Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Sympathy I feel for those who haven’t seen what I’ve seen, and for those who have felt what I’ve felt. The embodiment of my regret, shining with all the light once saved me, now engulfs me in torment of my mistake. As I orbit in harmony with the rotation of a green star, that is much more than just a green star, I ponder what my life would be if I still had my green star. I know that in time, this green star that means everything and more to me, will collapse and perish, but we will only be able to see the star frozen in time, that very instant before it collapsed, desperately clinging to one single moment. I still cling to that moment, the moment I saw my soul break free from the chains that I thought would hold me down perpetually, in her eyes. I don’t quite know how it happened, I wasn’t looking for it, I wasn’t on the make, it was the perfect storm, I said one thing, she said another, and the next thing I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my days in the middle of that conversation. It’s painful to admit that I ruined the most precious friendship I’ve ever had, which tends to sting more when she was the only genuine friend I’ve ever had. I prefer solidarity most of the time, but that doesn’t mean I don’t long for a companion every now and again, but lately that desire grows stronger and stronger, holding on to the memory of the companion I once had and lost. My life on Earth, my past life, would be considered prosperous; I was one of the top aerospace engineers in the world, which is a very time consuming and painstaking practice, but exploring the unknown territories of the universe had always been my passion. I didn’t have much of a family, my mother and father passed away when I was 22 years old, and my brother and I severed ties shortly after the death of our parents, and I had not desire nor time for a significant other, let alone the willingness to dedicate my life to another person. I always believed that I embodied the definition of misplacement, I never seemed to fit in any particular group of people, nor with any other person, really, I enjoyed getting lost in the sea of my thoughts, riding the waves, pondering ideas, asking questions that can only be answered in theory, which essentially renders me incapable of interacting with others. However, being your own best friend can sometimes lead to psychotic thoughts of self-loathing, and eventually the last straw broke the backbone of my perseverance, and I convinced myself to commit suicide. Originality and pretentiousness ****** me, demanding myself to end my life a way no one else’s life has ended, and my imagination spiraled into a storm, brainstorming my own demise. My most recent endeavor at the time was to manufacture a personal bubble that would sustain in space, and condensing a spaceship into the size of a smart car was the threshold between my pathetic life of this planet, and self-destructive glory. After a year of an extremely unhealthy intensity of research, my talisman of my soul, my most cherished invention, my cosmic coffin. I traveled from my home in Anchorage to the highest point in Alaska, Mount McKinley, and inserted my body comfortably inside my space bubble and proceeded to ascend into my eternal salvation, ascending towards achievement of my life’s dream, ascending the edges of space, where no human has ever occupied in history. The butterfly feeling in my stomach, caused by the sheer joy I felt, is probably the closest feeling I had ever felt at the time to true love, the irony of my affection for death. As I slipped past our atmosphere and found myself floating closer towards the stars and planets, I sat down and enjoyed the galactic show of entropy before me, and after a while the visual melody put me in a hypnotic state, and before I knew it I was being stated down by a saucer shaped spaceship with luminous blue lights encompassing the round edge of the ship. I felt my capsule gravitating towards and entering the ship through a small hole on the underbelly of its structure, that appeared to look like a portal. As I passed through the light I was being observed by a feminine looking blue creature, with bright green eyes that sparkled like emeralds in the moonlight, and long, luscious blonde hair, straight and smooth as silk. She was tall, which I realized as I stood up out of my capsule, about an inch taller than my six foot frame, with long, skinny fingers and decently big webbed feet, and a long slender tail hanging down from her backside that wasn't quite long enough to touch the ground. She had shiny, scaly skin that had a deceptive rough appearance in texture, but felt soft and smooth when her hand reached out to embrace mine, and she said, "Hello, I am called Elora, what are you called?" Still in shock, the only awkward response I muttered was, "Eric" and she asked, "Why are you here Eric?" As I regained my quick wit I declared, "Does anyone know why they're here?" She smiled, exposing her sharp white teeth and proposed, "Well, you can help me find out." I think it had something to do with the adrenaline rush caused by the mystery and uncertainty of the situation, but I caught myself grinning, I didn't even realize I was smiling, it was an odd, unfamiliar feeling, but I was madly attracted to this blue angel from the stars. I spoke to her about my life on Earth, and my elaborate suicide plan, and she explained to me that she abandoned her home planet Eridani to conduct galactic research, and that she was from the Altair race. She elaborated on how life on Eridani did not satisfy her, and that she would spend her life roaming around nebulas, exploring galaxies, researching stars, and documenting her experiences. She showed me a star that she claims as hers, a green star called Zohra, which was her favorite star because she said she could only feel happiness when looking at it, to which I said, “It reminds of your eyes” and she looked at me and seemed flattered. She loved that star, her eyes lit up brighter than the star itself when she would stare at it, hypnotized at the sight of it, which I cared little to notice because I couldn’t look away from her. I couldn’t quite understand how someone could be so invested in something like that, something that just sits there spinning and spinning, peacefully participating in the orchestra of the universe. I think she was so fascinated by this object because she felt the same disconnect from others of our kind. The lonely, outcast feeling connected us, ironically, and we carried on intriguing conversation for what felt like an eternity, and I only wish that conversation could've lasted longer. I found in Elora what I had not found in any human being, she understood me, to the point where I was convinced she had mind reading abilities, and her understanding me didn’t diminish her interest in me, like what usually happened to me on Earth. I found happiness in her company, I found salvation in her embrace, I found unparalleled beauty inside and out, and I found myself in our friendship.  