is the colour of her energy.
Inspired by 311's Amber
King May 2018
Would you run?
Or would you fight?
For freedom?
For country?
Belief?
Or legacy?

Well,

Where would you run?
or who would you fight?
When battles are waged,
with a swap from left to right.
Who's going to have,
the privilege to be free?
When civilizations are smashed,
sunk and taken by the sea.
What nation,
can survive?
Would there be victors,
from either side?

Who's going to welcome you home?
And make a movie, about your valor and bravery?
Which books are going to speak of you?
When there's no one left to remember history.

This is the finale.
An ending without screams.
For there shall be no more future,
a ruin to all dreams.
Everything shall perish
in a blink of an eye.
When you see the iron reaper
descending from the sky.

The end of the world.
What a sight to see.
I'm cracking a cold one.
When we dance to world war three.
Shofi Ahmed Jan 8
Every atom is lenient towards the human being
streaming up from the deep root they spur
laying down the perfect descending of the stars.

They can take on the stellar in their deep club
that shows up opening the windows up in the sky
and down on to the earth cast their eyes!

The slim fit sharp atom knows all the shortcuts
constantly vibrating not a single star can catch nor will it ever
thin out – it has the extraordinary stroke of luck.
But the eyes are on the humans not over the amber. 
Dreaming to be physically absorbed within the human being
to be in the human’s divine proportion ever transcendental
a far cry from the sun and the moon but with it both gel together! 

Once they came so close almost touched the dream
they rose to the occasion, squaring the circle,
laser scanning through, as above so below, so humble.
Submitted them without waxing lyrical took the brush off
the colour bowl of the day then blindfolding the moon
in the night reached out to the paragon of the phi mania,
flawlessly made to measure, numerically perfect Fathima!

Presented themselves before her as pure blank
whereon she can jot like her chalkboard
or do as she please like she could show up
taking it as her shadow in shillauete, she exactly did that.
Touched down on the earth, in the veil
and revealed her as above so below.
The ocean moved stirred the water but none saw the sunshine
behind the full moon in bloom that steals the starry night.

Day in day out Fathima did all in a veil she lived and gone.
Keeping the atom on its toe ever honing tracing the footprint
in its own shadow as once a human being without a mark
crept in it lived in pi magic and leaped out!
Cisiany Olivar Dec 2011
Interpenetrating your cosmic tree

if I am to survive this visionary fancy

With my ever existent images

we skip contemplative thought

descending into The Divine Abyss
By David John Mowers

Oceanus, Acheron, Styx and Gyges, Phlegethon,

Phaeacians lament, mourn the loss, Scheria, dissolved in froths.

Virgil’s tale, found correct, a land too good, a nation wrecked,

Nausikaa, burn the ships; their minds released, cool airy nips,

Below the wave, watery grave, submerged to bottom, fathoms by stave,

Fathoms some more, until the whorl, descending to, another world.

Through Omphalos, to Land of Sleep, awaits a beast, where time has ceased,

Darkness here, underworld, cold and frigid, below the whirl,

In solemn grave, souls released, judged and counted, by the beast,

Deeper than, the deep itself, past drowning fairies and dying elves,

Who did mourn them? Those golden men, magic mariners, Mino's kin?

What wrong was seen? What vice not true? What awful sin? What did they do?

One thousand years, first black age, Two thousand more, to find the stage,

Cast off Aries and cast Orion, to find beginning, of Golden Lion.

Man of Heavens, Beast agrees, Bull of Sky, Ox of seas,

Land of Punt, Land of Éire, Ogyges blue, hearts on fire,

All the seashores, all the mines, Tribe of Dan, from ancient times,

Port of Sais, Port of Thera, Port of Lagash, bygone era,

Sailor’s horse, Minotaur, a lyre is crying, strummed guitar, nation dying, abattoir.

Ochre foams to sanguine depth, there they rested, where Kronos slept,

He’ll never answer, he doesn’t care, we’ll never know, if this was fair.

