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if i remember accurately he puts hand between her thighs she gets wet her body tells him she wants him she puts hand between his thighs she feels hardness his body tells her he wants her a little blue pill and KY lotion don’t convey anything except maybe we’re too old for this sexuality was once the most defining intention in life but not anymore when youth perspire it smells **** when elderly sweat it’s malodorous yet in another breath old people are more appreciative know the hurt humiliation of neglect invisibility they secretly harbor passions beyond contemporary standards old age is ground zero for truly authentic perversity desires unfulfilled in youth



i don’t remember when the disenchantment began was it part of some greater change Dad’s illness death leaving Chicago my dog’s passing 9/11 or simply old age at some point my life stopped feeling like adventure all the crazy dreams aims aspirations cravings longings insatiable hungers wild experiments beautiful women everything slowly fading away leaving only ghostly empty disenchantment a profound sad knowing the world is never going to heal get better the whole brutally honest realization greed corruption poisonous toxins overpopulation think tanks planet candidates anger hatred atrocities will triumph i know i must not listen to this voice inside me these feelings of disenchantment if i can learn to heal myself and try my hardest to love forgive others than i will succeed in this harsh existence no matter what the world does



in my garden grows an abundant jalapeño patch i share it with my postman Fernando he picks ripe peppers for his wife Barbara she makes salsa with the jalapeños then Fernando shares Barbara’s salsa with me anyway Fernando served 6 years in the Marines and is of Mexican descent he recently told me a story about a holiday he shared with 2 fellow Marines at a ******* beach in southern Spain Fernando described a seashore bustling with many women exposing their ******* all of a sudden Fernando spotted this amazingly gorgeous long legged female wearing nothing but flimsy string thong she walked into a cantina the 3 Marines followed Fernando's buddy set up tripod behind amazingly gorgeous long legged woman and started shooting Fernando explained she turned enraged yelling at the Marines i commented to Fernando his Marine buddy ought to have first asked consent he replied we knew we should have but who gives a **** we’re Americans everybody knows Americans are ******* when people from other countries find out you’re American they deliberately treat you like an *******



October is pivotal April May June July August September mornings shine bright early dusk comes late then suddenly October bursts on scene changes everything mornings grow darker days end sooner October is the culprit this month 5 Fridays 5 Saturdays 5 Sundays old dog painfully arthritic legs climb stairs sound of waves crashing against shoreline distant stars in night sky cooler breezes blow whiff of death in air harvest your wheat oats barley cook your squash last of corn tomatoes eat your pumpkin pie swig your cider you know what’s next now familiar footsteps tread on path come to take you home back to place before the beginning you’ve got to pick up every stitch must be the season of the witch



Mom spoke about memory a fogginess she says comes over her she began by admitting she realizes how she camouflages so people won't notice how bad she truly is because they might not want to be with her she says it does not scare her it is just part of getting older she recognizes it in her friends Mom says she very much wants to remain independent she knows her house how to maneuver in it she feels angry she didn't sell the apartment when the market was better though she loves her home does not want to ever wind up in residence for the aged does not want anyone living with her she is used to living alone doesn't like idea of a caregiver in the house this passage is difficult for her in a new way somehow i think the difficult challenge for us all now is how to help Mom manage on her own and continue to empower her with dignity she is a brave woman turning 90 in late October woman descending a staircase
Harsh May 2015
I have a lot of pent-up fear;
many things really do terrify me.

I’ve never really been comfortable in the dark,
my imagination has never granted me that luxury.
Phantasms from almost 15 years ago follow me in the shadows.

I’ve always enjoyed looking out at a cityscape
from the top of a tower or building
but I’ve never let go of the railing.
I haven’t let myself come close to the edge,
my back against the wall.
I’m too scared of falling.

I’ve been harrowed by many things,
but one demon reigns over them all.

I’m really scared of disenchantment.

I’m scared that the very reasons that I was initially loved for
will eventually become the reasons I am detestable.

I’m scared my determination and perseverance
will turn into me being stubborn and close-minded.
I’m scared that my sweet thoughts and caring nature
will transform into me being clingy and suffocating.

I’m afraid that all the reasons you love me
will turn into the reasons why you regret.
I don’t know why I want
What I want from you
As if I had no other option
Than to fall back into this addiction
As if you were the only choice
I have
The only voice
I hear
Among all this noise
I know you’re not right for me
But every time we get closer
You abuse your power
And take me over
With that influence
You have on me
That doesn’t make me think clearly
I don’t trust my judgment anymore
I don’t even care to pretend
Everything is under control
I just want to be alone
But I can’t do it if you keep showing at my door
Standing there so tall
Looking at me
A fairytale prince
That makes me want to believe
One last time
Or at least one more night
You ask me one last dance
One more chance to make it right
We could be king and queen
To rule the world
Or even this empty town
But our time has run out
The spell is broken now
And you disappeared without notice
As I expected
And all I am left with
Is disenchantment.
Max Ehrmann May 2017
Go placidly amid the noise and haste,
and remember what peace there may be in silence.
As far as possible without surrender
be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly;
and listen to others,
even the dull and the ignorant;
they too have their story.
Avoid loud and aggressive persons,
they are vexations to the spirit.
If you compare yourself with others,
you may become vain and bitter;
for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.
Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.
Keep interested in your own career, however humble;
it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.
Exercise caution in your business affairs;
for the world is full of trickery.
But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;
many persons strive for high ideals;
and everywhere life is full of heroism.
Be yourself.
Especially, do not feign affection.
Neither be cynical about love;
for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment
it is as perennial as the grass.
Take kindly the counsel of the years,
gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.
But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings.
Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.
Beyond a wholesome discipline,
be gentle with yourself.
You are a child of the universe,
no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you,
no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.
Therefore be at peace with God,
whatever you conceive Him to be,
and whatever your labors and aspirations,
in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.
With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams,
it is still a beautiful world.
Be cheerful.
Strive to be happy.
aar505n Dec 2015
I don't know what I want in this world.
I don't know what is worthwhile on this Earth that can make me smile.