As time slowly rolled on my affection for Elora grew increasingly unbearable, and eventually the realization dawned upon me that I had to inform Elora of my feelings for her. We were accelerating towards the Crab Nebula, and I noticed the blurred blue light in the center, wrapped around by streams of red and yellow light, holding the blue heart in the center together. Elora was to me what the red and yellow streams were to the integrity of the Crab Nebula, without those streams, without Elora, my soul would fall apart and disburse, just like the blue light in the center of the Crab Nebula. When I turned, looked her square in her eyes, her gorgeous eyes that were accented by the light emitting from the Crab Nebula, those eyes that pull you in and leave you in a trance, those eyes that display the beauty of nature condensed into two little spheres that seemed to effortlessly gaze inside my soul, breaking down every single wall that I have ever built up to hide myself from other people, and uncover everything I so desperately attempted to hide deep down, and I said to her, “You are the only reason I’m still alive, the only reason I still want to live, the only other soul that accepted my lost, broken soul, you are the most amazing, most beautiful creature born from the stars we now roam around, I tried to die to see what heaven is like, but heaven can wait, because there is nothing more I want than to be with you until the day my soul slips away from my body, I am madly in love with you Elora.” I poured my heart and soul out to her, bleeding out every ounce of passion and love and sophistication to her, exposing every bit of my emotions, leaving me naked and defenseless before her. Different scenarios raced around my head about how she would respond, and she glanced down at the ground, looked back up at my blank face, and she said, “My people do not love, we do not believe in love, and we cannot love. Love, no matter how polarizing it may seem, always fades in time, everything fades in time, love fades in time, ideas fade in time, you will fade in time, I will fade in time, in the end, nothing is perpetual.” My heart sank down into my stomach, and right at that moment I grasped the idea of why they call it “falling in love” because I landed harder than I could even fathom, I did not know that such powerful emotional sorrow could physically hurt so bad. I dropped down to one knee, and the streams of tears ran from my face and splashed down on the ground, like delicate little glass beads shattering as they made contact with the surface, shattering like my heart and soul. The pure agony and embarrassment of staying with the love of my life, whom I had just made an absolute fool of myself in front of, was enough to crush any man’s esteem, so the only rational option I could think of was bail towards my space bubble, and go as far away as I possibly could from the light that saved me. With every inch of separation between her and I, my heart and soul grew sour and stone cold, and new theories to rationalize my reaction and actions that followed. As a child I went to an amusement park, and I was particularly frightened of a certain attraction that lifted you straight up, a couple hundred feet, and dropped you straight down, and now I realize that my fears of love are comparable to this ride. I was so mortified by the ascension, which precedes love, that I could never enjoy the thrill of the fall, even though this time the safety harness didn’t soften the landing. I came to the conclusion, after years of thought, that I could not blame Elora, it was who she was and there was nothing she could do to change that, and instead of accepting the fact that she did not love me, I cowardly abandoned the only thing in my life that I gave a **** about, I ran away from the only other being in the universe that could make me smile the way she made me smile. After years of solidarity and self-loathing I realized that I would much rather spend my life with Elora, even if she didn’t love me, as opposed to regressing back to my lonesome life, only surrounded by a vast, more captivating scene. The only reason I am still alive is because I have not given up hope that one day I will find Elora again, and I will beg for her forgiveness, and hopefully I will be able to cherish every precious moment I spend with her. I solemnly believe that the slim chance will occur that I will once again see that face, gaze into those eyes I once did, and curse my old self for being foolish enough to leave her. I am not certain, but I can only hope that she is at least indifferent to encountering each other once again, but if she denies me I cannot blame her, because after all it is my fault for my impulsive escape. But for now I wander as a nomad amongst the stars that form constellations that all remind me of Elora, watch the planets rotate, and reminisce on the time we shared together, the time I took for granted, time that I consider to be the most precious moments of my life’s experience. I spend most of my time roaming around Zohra, which was where she and I parted ways, in hopes that one day she will return to her favorite star, to find me right there waiting for her, however patience has not served me well, and my actions which I so deeply regret caused her to abandon the star which she claimed as hers, the star that radiated happiness upon her, the magnificent star that embodied her in beauty and essence, to avoid the thought of me leaving her, which is justifiable because she was probably very flustered by me scrambling to leave her after my episode. I rotate around Zohra, observing its physical qualities, seeing Elora’s face every single time I look upon its surface, but one day the light exiting the pores of the planet grew significantly brighter, and Zohra began rotating and shaking at a phenomenally fast speed, and I witnessed Zohra swallow itself in a supernova, creating a black hole. I interpreted this to represent the death of the hope I had to once again see Elora, or maybe time had taken her like time had taken her beloved star. I allowed myself to succumb to the irresistible force from the black hole, and the death of hope I had to once more see the angelic face of my love, swallowed my space bubble and my hollow body occupying it, to the point of no return, where I can no longer regret what I had done to her, because in time, my love for her destroyed me.
Francie Lynch Aug 2015
Warning: Use dis list in context.*