Our hearts in sadness, hands on the gates! I curse you Poseidon!

. . .and your Sea of Fates!
Every historical and mythological reference to the kingdom of Atlantis which was destroyed by it's founder; Poseidon. All of the characters including the archaeological agreement on the historical basis along with Geo-location as well as an approximate age of occurrence, extent of the kingdom set to metered rhyme.
ryn Aug 2014
Street lamps play
As they have before
Dim walkway
Leading to a door

Careful steps
Strewn leaves
Breathe between gaps
Skulking like thieves

Rustling trees
Otherwise nothing
Mind at ease
Heart rapidly beating

Usually stops here
Usually I'd stir
But still in slumber
I drew closer

Eyes on door
Familiar scene
Stood here before
This dream I've been

Up the patio
Door was ajar
Accompanied by my shadow
Stretched far

Tunnel vision
Dripping eave
Door handle beckons
Hand raised to receive

Usually stops here
Usually I'd rouse
Allowed to enter
This time... This house

Handle I seize
Door seemed light
It did not freeze
Hinges did not fight

Revealed the insides
Scanned surroundings
Unlit lights
Stairs climbing

Footsteps I heard
Coming my way
Sounds absurd
But yet I stay

Usually stops here
Usually dream is done
But still was clear
It only had begun

Darkened figure
Descending on bare feet
Beauty light as feather
Ever did I meet

She did not see me
Planted at the doorway
Impossible it may be
Nothing did she say

Walked right by
My eyes followed
Seconds fly
In eternity they burrowed

Usually stops here
Usually I'd wake
Yet still I'm here
Chance I'd take

Stood at the fridge
Back towards me
Under siege
My mind set a flurry

Fridge was opened
Light casted her silhouette
Her back darkened
Curiosity grew fat

Illuminating beams
Accentuated her hair
Like golden streams
Flowing with flair

Usually stops here
Usually I'd startle
Connection did not sever
Continue I was able

Spellbound I gawked
Rooted like a tree
Wide-eyed I stalked
This siren before me

She drank
Not knowing I was there
Stiff as a plank
I was locked in a stare

Finally broke free
Shifted my weight
She turned to me
And then said...

Then it ceased
Then I awaken
Surprisingly pleased
Slice of heaven

Who was she?
Silhouetted face
Perpetually...
Mysterious grace

Foreign albeit familiar
Strange but true
Now rings clear...


It is you...
Based on a dream I had.
patty m May 2014
Overturned are my
struggles to find the jewels of the sun.
A stealth of time, purveyor of death,
watches me constantly.   He is the sole survivor;
bag of bones, a Lazarus, rising from the grave,
his dark half my constant shadow.
Shrouded in mist the ghost moon rises.
I feel snared in its web of dreams.

Null regions, temp idle chance,
The Mirrored Realm on high,
indeterminately drifts.
Dog Chewers battle the Serpentine Lynx'
their violence flares.
                 Hugging the thorn-bush
I become both **** and victim,
making frightened noises
while rooted to the spot.

Then a brief interlude as War-birds fly over,
and the hunters flee their domain.
The shore line winds bone-white
past deserted fishermen's shacks as
gulls shriek eerily over a turbulent sea.

Vaporous thought, as a perpetual chill
seeps through my skin,
how I yearn for yesterday's blankets,
but yesterday was years ago.

I slip into oblivion, boulder-gray
blown about in frantic wind gusts.

Suddenly tiny creatures
descend through the darkness;
each small hand holding a glowing ember,
as they flit on tiny wings
offering hope from up above.