It keeps spinning
And I keep turning over in my mind -
Does mankind even know what it wants?
Are we in love or just bored?
Filling up time before we're buried,
Chasing our tails and tales of how to live.
Tired of this town - strive to leave before it gets you down.
And when you leave you'll take the town with you and start again.

So the Earth keeps spinning.
And I stop smiling at what we think is worthwhile.
Because I don't know, maybe,
I don't want this world.
Waking up feeling fresh and disenchanted with the human condition
(Also I feel like I could add to this so it's a possible rough draft)
bones Mar 2015
I've been watching
the band for
so long
I can dance
like I almost
belong
and I've learned
every word of
the song
but I'm ******
if I'm singing
along...
Madison Aug 2018
Our story's beginnings are rather plain
Set in a town built on the mundane.
In this town, there lived a boy
Devoid of ambition, love, or joy.

He sleepwalked through his days
Aimless and alone.
Drowning in a melancholy haze
He longed for something lovely to call his own.

Now, I shan't tell you the young man's name
For fear he'd hang his head in shame
But his story you should know.
For it's not the name that marked this boy
But the places he would go.  

One day, an idea dawned
To take a day trip out of town.
The boy made a map
And a line was drawn
To the path he would walk down.

He followed the map with surprising ease
Over the hills and through the trees.
Though the boy was thrilled
He couldn't wrap his mind
Around the treasure
He would soon find.

The path came to an end
Without the map's warning
Causing the boy's plans to upend
Before it was even midmorning.
But the boy was in awe
Despite the offset.
He knew what he saw
He would not soon forget.
In the middle of the golden field
Stood a tall ivory castle.
His chronic disenchantment healed
The boy vowed to see inside
Whatever the hassle.

So he searched for a door
Until he could search no more.
He attempted to climb
With no regard for time.
He searched for a ****
Or a lock
Or a key.
Only when he was about to give up
Did the answer break free.

Against all reason
The castle began to glow.
When the transformation came to completion
A strange voice let him know.

"Come in," coaxed the disembodied voice
Honeyed and assured.
Feeling as if he had no choice
Inside, the boy was lured.

"My, you are a rude one," the voice began to chide.
"A lady invites you into her home, and without a word, you come inside?
I'm not expecting you to write me a sonnet, but at least have a bit of tact!
If we're being honest, boy, I believe your manners lack."

Sure this was some sort of stunt
The boy calmly shook his head.
"Forgive me, Miss, for being so blunt
But I believe the fault is yours instead.
You expect me to believe I was propositioned
By a castle that spoke?
I am certain one of my peers commissioned
Some sort of pricey joke.
I'm sorry, Castle Lady Dear
But I must be on my way.
I'm afraid I can't stay here
Perhaps we'll finish another day.
It's truly nothing personal
I simply have a hunch
That if I stick around for now
I'll miss my mother's lunch."

The boy turned on his heel
Not saying any more.
He soon let out a pitiful squeal
When he found there was no longer a door.

The Castle Lady countered his squeal
With a sinister cackle.
"Did you really believe you could leave me here
Without it becoming a debacle?
I'm sorry, dear
But for now
To this place, you are shackled."

Heart suddenly stricken with fear
The boy's eyes filled with tears
And he began to cry.
"Please let me go!" he cried out.
"I am far too young to die!"

Much to the boy's chagrin
The Castle Lady only laughed again.
"Goodness me, my dear!
You must be some sort of fool!
I do not plan to **** you here.
How could I ever be so cruel?"

Angered by the castle woman's taunts
The boy's eye began to twitch.
"If you won't **** me, what do you want?
Let me go, you witch!"

Unphased by his outburst
The Castle Lady simply tsked.
"Are you sure the witch is me
When you're the one being so mean?
I know what a statement this might be
But I believe you're the meanest boy I've seen.
But you can relax
For I've had my fun.
I simply have a favor to ask
Before you turn and run."

Against all logic
And stranger-danger talks
The notion of adventure
Overpowered his urge to balk.
"What is it?" he asked the Castle Lady
As curiosity struck.
When the Castle Lady responded
He could not believe his luck.

"Resting in one of my rooms
Is an awe-inspiring prize.
It holds power and beauty few men ever get to witness
With their own two eyes.
In fact, it holds too much power
So much that it's making me sick.
Only the brightest of young men can bear it
And you're the one I've picked."

The boy's heart raced.
For that prize, he yearned.
Still, he said:
"There must be some mistake.
Are you sure this is a prize I've earned?"