You decide on which side you fall.

disappear
disregard
disaster
displace
disqualify
disrepair­
disturb
dissipate
disability
dispose
dismal
distribute
distrust
­disturb
discriminate
discuss
disdain
disguise
dishearten
disinher­it
disown
disparage
disagree
disgruntle
disclose
discolour
disput­e
disarm
discover
disassemble
disadvantage
disallow
dispossess
di­scontent
discontinue
disrespect
disincline
discomfort
disrepute
d­ishonest
disillusion
dishonor
dismiss
disobey
disjoin
disappoint
­discipline
discord
discern
discrete
disfigure
disconnect
disappro­ve
discharge
disbar
disease
discord
disfavor
disengage
disassocia­te
discipline
discount
disembody
displace
dissaray
disembowel
dis­combobulate
discredit
discourse
disentangle
disenfranchise
disemb­ark
discard
disburse
disbelief
discover
disable
disagree
disinteg­rate
dismay
dispense
dislodge
disclaimer
disapprove
dissatisfy
di­srupt
dispel
dislike
dismantle
disloyal
disbatch
disrobe
disperse­
display
disaprove
disciple
disavow
disconcert
disinfect
disorder­
dismal
dismember
displease
dissemble
disunity
dislocate
distort
­distrust
distress
dissolute
disassociate
distill
discect (?)
distemper
distain
distasteful
distraught
dissolve
dissonant
d­issuade

And dis isn't de end.
saranade Aug 2014
You, I,
      polymorphously perverse
           your hand covers my mouth
                   voices adverse
            Liberation, but in reverse.
Submit and admit...
                    Or
               disposed to oppose...
I want to beg, plead,
      submerse and disburse
               I burst in silence for my cursed thirst
             first, be more covert,
        I'd prefer if we
                  don't
                                       converse
I'll sing you your pleasure without
            a
                 single
                          verse.
How do I tame the tamer?
Annie Potaktos Dec 2011
Be afraid of the bohém, they may write you a silly little poém to make you love 'em.
Or even worse, in reverse, with their verse, coerce your mind and soul to converse.
And even if their ascent is traverse and the obstacles adverse, routes to them are diverse.

They refine their craft to give you a raft, don't be daft, they rehearse for the terse,
tiptoeing over the perverse, not wanting to averse. They wanna choke the horses of your hearse.
They have no need to beg and plead. Just a wish to slap your ***, your steed.
They just wanna make fear disperse for it they accurse, knowing well it's a curse.
No need to look for your purse. Your courage will theirs reimburse
and your smile their swollen fingers nurse.

See, the reaper wants the tails of coins thus places them on eyes faced reverse.
The bohém kick groins and leave traces but from coins take a print of the obverse.
Why? Cause they want not heads, but what's in them. They want your head to stay ahead.
Cause when a head is spiked by tails and filled with flashy tales, it is as good as dead.
They want to help you stay afloat - forget about the raft, think bigger, think of a boat.
Like evergreen crickets they ask you to disburse your fears and reverse your tears.

They ask not for a penny, just a thought or two, not many.
Like the ***** eyed and slightly sane miss Moneypenny.
Some call it a gift, many a curse. A curse the bohém can inverse
cause they submerse spirit in a lyrical sea and lower the stars for you to see.