I stare, dazzled by sunlit-ice
no mouth of death, this,
but a luminous feeling of well being.
Now descending  is a glorious presence
scattering  goodness upon the earth.
Two embers she gently places in my hands,
jewels of the sun,
                 see how they gleam and flicker,
or could they be stars?
Cindra Carr Jan 2011
There’s nothing special here
Hearts are trampled by and by
Lost looks go searching for lost loves
There’s nothing special here
Long thoughts and short lives
Descending riffs rush by every day
There’s nothing special here
No tour bus stops for the lonely souls
Smoke drifts wafting lazily
Hazily the air never clears
There’s nothing special here
High times never made it through
The door stays shut as often as not
Slumped shouldered fools look down
Frowns etched sketched amid the lines
There’s nothing special here
Just lost souls and hazy minds
There’s nothing special here

cc0111
Carter Ginter Mar 2015
Cold white layers pile over the grey concrete
I did not expect the storm but I
Needed to face the journey
Someday
We knew it could not last forever

And in that moment
An accident in my vision,
Maybe the music screaming into my ear
Distracted me from the obvious truth that lie
Just through the windowpane
Leading to a collision straight into reality

Your words, the concrete divider
That hit hard enough to take deep damage
Yet not hard enough to stop me from moving forward
The unexpected truth that came at the least expected moment
My ignorance overlooked the obvious signs
That i could not stay safe forever
Not at the speed we drove..

My skin hugged my knuckles tightly
Enough to match the descending snow
As I knew from the first swerve
Your first word
That inevitable fate
I surely faced
Death loomed close in my mind

But I drove on
Grabbed the wheel and forced my way through
The place where I felt nearest to the grave
Until I reached a safe enough space to see for myself
Just how much damage I endured

And, like my car,
I am totaled
Broken into pieces that cannot be reframed
Some lost at the point of collision
Others gradually passing over time
And some still holding on

In the eyes of an astonished mechanic
The car shouldn't even start
And according to everyone else
I should be dead
But I'm not

And though neither the car
Or my own life will ever fully
return to their original condition
We still drive on
Moving forward on the unpredictable
Icy
Deadly
Highway of life
I crashed my car on the highway while driving home from my then-girlfriend's town. I realize now that the accident resembles our break up that came a few weeks after. Earth-shattering, unexpected, but noticeable without distractions.
RK Sep 2017
I remember the gift I received from you.
The perfect rhythm, joy of harmony.
Your gift was with me everywhere
Until ...

Truth became blurred...


I followed the mood intentionally.
Moving slowly, questioning the intrusions flowing through me.
Bypassing the lie telling me -

I am, broken.

Remembering that rhythm - descending.

I chose to feel thoughts of peace
The noise quietened tremendously
Aligning me,
Albeit temporarily.

Feeling  that rhythm -  vibrationally.


Deep, deep deep I knew,
beneath the turbulence
"I Am " growing , growing in truth - watching affectionately,
knowing and remembering your gift

Re-membering that rhythm,  "I am" already healed.

Ascending graciously.

Peace
Hello to all my friends at Hello Poetry.
Please accept my apologies for not responding to you comments or your likes.
I found it extremely difficult to write in any way shape or form over the past good few months. it seemed my mind only wanted quietness and I followed the mood. I lived very quietly and then this evening - this poem came. I hope you understand,  and also enjoy the poem. . I'm hoping to read and write again soon.
Peace
Rita.
Shofi Ahmed Apr 21
The sky is eye wide open
so bright a lapis lazuli hue.
The houri fair maid of heaven
colour in every shade of blue,
up to the door, she must have come through.

Lo, the rosy spring's
blue bees are on their wings.
Ah, the sweet flowing southern breeze
wafts along with the blue bees.
It must have thought,
humming up on a high they go,
but no!  

The deep sea burst deeper
sweeping through the land the rivers dance.
By now the silent land’s sleeping beauty
must have woken by the mellifluous water nymphs.
The bottom is a far cry the water is still cascading
so are the blue bees softly descending.
Beneath the open heaven’s painting
into the spring honey, the punters take a peep.
Evelyn May 2018
When God sowed darkness and the Devil a *****,
Abuela dug so deep
her oldest son fell through.