Overtaken by laughter
The Castle Lady began to roar.
"I am not that sick, dear boy!
Of course I am sure!
I can not make any mistake
No matter how small.
Didn't your mother teach you
That divine beings know all?
Now, you are an imaginative lad
With the charisma to match.
I'd dare say you are the best equipped child
Out of the local batch."

The boy couldn't help but crack a grin
Flattered by the Castle Lady's assessment.
"I suppose you must be right, then.
Now where do I get my present?"

"It is not a difficult journey at all," the Castle Lady replied.
"Just walk a bit down this here hall
And look to your left side."

Suddenly, the room filled with bright light
To help him find his way around.
In saying the journey was not difficult, the Castle Lady was right
As another glowing doorway
Was soon found.

"Very good, you clever boy!" the Castle Lady cried.
"Just give your fingers a quick snap
And take a step inside."

Proudly, the boy followed her advice.
The snap of his fingers reverberated
Sounding quite nice.
Secretly, the simple action
Gave him a small thrill
For he was the only child in his town
Who had such a skill.

Just as the lady promised
The door opened right away.
Thus, he took that fateful step inside
As she said he may.

Alas, it seemed the boy had been cheated by his wanderlust.
The only thing inside the room
Was a wooden box
Coated in dust.

All sense of wonder gone
The boy was certain it was a trick.
"You horrid con!
What in here is making you sick?"

Unamused, the Castle Lady sighed.
This was not the first time a child had thought she lied.
"You're jumping to conclusions, boy.
I'm not that sly a fox.
If you want to find the treasure
Look inside the box."

Begrudgingly, the boy obliged
Lifting up the top.
In the moment he saw what was inside
The whole world seemed to stop.

The boy's jaw dropped
As the box glowed
As if it contained all of heaven's rumored light.
It was true that he was unlikely
To ever again see such a wonderful sight.

"Well?" the Castle Lady inquired.
"Would you like to keep it?
You have all the qualities required
It's only fair that you reap it."

"Of course I'd like to keep it," said the boy.
"But what should I do?
What power do I have
To take care of this box
Any better than you?"

"The box can do anything," said the Castle Lady.
"Perhaps that's why I can not have it.
Still, you need not engage in special care and keeping
Or develop any new habits.

The box can do whatever you wish
Cure disease and famine
Or make your family rich.
I can not tell you what to do
Just use your own discretion.
Besides, it wouldn't truly be yours to use
If you did so under my direction.
So simply take it home
And do with it what you will
But before you choose to roam
I have one more message for you still."

Holding the box to him
The boy lifted an ear
Regarding her as a friend.
"What is it, Castle Lady?
Please say what needs to be said!"

When she spoke again
The boy could swear her voice contained a smile.
"When you leave me, the castle will come to an end
And this part of me will be dead.
Though I'd love for you to stay a while
So we could become better acquainted
I'm afraid that would be against the rules
And the prophecy would be tainted.
So, clever boy
For now, I'll bid you adieu.
You deserve to be given joy
And I hope that is what the box will do."

No sooner than she spoke
Did the castle vanish
In a puff of smoke.
Once again, the boy stood in the field.
In his hands rested the box
The closed lid keeping its powers concealed.
Somewhere between satisfied and sad.

He gave her a eulogy
However unorthodox.
"Goodbye, Castle Lady Dear, I enjoyed our little talks.
Maybe we'll meet in another world...
Oh, and thank you for the box!"
Having said all he needed to say
The boy knew he should be leaving soon.
He turned to walk the other way.
Walking home, his fingers snapped a tune.

It wasn't long before the whole town
Knew about his treasured box.
The boy made sure all his friend knew.
In school, he stopped all of the clocks.

He provided his class with great delight.
As a school day
Melted away
Into a Friday night.
The grown-ups none the wiser
He pulled off the perfect crime.
Forever the improvisor
He also did away with bedtime.

He gave his family money
As the Castle Lady said he could.
Though his old bullies looked at him funny
His clothes had never looked so good.

He gave himself popularity
A Labrador puppy
A brand new bike.
The ones who teased him
Spoke apologetically
And there wasn't a single girl
By whom he wasn't liked.

It wasn't long, however
Before the fun began to fade.
As much power as he had, he never intended
To share his gift with his whole grade.

"Can you tell me
If my pet goldfish is really watching from above?"
"Can you please help me
Make my parents fall back in love?"
"Can you make it so that
My grandpa isn't sick anymore?"
"Can you invent a robot
To help me do my chores?"
"Can you make sure
That my family keeps our home?"
"Oh-- and while you're at it
Help me write my girlfriend a nice poem?"

Alas, the boy paid no mind
To their wants and needs.
He had left his charitable days behind
In favor of his newfound greed.
Though his box could do anything
It really wasn't his job.
No matter what happiness to others it might bring
Of his power, he'd feel robbed.

He didn't know that at night
His friends went home to cry
Asking their nonexistent treasured boxes
"If he can have something special
Why can't I?"

Life went on like this
Until one day, he was greeted by a bird.
It landed on his shoulder
And hissed,
"You'll never guess what I heard."

The boy was quite frightened
Both by the bird's familiar voice
And what it said.
Still, his eyes brightened
When he shouted
"Castle Lady?
I thought that you were dead!"