Remember and beware, if you reward them with something as simple a stare,
you could be blinded by a hearty glare. Now you've been reminded, all's fair and square.
So why not just stay there? It's just your spirit they may ensnare like a hare,
only to mend it's wounded knee so that it can again hop away and be free.

Art is the heart of the bohém and their heart is their art.
So if you ever want to, thank them not with money but with a snack,
sprinkle a piece of your heart with honey. They'll bite it and give you two back.
Eat one too and make like a dove to flee to the place you really want to be.
Ride the waves like Nikolai's bumblebee and fulfill your uncharted destiny.
26/08/11
756

One Blessing had I than the rest
So larger to my Eyes
That I stopped gauging—satisfied—
For this enchanted size—

It was the limit of my Dream—
The focus of my Prayer—
A perfect—paralyzing Bliss—
Contented as Despair—

I knew no more of Want—or Cold—
Phantasms both become
For this new Value in the Soul—
Supremest Earthly Sum—

The Heaven below the Heaven above—
Obscured with ruddier Blue—
Life’s Latitudes leant over—full—
The Judgment perished—too—

Why Bliss so ******* disburse—
Why Paradise defer—
Why Floods be served to Us—in Bowls—
I speculate no more—
Heather Wright May 2013
I can’t take it anymore
I am going crazy
You’re a bore
Your just so ******

All you do is lie
Your pretty good at it
You just make people cry
I am sick of your ****

Who do you think you are?
Do you think you can lie to my face?
I know about her
Your just a disgrace

I hear what you say when I am not around
You disgust me
I hope you have a melt down
And even your friends agree

Call me what you want
No ones listening
Because your so arrogant
But great acting

So you say to my friends I am the liar
To protect yourself of course
Your just adding fuel to the fire
I wish you would just disburse

I hope you find a girl someday
That breaks your heart just like you’ve done before
But that’s ok
Because I will never be yours
Nat Lipstadt Nov 2013
The Riddle

One of you has seen my face.
One of you knows where I live.
Stuff. Important stuff,
like the locale of
my hidey-holes.

My email and my
cell disclosed
soon to be
on sale on eBay
for a trifling sum.

So now I must
disburse to parts
more remote,
reappear in a
nouveau identity.

Just a necessary precaution.

Moreover, methinks
you have grown
tired of my waning voice,
waxing ineloquently,
opining too frequently.

feel like a
thick wooly straw
welcome mat,
edges unravelling,
grown raggedy,
roundabout the edges,
or like a
paperback book,
tho well thumbed,
nonetheless,
consigned to the
bye-bye
discard box.

riddle me,
me be the riddle,
when I scribe
under a new
Nom de Plume.

will you recognize,
my signature
hid amidst the
restless words that
still need a home?

are my poems
worthy of a
second glance,
do you predispose
your attentions on
your favorites only,
the newbies squeaking
ignored and unattended,
whose ranks I have
now rejoined?

did you ever meet
a poem
you did not like?
did you ever greet
a poet
with palms
outwardly raised,
saying, no mas,
had enough,
no time for you
and your
clouded clarifications?

need you.
need you to judge me,
without the saddlebags of
predisposition and imposition.

if you need me
just give me a
loud holler
in my sleepy hollow.

tho sadly my
country road,
has listening posts
on the telephone wires,
I will know, when.
you call,
your voice,
I will come,
if you ask,
always.

I'll be riddling
in plain sight,
if you have the taste
for and of me,
you will find me
soon enough.

HOWEVER,
in emergencies
all you need dial,
my digital signature,
911 and
ask for the
Poetry Hotline.
Apachi Ram Fatal Jun 2017
loot the ***** boot the rich
Hang the snitch emancipate the
itch madness a bit saintly
Pitch a fast curve kick sadness
to the curb of broken dreams
It seems a thing of the past blast
passed the failure your always
will be searching for that someone that is me you irritate my peace of mind when will you finally leave me alone the thirst for success
Irresistible i cant reach without you in the drivers seat a deadbeat\

rhino walking softly carries a big
gun to compute the poverty disburse the novelty mute the donkey
Shoot up the ****** groove\
superb lock stock two smoking barrels manup positions dapple improve\
dry too flimsy ripple status quo fluid stain wet into a puddle strain\
stable ground disintegrate cry squabble hone grin refute scrabble tunnel\
cruising off a shotgun bang what up with that thang show her off hang *****\
sting know how ripe ***** in demand bite inflicting raw election dangle TLC\
exposed suckle foreplay bare the doom shielded knuckle brass boots ******* HooT\
BooM on blast mettle to the pedal sass passing windows fast exhaust throttle\
fastlane straddle last shrine wine tire popping the wealthy snoot channelside\
stealthy snoop crank dogg sly filthy in hind charlie brown restrain grand sighs\
define the grime be kind foresee the crime rewind lakhaim frame spine spinning\
wheel ordeals repeal sick figures concealed pinning children against frontal lobes\