I dangled my constellations like ghosts that might
carry him to the surface,
a grip hard as ice,
a grip twice as thin.

Inertia yanked ten in two --
five fingers, pop;
ten fingers, stop --
he took them all down, the
tendons’ endless unfurling.
I, ladder, endlessly descending.
He, father, ends up standing.
JayceeJellies Oct 2014
He was my one and only,
Even when we felt as if we were descending
He's still stuck in the deepest oceans within my heart
He's loving even when he's falling apart,
Everyday without him feels so off to me..
That's not even the beginning to why I'll be his eternally.
danahslade99 Aug 2018
Melancholy;
Melt in lands
Unholy
In an abyss of

Harm supressed;
Between two palms pressed
Together.
Remind us we are

Desolate;
Descending to a
Solitary fate
Where days

Gloomy;
Glue me
To my memories
Cold cruelty and

Shame;
An attempt at shadowing
The untamed.
veritas Sep 2018
maybe it's there, in the crevice of his hard heart, that he heard the soft echo of light.

maybe, if the wound really is where the light enters you, it's in the heavy handed claps or in that gruff way men tell their sons, when it seems like the right thing to do, that they love them,

and then it's gone,

vanished into the cold nothingness, behind

rough hands and hearty laughter and the slow descending numbness of duty and honor and being a man.

it's faded, worn over, rusted old coppers,
until there comes along a boy who'll tuck the rough love away, who won't stand startled but rather perplexed,

who'll keep it boxed safe like pressed flowers between thin brown paper.

and then maybe, maybe that sweet boy will spread a few more, until his love is no longer a coarse and dying brittle sea air but nourishing, sustaining,

and maybe then he can start over.
8/22
RK Mar 2018
I'm not one to walk too fast so I slinged along at my own pace.
Besides, I always hear an inner voice reminding me not to hurry, how I'd miss so much. What the hell's the worry?

I always listen, taking  heed, knowing well the futility of rushing,
After all, multitasking is not as marvellous as some imagine.
Better to fully experience the moment, we're living.

Continuing at my own pace, seeing, hearing, smelling, touching, tasting, 
 living life to the full.
The scent in the air  at evenings best.
The vibrant colors, the buds gently unfolding, exploding, opening to the light stopped me in my tracks.
I marveled in wonder!

Stopping to shake the hand of an old friend I met, making a plan to meet up again, ended in hugging.
I stood to watch the sun going down,
Loving the moment~~


Then, I heard a man singing!


" Lady in Red - you're dancing with me, You look wonderful tonight"  

A gorgeous man, descending from a roof top continued singing, totally unaware of my being.

  "I have been blind, you're dancing with me ... You look wonderful tonight"

I wondered might he be in love, I guessed he must be, he seemed very happy. Perhaps he had a wife, girlfriend, maybe a lover. I was living through him, enjoying  these attributes, wishing good things for him.

I couldn't wait to get home, though not in a hurry, to taste the apple crumble I'd baked earlier. To play the song, "Lady in Red" you're dancing with me.

To capture his feelings of love, in a song.
Most of imy poems come from real life experiences.. This is one!
Peace
Robert Ronnow Nov 2017
What luxury to get mad
about last night's basketball loss
and watch the full moon descending
at the speed the earth turns.

Things could get worse
personally and for the community.
Bombings, killings, anomie
boiling frogs and witches cursing.

The changing climate,
typhoons in the Philippines,
volcanoes and tsunamis, WWII which I missed,
Thanksgiving nor'easter, Easter twister.

What abundance to fast or feast,
yr choice, stay inside by the stove
or go outside, climb the mountainside.
Live in a city or small town.

So I raged at the coaches
for their lazy zone defense
like an alien in the bleachers
unable to affect the outcome.