"Too bad," the bird crowed.
"For I'm very much alive.
And I figure you should know
I won't allow you to continue to connive."

At her choice of words
The boy sputtered.
"What do you mean, bird?"
He nervously stuttered.

The Bird Lady stared at him
With beady black eyes.
"I mean, I saw what you've done with your gift
And I was unpleasantly surprised.
You didn't disrupt any tradition.
I told you to do what you would.
It was just that I had the premonition
That you'd use your power for good.
You're no better than any of your classmates
You silly sap!
Did it ever occur to you
That you were only picked
Because you can snap?
When my last life came to an end
You thanked me for the box
And ran home to your mother.
My spirit would have been able to rest
If you had used the box to help others.
I am older than most earthly things
And some sights I've seen are hellish.
This in mind
It's beyond me
Why you'd choose to be so selfish.
See, this box was once mine
Changing owners as it does
And when it fell into my hands I wished
To be anything but the girl I was.
From then on, I've been trapped
In the form of many objects
And, whenever I try to go from this world to the next
Fate always interjects.
I'm the keeper of this box
Until it falls into the hands of someone good enough
And I'm here to say, dear boy
I'm afraid you must give it up."

Without warning
The boy broke down
Dropping to his knees.
For the first time since that fateful day
His sense of superiority ceased
And truth began to reign.
Head in his hands, he grieved
For those he had caused pain.

The Bird Lady remained by his side
Trying her hardest to soothe.
"Now, clever boy, you need not cry
But the box does need to move.
Now, I need you to calm down and listen to me
And let me make myself clear.
I need you to go to the sea
And that's the last wish you will make here."

Suddenly, the boy understood.
When it was far too late, he used his powers for good.
So he wished for the ocean, heeding the Bird Lady's advice.
The two of them were at the beach
Before he could think twice.

"Very good," the Bird Lady praised.
"All you have to do now is let go.
Don't worry, my dear boy
When the box finds its forever home
I'll be sure to let you know."

The boy nodded.
With shaking hands, he looked down.
Taking a deep breath, he dropped the box
And all his wrongdoings drowned.

"Thank you very much," the Bird Lady chirped.
"Now, relax, and let your conscience be cleared.
You can go home
And I'll take it from here.
One last thing
I should tell you, my friend.
All this can be fixed
If you just have an ear to lend.
No matter how heartfelt
Apologies only take you so far.
What you should do now
Is fix your regrets with actions
To show them what a lovely boy you are."

With that
The Bird Lady dove
Picking up the box with her magnificent beak.
The boy returned home
With redemption to seek.

All these years later
Our nameless boy is now a man.
He's ordinary, yes
But ordinary is good enough.
He doesn't look down on others
Or even try to act tough.
Though he's no longer a heartthrob
One girl remained by his side.
When she is there
He never has to hide.
When a friend has a problem
He is there to listen.
And, though he holds no glowing box
His eyes still glisten.


Meanwhile, our Lady's soul
Now rests within a spaniel dog.
Though the box still has no permanant owner
She doesn't think it will be long.
Though that might seem unlikely
Divine beings do know all
Though everyone makes mistakes
Both big and small.
She may chastise others
For poor choices and self-control
But in the end, she knows the box only needs one thing:
To be cared for by a beautiful soul.
T R Wingfield Jan 2017
Ours was like fireworks
in the summer sky
Radiant,
       Iridescent,
                   Incredulous,
                              Alive
but the finale came suddenly, unexpectedly soon,
& the band played on,
as if nothing had changed,
as if a fountain of sparkling embers and flame
had not just erupted mere inches away.
And now,
where explosions once seared summer's sky with crackling thunderous incandescent delight
Only whispers and wisps of smoke remain,
Scattered by the breeze,
Whithered, then, by rain.
And of the evening's reveries precious little can be found:
some soured beer in crumpled cans, discarded haphazardly
surrounding a threadbare picnic bedspread
rumpled beneath the branches of an ancient live oak tree.
Dew now wet where lovers once had lain,
staring up into the night
in wonder, ignorant of such banal things
like: masquerading lust in love's robes, declaring,
"I've never loved a love as deep as the love I have for you,"
and truly being unaware of the uncanny substitute;
Or the unbridled disenchantment unleashed by abandonment
and the inevitable transience of an insufferable pain.

We ****** on bar balcony balustrades, over looking city streets.
We ditched tampons into trees rather than wait to satisfy our needs.
We left your ******* in a planter
on a patio under an eve
On purpose, So that some poor, unassuming shop-keep
Would find them
(along with cigarette butts and an empty bag of ****)
and have no choice but think to themselves,
"Did someone **** here?"
and then immediately understand the answer is
"Yes. Exuberantly!"

We defiled. every. place. we went;
giggling with glee at all of our indiscretions.

Oh how many indiscretions could there possibly be?
We shall know;
All of them!

And so we did,

And we were free.