memory versus\

skulls lost salam to lucifer in a frantic relay replay demonic delay foiling shalom\
band alaykoum in purse fulfilling evil curse droopy eyed fools drooling pearl pool\
diluting verses sheet smarts versions saluting sheer farce shuffling back\ rank pipe crack\
tears smear contract around virus rooms chasing bail resisting a ***** toned\
smears contract around virus rooms chasing bail resisting a ***** toned\
frown talking to walls of jail houses crowned end dead thread landfill clowns\
bumping heads bunk bed trash courthouse playground twisting ***** fits\
battered butter mutter peace cross the street forgetting to put up and fight\
shiest with height heist barren on the other side green lyres setting fear steep lower\
reflection revel mirrors deflection inflicting Ghostface highness pace rhymeless chase Killah\

stoke shady slim phone in remaining senses detain impurity capitulating dexterity fuse\
recluse stan granting badass roundhouse kicks rudimental trick chant chatterbox vamp\
underworld stick centerfold haunting Rancid activate superlative octave erupt glee\
sharply whiplash ash out the masses entrance serendipity multiply sentimental divide\
invincible prime knowledge footprint stepping benign modicum rootline stem enticing\ cognizant fledge camaraderie hack feasibility snare clear spear stupes stare look at\
that rearview it's you ******* a pornstar in the backseat rampaged **** dripping slit swept\

weeping tantric rendition ******* loose rocking out sweep companions check and replace\
**** tighten up crews shock and strut byob bend righty tighty string along aim gift dames\
chauffeur fate slate teams honor razzle the green fire dazzle gardens retire kinder\
inspire **** arthur passion swords struck within pyramid empires cured she'll always\
                          love you truly madly deeply combined nocturnal eternal WH navel\
brighten up rooms choose floos to lose
AJ Dec 2015
I'm sitting here in a club that's very
Well it's dark,
But it's not a place for women.
And who knows,
I think it might be the thirties.

I'm surrounded by men,
All in impeccably fine suites,
I'm drinking countless martinis,
I never have to light my own cigarette,
I know this is what I do every single night.
Everyone fawns over me.

I know that I'm very powerful.
I have the power of a man.
So I act like a man.
Not *****,
Just unashamed.


Maybe I have a rich father?
That sounds right for the time.
I can tell that I am very powerful,
I already know that I am
"Breathtakingly gorgeous".

Everyone eats out of the palm of my hand,
I am fun.
I am free.
I am the untamable soul.

You know?
The one they right novels about.
The one that "got away",
Because she was a song bird,
And one that wouldn't fit in her cage.

And I am to be a married woman.
Someone will disburse my power.
I will become a miserable housewife.
I will have four children.
I will bake apple pies,
I will let my husband
Please himself using my body.
I will help with church bake sales.
I will drink.
I will drink.
I will drink.....
Pauline Morris Aug 2016
No kind of drug can help me escape this brutality
That is now my horrifying reality
There is no place I can hide or run
When life becomes the nightmare I want to wake from
My whole world has crumbled
Now desperately lost within the rubble

So thankful we always took the time to say "I love you"
Because before that branded day was through
The winds of change..... They blew

I found you, but you where already gone
Now I must learn how to say so long
You sprouted your wings and flew away
You left me here all alone to stay

I'm still in this earthly hell
This sorrowful anguish I can not quell
For how will I NOW ever vanquish the sorrow
For you are no longer in my tomorrows
How will I ever disburse the pain
That swells up my brain
For you took with you my love, my heart
Without those how do I even start

These tears that gush down my face are not for you dear friend
Nor are the wails of anguish that to the skys I send
For I know you are in a better place
I know your in a better space
Be it with your loved ones,  or in the veils darkness kept
It is for me these tears are wept