When my sons came home
I yelled at them too. What opulence
to be angry about nothing of consequence
neither stopped by the cops nor slipped on the ice.
www.ronnowpoetry.com
Terry O'Leary Aug 2014
The darkness, now descending, floods the city as it dies
while shadows lurk in legions 'neath the looming Evil Eye.
Its frozen stare envelops all, it penetrates and pries,
denouncing loathed dissenters to the keepers in the sky.

One’s inner thoughts are well descried before they’ve passed one’s lips
and cruelly crushed with grim contempt twixt despots’ fingertips;
but if no taboo-idea’s found, with which to come to grips,
the stymied Eye dispenses pus as fabrication drips.

The Eye peers down upon us now, to conquer and control,
and mark our every movement, whether hiding in a hole
or preening like a purple parrot perched upon a pole.
Our welfare and our happiness? No, certainly not the goal.

While phantoms fade, then reappear within the urban sprawl,
the gloom (adorned with Evil Eyes which pierce the livid pall)
pervades the ache and agony that poets sometimes scrawl
of plenitude to penury, how life endures the fall.

And should the herd dare whisper words of freedom's fragrant bloom
or murmur sighs of worriment at earth's impending doom,
the Evil Eye will squint a bit at those who so presume,
condemning nascent unchained thoughts to wither in the womb.

The Evil Eye bores everywhere, a tattletale to Kings,
who scrutinize their puppet people, strumming on their strings,
extracting secrets of their souls like spiders plucking wings
that flutter with the hangman’s knot as the corpse of freedom swings.

Yes, Princes rule with tungsten fists wherever they may roam
and sip from golden goblets, nectar, sweet as honeycomb
while peons (stripped of mind and soul) stray never far from home,
with faces 'neath the iron boot, ****** deep below the loam.

And peasants pass, parading by to fill the golden urn
with pennies for the afterlife wherefore the faithful yearn,
though screams of babes with empty eyes are never of concern
to those who covet silver coins, eyes cold and taciturn.

To hide the pains of purgatory, far-flung distant shores
(on islands of containment) cache the dingy dungeon doors
and inquisition water-boards that buoy their holy wars,
while sandmen drape our eyes with dust, with rainbow metaphors.

We’ll know the party's over when there's little left to eat
and all the learned scholars, lean, stay silent when they meet -
the Eye, withal, will spawn distrust on matters indiscreet.
The signs are all around us - even sheep no longer bleat.

                        Epilogue
One sightless seer scans the skies and mourns the heretofore.
Nine limbless men descend the stairs to find there is no floor.
Eight tongueless women babble, telling tales of nevermore.
Four earless children drown within the ocean's muted roar.

When hope becomes defiance, ask: Will bedlam soon arrive?
Will doves appear above us all? Or drones to guard the hive
while fed with milk and honey by the Queen and kept alive
to gut the gale below them? Will we let the Eye survive?
Tom Spencer Dec 2018
dawn light
silhouettes the branches

dried leaves clatter
on the rooves and driveway

cardinal song
pierces the highway thrum

behind the rotting fence
a dog sniffs, whines and growls

the swimming pool scrubber
splashes and sinks with a shudder

one after the other descending planes
roar and then fade away

even in this labyrinth
of suburban sameness

everything is emerging
declaring itself

and then slipping away
like the feral cat

one moment
eyes locked on mine

next moment
disappearing behind the garage

Tom Spencer © 2018
Jordan Rowan Jun 2016
She came down from a mountain
Higher than the valley she's been in
She broke down like an engine
On a highway towards forever once again

She says "I don't know where my life is going", but
Baby, nobody knows
Just take a breath and do what you've been doing
True angels wear everyday clothes

She lives inside the mind of a mercenary
Staring down the barrel of a gun
She's tired of the weight they ask her to carry
And her back has been broken for so long

There's choirs that will sing of her memory
Like a fallen queen with silver in her hair
As the flowers bloom and God starts descending
To touch her hand and take her anywhere

She says "I don't know where my life is going, but
Baby, nobody knows
Just take a breath and do what you've been doing
True angels wear everyday clothes
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