On new years eve I carried you piggyback in your peacock blue sequined gown through the streets of our ****-soaked-gutter-of-a-town.
You were barefoot, drunk, and refusing to be told what to do,
that you had to wear your shoes,
that the streets were far to ***** and dangerous for your tender little feet- you said "Just let me be, It's fine. It wont **** me..."
then, looking at the gutter, continued,
"probably.
And these shoes already are, so..." sticking out your tongue
But I couldn't put you down.
Not in that place, not at that time.
Nor did I even want to. I could have carried you all night
(which was fortunate, because for most of itI did.)
We were declared the city's cutest couple by a stranger on the sidewalk whom we passed while galloping down the street, you, giggling, alight upon my back, running at full speed. This declaration was reaffirmed by everyone met.

A pixie, you know, will always trip you up
(they're natural pranksters you see).
Their magic is undeniable, but oh what trouble they can be.

- My toothsome little faerie - You meant trouble for me;
but what a beautiful, beguiling mess you turned out to be,

You snuck pixie dust into everywhere we went, and
Dispensed it with abandon-
Spread it like caution to the wind.
Sanctifying everything and everyone we met.
That poor city was baptized in our joy.
It's sins washed into glittering gutters,
where we lay sparkling, genuine and loved.


We broke the records that night,
all of them, known and not.

We loved harder than diamond,
than a trailer-hitch to the shin,
Deeper than the fathoms of the trenches at the bottom of the sea.

We made soulmates seem like strangers.
We spoke nonsense fluently.
We shared mind and body, food and drink,
and careless wanton play.

It was

The most
     *******
          Fun
   I've ever had
       in my life...

Probably the most that I ever will.


Every moment I was with you had
the sizzle and the tease
of a bottle-rocket, lit
and held between my teeth.

I knew that I'd get burned
If I held it to the end,
But I did it just to prove I could;
To prove to me
That I was brave enough
To be unashamed
  To be unafraid
   To be.
First draft catharsis.
Second draft refined.
Third draft- shape and tone, structure and rhyme.

I've been holding on to some very dense emotional pain relating to a relationship which, for lack of a better word, collapsed. When it did, I was buried by my depression, and sank into drug and alcohol addiction. The depression and drugs had taken there toll on the relationship, but I couldn't not understand why someone who had loved and been loved so deeply could just walk away. It took a long time to understand that it was self-preservation. And that is a hard realisation to make. Still the love we shared was enigmatic. Like nothing I've ever seen in a movie or a song or a poem. This is hardly a testament, or even a rough approximation of the experience at its finest moments, but it is a reflection. A memory. She took a piece of me when she left. One I want back desperately, but also one I know cannot be found. So I'll have to search until I find something of a similar size and shape, maybe a little larger, and cut the whole to fit.
Madison Aug 2018
He fell from heavens high

Back down to this miserable Earth

All in the interest of loving me.

He was a guardian

So pure of soul

But all I saw

Were his wings.

He promised to protect me

And kept his word

Treating me better than anyone had

In a very long time.

He lived a second time just for me

Always there to rescue his favorite broken soul.

He was the one

To drag me out of dark alleys

Take the bottle from my hands

Tell me who not to call back

Place a hand on my heart

Just when I thought I couldn't feel anything good anymore.

He danced with me to my favorite records

Taught me how to laugh again

Sang me to sleep

Offered the gentlest kiss

Without asking for anything more.

He pried me open

To see into my soul.

I found true desire

In staring at his wings.

As the days passed

Disenchantment crept back in.

Finally, I asked him

What it was like to fly.

He smiled at me

So beautifully otherworldly

And told me that

As long as I was there with him

He wouldn't dream of doing it again.

It was then that I asked him the million dollar question:

"If you don't want to fly again

Would you mind giving just one of your feathers to me?"

He stayed silent for a while

Considering

Before he reached out

And tore a single sparkling plume

From one lovely white wing.

He dropped it into my outstretched palm

Before meeting my gaze

With watering eyes.

"My love," he said.

"Never doubt that I am yours."

For a while

That one feather was all that I needed.

Alas, like all things

The passing of days

Dulled its shine.

A few nights later

I asked my angel for another

Sure he wouldn't mind.

"Please," I begged.

"Just one more."

He hesitated for only a moment

Before plucking out another.

With a smile

I took it from him

To join the previous one.

There was a sick thrill

In seeing them side-by-side

One for him

One for me.

Of course

Two wasn't good enough for long.

I plead to him on one of my hopeless nights

Dropping to my knees

Choking on tears.

"Please," I said once more.

"If you really love me, do this for me. Give me more of you."

His own eyes glistening

He ripped out a handful of glittering ivory

Shoving them into my hands.

I barely even heard his groan of agony

Over my own cries of anguish.

As my collection of feathers grew

Along with my longing for more

I hardly noticed my angel grow gaunt

Glowing skin going dull gray

Radiant smile fading away

Retreating into himself

As I stripped him

Of the badge that stated his purpose.

He gave and gave

And I took and took

Never offering anything back

Never worrying

Figuring that this --

Making me happy --

Was his job.

Not once did it occur to me

That every small sacrifice caused him so much pain

That I had changed him from a guardian angel

To a caged, flightless bird.

So I never pressed him.

Besides

How do you ask someone

If they're tearing themselves apart

To give you a piece of them?

I didn't expect it

When my angel fell into my arms

The light already leaving his beautiful eyes.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered.

"But I have to go now.

Please take care of yourself when I'm gone.

And, when you look at the feathers

Think of me."