You took not only my reason to sing, ***, you where my song
Without you, how am I gonna stay strong
When everyday is at lest a week long
When I need you, there will be no loving arms
My life is now my nightmare, it's so ******* WRONG
preservationman Jan 2017
You can hit dirt, and anything else you can think of
But when it comes to true talent, it becomes an inspiration of disburse
Genius being a natural talent pond
It all happens during a grown up yond
Equations into algebraic approach and logic
Math problems with theological resolutions
Even with the balance within complexity, the theory of geometry being precise
Excellence and continued excellence beyond any world’s comprehension
Yet being an Afro American Woman, there was white male opposition being like a contest
Colored and White being issues during the Civil Rights Movement
However through it all, three Afro American Women were determined to prove they were the key in construct being the call
Those same black women were standing for all
It was a matter in being given the chance, and having capabilities to advance
Yet challengers in struggles in opposition afraid in possibilities becoming knowledge in sound figures in accuracy
Come back would meet impact
The idea of man in space
The reaches of planets and space being an accomplishment being the trace
The point of the movie, “Step out from emotions into determinations being compact
The dignity and pride in what one expresses is one’s desire in going the miles regardless
But for these three Afro American women, it was objections into victories and talent with defined results
Good reason, but it doesn’t matter even off season
A space launch with thanks to three courteous Black Women
Where anyone can set their mind to, the results become apparent
Obvious in proven and achieving in did.
tranquil Oct 2013
in the tiniest house of time
i go and search for her
amid a strike of midnight chimes
neither souls infer

in that little house i live
with fate which He ordained
for what once has gone from it
none can be regained

infinite is thy mansion lord
what faithful men do seek
walk upon time's narrow sword
on years which seasons leap

beneath sky's golden canopy
as wind winds round my neck
with a look into your eyes i feel
your breath inside my breath

into the horizon where all immerse
i've reached the brink of eternity
see all fearless slumbers disburse
into your singular immensity

see how empty lives drown
into your ocean grand
while the gulfs all wash me down
i await your touch of hand

-----------------------------------------------------------­---------------------------------

adapted from R.B. Tagore's poem - Brink of Eternity
of love which clothes our world
shadows which meets the sky
dipped in each others fullness
shall always be you and I
Many billions of years ago
five hundred super war machines were created
they were meant to be the guardians of time
but these integrated intermolecular war machines went rouge

Such bloodshed was given to star creatures
as no mercy was their war call
and for ten million years they did slaughter us
so we to made our own war machines

These one's were given five souls each
made to such perfection they could change lives
yet only twenty were ever made
which made all the Gods relieved

These super beings did hunt down the rogues
destroying them by going Nova
nineteen of the twenty lost their all
now only one lone war machine of them is left

So this last creature contracted by the first ones
now travels the universe looking for a place to die
it wants to shut down and disburse
for there is no one it's ordered to fight any more


By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
By NeonSolaris
© 2013 NeonSolaris (All rights reserved)
Ameliorate Jun 2015
Thick clouds covered the grey night sky. The air was unusually warm, sitting at just two degrees Celsius. An odd occurrence just days before Christmas. Laughter returned to my ears, bringing me back to my surroundings once more. Casting me out of the haze of a daydream I had been absorbed into.
You. Standing across from me. The blaze of the roaring bonfire being the only thing keeping me from you. Well, in my current fantasies anyways.
Despite all logic I am absorbed by you.
Your iridescent beauty, the smile which melts the deepest ice in my soul.
Just then your eyes snap up from your current conversation. You've caught me staring. We quickly look away, the rush of embarrassment and excitement so strong.
In this moment it's as if this fire burns only for us. An unspoken agreement with the universe if you will.
A romance of wood and fire.

Your hair falls into your eyes, and as you brush it away our eyes come to meet again. My breath seems to be coming in gulps now. Can you read me so clearly or am I as much of a mystery as you are to me? I want to dance with you. To feel the rush of your hands cradling my hips. The thought almost brings me to my knees and with that you're no longer in my line of vision.

"You look cold", you say and with that your arm wraps around my shoulder. Holding me tightly to your body. I could collapse right now and die happy. You're so casual about the whole thing I wonder if you've even been aware of the attraction I have to you.
Instinctively I nestle closer into your shoulder and I'm surprised to feel you tighten your hold on me.
My thoughts dance around the idea of putting my arm around your waist but I decide not to.
"Thanks, that's better" I laugh nervously.
"This fire really is quite beautiful", Cat says from somewhere beside me.
I smile in agreement, for it is a lovely night.
A million stars would be plotted across the sky if not for the cloud cover and the bare trees would make for the perfect canopy.