The least I could do

Was hold him

As he faded away.

Now, I walk this miserable world alone

Two angel feathers

Hanging from my neck.

I stay away from dark alleys

Seek solace in the bottle

Screen every call

Clutch a hand to my chest

Wishing my heart would freeze back over.

I've put away the records I once loved

Muted my laugh

Let every tear dry on its own

Stay up all night

Blaming myself

Vowing to never let anyone kiss these selfish lips again.

Now, I fall to my knees

Pleading with the heavens

To let him come back to me

Save me again

Reclaim the things I took from him.

Oh, angel

Please don't do this for your next girl.
Waverly Mar 2012
*******,
hoes,
crazy,
*****.

Catch me on a friday night,
and I might
say them all.

But what I say
and what I feel
is a different
thing.

Because *******,
hoes,
womps,
don't have vocabularies
like boulders.

They can't destroy.

And with a new mindset,
I can say
a few things.

A ***** is a girl
without hope.

A ***
is a girl
that likes ****
and doesn't
like
love.

A crazy one
is a girl that gets by.

A ****
is a girl
that doesn't know the difference
between the three
and operates
on a thin line;
because *******
have treated her like ****
and no new ******
can make her think
any different.

But a girl,
alas
a
girl.

A girl
is full of love
and platitudes.

A girl
has her hands
on your heart
all the time.

She has a vocabulary
and says **** a Webster's
because she's got a new dictionary
that didn't even exist
before she let it out her mouth.

A girl
makes you re-define
the word
love,
with all its
futile resentment
and
disenchantment,
because she'll keep you coming
back
for more,
even as she says
"no,
you're talking crazy,
you gotta
go."

So trust me when I say this,
I could **** with a girl's head before,
but this girl
she's maneuvered me into thinking
about how ****** up
I
really
am.

And that's as smart
as
I've
ever
been.
K Balachandran Nov 2012
We merged in a ferocious kiss,
that happened without any design,
your lips tasted like wine, you felt-
mine the same; wasn't it divine!

then, how did that sea change, happen?
*your love tasted brine so soon,
blood in my veins turned poison.
How soon, the fortunes of  a love life turns about, in this mad mad world!
Bruised Orange Nov 2012
I am a war torn casualty hopelessly lost in an unfamiliar landscape.
I pick myself out of the rubble of a crumbled existence,
casting aside the well worn masks of my own invisibility.

I am stopped in this breathing place,
my quiet cocoon of safety
where unpredictability does not dwell,
but neither here does life,
neither here do I.
The silent screams that well up inside me never find their way out
and my door remains locked, the world shut out.

"The war is over,"  I try to convince myself.

This is my holding pattern.
I wonder will I ever feel brave
enough to unlock that door and
venture forth into life again?

Who am I without my captor's angry lies,
that cruel mouth that formed words defining me,
those rough hands that molded me
into the shapeless form of his invention?

I never thought to tuck myself away in safety,
hide myself in a tiny crack, or between pages of a book,
my treasured keepsake that I could run fingers over later,
smiling and whispering, "Yes, I know you."

No, I abandoned myself years ago,
left myself a motherless child.

The hands on the clock go round and round.
I dig through rubble behind a locked door,
searching for the girl I abandoned long ago
on the battlefield of disenchantment.
Sa Sa Ra Dec 2012
Reading poems today on Hello Poetry
This is what came to me as the Love
Mete with so much needs of ALL!!!

Desiderata

**Go placidly amid the noise and haste,
and remember what peace there may be in silence.
As far as possible without surrender
be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly;
and listen to others,
even the dull and the ignorant;
they too have their story.

Avoid loud and aggressive persons,
they are vexations to the spirit.
If you compare yourself with others,
you may become vain and bitter;
for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.
Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.

Keep interested in your own career, however humble;
it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.
Exercise caution in your business affairs;
for the world is full of trickery.
But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;
many persons strive for high ideals;
and everywhere life is full of heroism.

Be yourself.
Especially, do not feign affection.
Neither be cynical about love;
for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment
it is as perennial as the grass.

Take kindly the counsel of the years,
gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.
But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings.
Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.
Beyond a wholesome discipline,
be gentle with yourself.

You are a child of the universe,
no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you,
no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

Therefore be at peace with God,
whatever you conceive Him to be,
and whatever your labors and aspirations,
in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.

With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams,
it is still a beautiful world.
Be cheerful.
Strive to be happy.
Editor notes
Desiderata are, technically, things considered necessary or highly desirable OR something lacked and wanted.
The poem is a list of things desirable in life.

http://allpoetry.com/poem/8574007-Desiderata_-_Words_for_Life-by-Max_Ehrmann
Daniel Mashburn Sep 2014
I'd rather choose to die young than be stuck here forever taking pills and taking shots and hoping my heart will feel better. Taking chance after chance but it feels like I'm dying. Not from fear or disappointment but because my father is crying.

And if I feel disenchanted, I hope the feeling won't last forever. I've been choking on words that are the only ones that matter. And if you wait for me here, then I swear I'll come back to you waiting patiently but I just don't know what to do.