Slowly people disburse, wandering back into the confines of the garage. The snow is falling heavy now, big chunks of snowflakes sprinkles down on us layering in our hair and our  jackets.
And then it's just the two of us.
The nervous energy sending sparks through my body. I hope you don't pick up on it.
I slink out of your arms to rotate my backside towards the fire which causes you to laugh deeply. "You're one funny girl" you say. I don't know who is shining brighter.
I want to tear your clothes off.
For you to feel the passion raging through my body as I lust after you.
I want you to scream out with pleasure as I wrap myself around you....
You're standing in front of me again, inches from my body.
The ember of the fire burning red off your eyes.
I stand here wondering if I see the hint of desire in your eyes, or if it's just the reflection of fire, speaking for you. Telling your secrets.
  
Nearly knocking me off balance your lips are now heavy on mine.
Catching me so off guard I am almost rendered incapable of kissing you back.
When I find my footing I kiss you back hard.
Throwing all of my time spent watching you into it.
The times I just wanted to tell you how **** I found you.
Your tongue slips past my lips, lightly brushing against mine.
A harmony
You control this kiss, I am in it as long as you carry forth.
Our passion is coursing through my veins now. Every piece of me wants you to just take me now. Right here by the fire.
You eventually break away and I'm left gasping for air.
The taste of your mint gum lingers in my mouth.
We smile, and I am left stunned.
A winter time love story
Picture this Sep 2015
When those too quick to judge and to deride,
Critics, who like the wind blow hot and cold
Extravagantly praise, bolstering pride,
Turn to abuse to stop you in your stride.
They are but loose leaves rattling in the wind,
Never settle or grow foundation seed.
Thrive on the swell and relish the rescind,
******* at life like leaches as they feed.
Never court or please those who praise or curse,
Ignore your critics as they soon disburse.
Nadim Choudhury Oct 2018
There you joked, striking me.
Fun and joy,
it overwhelmed me.
I joked back, striking too.
Word to Word we played and danced.
Time drew, as we pushed and pulled,
burned and pranced.
The flames danced. A dangerous one, warm to us and us alone,
We went on and on.
Midnight came, yet we still played.
Tired and full of bliss,
we slept at a distance ,
Falling in each other modern arms.
The norm was not the norm with us,
We where different,
A dangerous different.
But did we care?
NO!
And so we embraced in our puzzled form,
which only us could see and feel.
Dumb and dull, words outside our ring rang,
Yet did we answer?
No!
... Or was it yes?
Did not matter, I was lost,
Our words no longer clashed and pushed,
No force was spoken or seen,
Even in our puzzled form.
The norm had struck and now was seen.
Our circle clasped, the flame disburse.
It's heat lingered and stuck.
Dull and hurt, I now grasped,
blinded by all.
Striking nothing,
I fell deep,
becoming one with the abyss.
Black.
Void.
Senseless.
Deeper and Deeper I fell.
The lingering flame clawed and struck,
Reaping me slow till nothing stuck.

It was a summer I recalled, in between my first and second,
Where the flame of youth had burned out.
And now with my beaten senses dull like norm,
The metal dug itself at the back of my mind.
A final swig of societies trust and a sharp known grasp of metal,
The lingering flame had finally died out.
A mans first fall to the despair known as heartbreak. The construction of this road off the ashes of his romance.
Michael Rucker Jan 2017
To be honest, it's kind of a "blind distaste."
Resembling the last pill you swallow but gag on, for the simple fact it's "getting old."
It takes on the form of a psychological car crash,
no tame draw, only relentless disburse.
An art form content with an incomplete canvas.
Drunk nights, carrying a worn body down the hallway, stumbling over nothing.
Mark Tilford Sep 2015
Well being, it's a curse!
The brains waves it will disburse
With it's nonsense verse
Leading us to the bad that we will be submersed
Saving it's good intentions
and
Nothing  will  be reimbursed
Causing such thirst
Making it come first
Seeing the worst
Sometimes it plays over in your head
as though it was being rehearsed
Not allowing you to dread
It moves you fast ahead
No speaking of it's intention
always unsaid
It's intentions are well designed
causing your state of mind
only from one mind
your mind
Maybe not of sound mind
or a opened mind
it's intention is to close your mind
to undermine
Listen to it
It will be hard to stay of sound mind


Most powerful,
The subconscious mind
!!
The bath fills,
the bottle,
pills.

Slipping down into the deep,
there's a duck floating by
I bet he's wondering why,
black dots on the ceiling
give me the feeling
I'm floating
in space.

Lungs contract
expand
contract,
disburse the air,
knock, knock
who's there?

I don't really care.