Or what to say or what to feel and if my heart is made of steel, then it's not broken, it's just rusting. It's just heavy on my mind. And all the drawings and the letters, and the praying I'll feel better. And I'm not breaking, I'm just bruising. And how I wish that you were mine.
Nico Julleza Sep 2017
with all this sleepless night
wide eye like butterflies
fields of yesterday's pain
take a step to look
feel the whispers at the back
memories again haunted me

with all your pretty lies
words of shredded disguise
a promising of dreams
only to have realize
a state of foolish paradise
storming forever haunted me

with every blinded glass
musing images of our past
infatuations overtaking
wondering why it never last
weeping every tear to fall sleep
a finished love that haunted me

with every sickening heed
a figure keeps to overdue
fragments, a drowning sea
twisted disenchantment
on the floor, now gently fading
ending, but still haunted me
#Haunted #Me #Fear #BrokenHeart #Melancholy

What a better way to Haunt you. Is your Very Own Fear

(NCJ)POETRYProductions. ©2017
Vernon Waring Jul 2015
Suspending moments
above this spindle stretch,
the rope tugged tight
under his shifting feet,
his eyes catch the spotlight
shining on ring one.

Transfixed by the knife-thrower,
he too is strangely thrown,
hands leaping endlessly
through a somersault sky;
hands to head, hands to chest,
then to thigh,
while knives turn quickly
and a liquored mob shouts:
voices breaking
against the freak show tent.
SE Reimer Aug 2016
~

in the seasonal divisions of life,
is one equation most oblique;
the only ’rithmetic i know,
where sum of two in equal parts,
as one and one makes two a whole;
yet even more is this unique,
for ’tis the after-math and struggle,
the dance of life that matters most;
the after-candles, songs and marches,
the after-promises and vows,
after-gifts and floral arches,
after-dancing, cake, and toasts;
when gritty feet meet dusty road,
where those content to sit, jump out,
and those who chose the work, dig in,
here is where the after-math begins.

where spoken word and actions,
the blend of individualities,
smelting of their personalities,
when lovely couple’s faces,
no longer picture-perfect,
where smiles frozen turn to icy stares;
when agreement turns to disagreement,
and enchantment, disenchantment;
when to each the other is,
persona non grata...
a most unwelcome sum;
persona incognito...
hidden truth to everyone;
persona invisibilia...
game of hide and seek;
persona silentium...
"you can’t make me speak!"

yet all of this could just as easily be,
the sum of two,
grateful hearts in equal parts,
the beat of two in rhythm thrum,
march in time upon one drum;
where stumbling toes find eager feet;
back-handed words are gently turned, to
two-hands-to-back, a press,
on tiptoe, a softened kiss;
where hard-pressed, unkind learnings
are equal matched with kind forgivings.

e pluribus unum...
building block for nation,
works beautiful for couples, too!
’tis the only one i know,
defies the odds to work,
defines how two can grow,
turns tear-filled words to fireworks,
makes winning out of winters cold;
turns wincing into cinching,
knots that is, joined and tightly tied,
before two hearts have grown too old;
this then here, the after math,
a two-cords-tied-as-one accord,
blending melody with harmony,
production of a music-making,
ovation-worthy, heartbeat song;
a two-in-one, two-for-one,
two-as-one with rich reward;
sum of love for lifetime lasts,
perfect kind of after-math!

~

*post script.

a wedding this week came and went, but left this minder in its wake, hard beating in this mind as my body woke, begging for words in ink, pleading to be let out.  in marriage, my own is far from perfection, as am i, yet as close to heaven as i have known here on earth. do believe that i know that it cannot be just one; but takes two hearts, two wanting, two hoping, and two forgiving, to make one that lasts!
she is by far the more so in ours.
Jack Solomon Nov 2014
So little left of what was the real me
The lies and pain chip away my heart
I long for something real and forever
To be loved and wanted not torn apart
True permanence in love seems a myth
But I've always believed in fantasy
Disenchantment is never a thought
Here I remain cocooned in my misery.
Not one of my best but my mood today spoke these words.
geraldine tilo Jun 2013
Shifting vistas
Freeing shackles

Playing it smart
Making it casual

Averting agitations
Eluding expectations

The finest tool to fight disillusionment
The smartest step to shun disenchantment

An act of precocity
An art of rationality

Avoidance.
Oh well, in short, I just like someone now and I am avoiding him.
Just that. HAHA.
Catherine Edgar Aug 2010
The shadows dividing yesterdays fell down upon today,
from happiness to sadness, against each they do betray.
Borrowed free will, low on spirit isn’t enough to take me through,
careless past was dancing in freedom if only today was too.
Ever reaching for a childhood I hold on so **** tight
to the hopes that wrapped up those fears and got me through the night.
But there’s nothing left to reach for just a stilted grown up reaction,
where multiple masks hide the facts so I lose myself in that distraction.
Too many rhymes to purge the pain and maybe set disenchantment free,
to arrive today, sight still blurred but not buried by debris.
Remembering simple illusions bonded with post traumatic stress,
provoked contradictory reactions when untangling the mess.
To rewind the clock and polish the dust wont take me to contentment,
just cut me open and deepen the wounds then bring me more resentment!
Decaying memories, twisted by time prey on any random second,
that sometimes even looking back doesn’t need to be beckoned.
Still, I look behind in the hope that I can breathe in just the thought,
at the wreckage of my time so far and all the battles that I fought.
Take some answers from the past and tie them with tomorrow,
to create a new chapter of equilibrium where I never need to borrow.
But I know myself and how I play, I need the black to colour the white,
the sorrow always grounds my smiles and  I can revel in the fight.
I write it all regardless of pain or which one is the lethal dose,
timeless in my quest to destiny, I’ll spend it chasing ghosts.
© Catherine Edgar, 2010
thanksgiving,
yellow lemon squares, turkey,
hustle hustle laughing,
bickering,
small blond children
tall dark haired , mild mannered
gathering courage to ask
asking questions
hike , climb, sprint tag,
food,
eating quickly,
murmurs around potato salad,
leaves,
leaves falling,
mothers calling
building castles in leaves and trees behind things
in the back yard
smiling
finally we are all together.