I'm safe below the waterline.
Wk kortas Dec 2016
They’d signed on for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health,
Though they’d never dreamed that poor and sick
Would arrive with such ferocity,
Such vengeance, such utter malice.
Difficult to say how they found their way
To this particular section of down:
Too little of a taste for the three R’s, too much for two-buck chuck,
The whys, wherefores, and timelines not mattering much
When you’re falling ***-over-teacup Jack-and-Jill style down life’s hill.
They’d tumbled far enough to be holed up
In the front room of a structure approximating a house
Down on Elizabeth Street,
Looking like a Home Sweet Home a six-year old might draw,
Stairs, doorways, and window casings
All uneven and madly impressionist,
The thing not particularly successful at being air or water-tight
(If the folks from animal welfare found a dog in the place,
They’d be likely to go in and get it somewhere safe.)
They are huddled under what sheets and afghans
The nuns from Saint Rose were able to cobble together for them
And so they lay in ancient and unsteady sofa-like objects,
All but unable to move
(Though if he groans and thrashes enough to bare arms and legs,
She will summon something from somewhere
And painfully shuffle over to him
To retrieve and re-arrange his coverings)
Nowhere to go, no one to go see or to come see them,
Little left to do but wait for God
(Closer to Jordan than the Hudson,
Far as rivers go
, he is wont to say)
To belatedly disburse some mercy, divine or otherwise,
Then to be pine-boxed and potter’s-fielded.
They have never see fit to ask any why-thems:
Little time for such luxuries, perhaps,
Or maybe the questions and answers simply more of a burden
Than the already over-burdened can bear,
Or maybe, as she said to one of the nuns
Who comes now and then to do what little they can,
Lord reveals things to us in a whisper,
And an angry stomach and shiverin’ bones
Conspire to make such a woeful noise
.
Kq Feb 2018
curving inward
away from the packed suitcases
moving into the rose
quiet in the bundle of the peg lights
a doll whispers about being on display
about the death of feminism
the intersections of being inatimate
stripped of covering
surrounded by cloth
the swings pout in the windows
the chill keeps farmers hands out of dirt
the frost creates in ways we cannot
and the touch of the walls is velvet
is acrylic paint, is object jutting
the onions in the pan are browning
the oil hops up and halts on stomach
everything is panneled
conglomerate, patched, zero waste
a compost larger than a parking space
imagining our solutions for landfills
imagining the reflections of who we have been
planning to leave a gift of words
to send paper across country
even egg cartons will fall
all of this will falter
all of this will crash, disburse, forget, remember
a fabric child is older than we
she is staring
unable to blink, to escape, to step back,
how lucky, to be mobile
though just having wheels or legs is not enough
how much crying will we do before we realize
we are not bound
how much longer will i pretend that i can last
when i picture you
your eyes are averted
the hiding, the distance
i want to be able to say i will wait
i wish that i could promise it to you
but i am angry
angry that you cant snap forward for us
step into what we were once building
i see that you are trying, love
i do.
i need to know if i am trying.
if i am willing, or forcing, or flowing.
all of this is nonsense in this moment.
i am not going anywhere.
but i may,
i have to let you know that i may.
it only seems fair, though it is heartbreak in letters and being stuck to stare at the weapon.
i will freeze and sit on a shelve, never age, but wear away and display the past for you. memories only molecular. memories only dust.
Belief:

Jesus describes three kinds of soil
Upon which we labor. Toil.

1. We disburse seed upon the edge
Of the way, the trodden verge
There no soft place to plant is found
Hungry birds peck seed from ground.

2, The second type produces shoot
Joyful! Laughing! But no root.
No soil but rock 1 inch under
The seedling dies, it's no wonder...

3. This growth's root indeed goes down
But a choking **** beside is found!
The plant is stunted, has meager shoots
No wonder! It had twisted roots!

Faith:

Now, there was a different kind of ground called Faith,
It buried seed and gave it grace.
The loam produced so much grain
The Soft soil and spirit rain!
So much fruit grew right there
that harvesting workers laborers shared!

There's a difference between belief and faith
Only the last will see God's face.
Only deep roots produce rich trees
One must dig deep to produce these!


SoulSurvivor aka
Write of Passage
Diffd
thelonious Sep 2023
The monkey strives for both abode
Japan devout the flame in road
Iran disburse a name it mutes
The donkey runs his mane computes

We fish and sleep believe a sheep
It's further than we see, the neap
Our mother calls the hen unknown
We sign and dream return to home

Sled fast conceive that in whiplash hues
Feel fat step back the stars confuse
Petite croissant exist embrace
Averse baguette awoke efface.
Man Mar 10
Disburse of false truths,
Of complex ones that hinge on the day.
For it is ever so changing
And will be gone before being ready.
Live with the simple ones, like love
Those timeless classics
Which none among us
May ever truly corrupt.
And those things that branch from it
Like kindness, patience, compassion

— The End —