cancer took her.
crying crying and the rain wont stop beating against this old roof.
close walls sullen faces
mild mannered children working in a quiet desperation
to recreate yellow leaves falling
and lemon squares.
standing close
together,
to close
to close
trying to **** the distance between
us
castles crumble
its not our back yard anymore.
one of our mothers makes pecan squares
we cling to new traditions
because lemons do not taste the same,
disenchantment falls into a desperate
sadness  that always  fallows
death
and being homesick
for places that no longer exist for us , tomorrow


Indifference took her,
maybe if i had stayed a little longer,
she would be here same as ever,
clever bright witted
the staple holding together family fibers
distance ,
quite
losing site
literally loosing her site and
missing me
missing her
and them and mild mannered children
trying desperately to recreate yellow fallen leaves,
and banter,
to hear grandchildren squabbling
it was me, i left her castles crumbling
she was only missing places she thought no longer existed for her
shes gone now.
my castles crumbling
like the dry fall leaves
and i'm dreading things
and the lack of things like
thanksgiving
and lemon squares.
Here on the pale beach, in the darkness;
With the full moon just to rise;
They sit alone, and look over the sea,
Or into each other's eyes. . .
She pokes her parasol into the sleepy sand,
Or sifts the lazy whiteness through her hand.
'A lovely night,' he says, 'the moon,
Comes up for you and me.
Just like a blind old spotlight there,
Fizzing across the sea!'
She pays no heed, nor even turns her head:
He slides his arm around her waist instead.
'Why don't we do a sketch together--
Those songs you sing are swell.
Where did you get them, anyway?
They suit you awfully well.'
She will not turn to him--will not resist.
Impassive, she submits to being kissed.
'My husband wrote all four of them.
You know,--my husband drowned.
He was always sickly, soon depressed. . .'
But still she hears the sound
Of a stateroom door shut hard, and footsteps going
Swiftly and steadily, and the dark sea flowing.
She hears the dark sea flowing, and sees his eyes
Hollow with disenchantment, sick surprise,--
And hate of her whom he had loved too well. . .
She lowers her eyes, demurely prods a shell.
'Yes. We might do an act together.
That would be very nice.'
He kisses her passionately, and thinks
She's carnal, but cold as ice.
Cunning Linguist Oct 2013
Watch from your fancy TV screen -
Hypnotized
as your illusions of choice atrophy
A trophy, at your feet
Conceived in rage
From the place where miracles abound

The Eschaton will Immanentize
Dark energy entities
emanating from every corner all around
Hi - Def Surround Sound

Hide - Death Surrounds Hounds
It will bring you to your knees
When the Earth and all its Majesty
Crumble at the hands of the One-Eyed Messiah
The one I despise
You are all deceived

And to him they will scream
"Save Us"
Disenchantment following
Falling victim to his folly;
False exalted flesh reveres no seer
Neither those seared by his imprint

The prevelance of his contrivance
an resemblance of penance
for lack of repentance

And I'll cry to the sky
For the impending hour is nigh
And all things will seem unreal
Perchance a dream

When the duality is truly realized
The wailing and lament
of innumerable disembodied voices
will dually harmonize

The masses will chant
Praying for requiem
And then duly perish
Silhouettes
Pendulously suspended by strings
A companion to "Immanentize the Eschaton."
Not sure if I'm finished with this yet.
Naima Mungai Jul 2012
Dear World,
I apologize
if this seems like a cheap attempt
at romanticizing
something that is
already dead.

but i must at least
try and put down
my feelings of joy and love
before they are all too quickly drowned
in the sea of bitterness
pain and hate.

I must first write
about how gentle
his kisses were
how strong and tender
his touch was,
how much love i saw
when i looked in his eyes.

(before i turn and call him,
devils spawn,
son of a gun
worthless good for nothing.)

I should mention
his words of love
his meaningful
promises
and how i needed
to believe him

(before i say out loud
how deceitful he was,
lying pond-****.)

I'll try to tell you,
how it felt to be
loved by him
and to love him back
how strong we were
how we both let this go

(before i dump the weight of guilt at his door,
and sum it all with its his fault)

i will say now and here,
how much I love him
still
and how much i miss him
and wish him well
and want him back.

(then for sure i will walk out tall
and proclaim my disenchantment
and wish a plague of a thousand years on him,
and tell the world i do not love him
and never will)

so world again forgive me,
for this confusion
that i add
to your foray of days
but i must.
first published on abikusmots.blogspot.com
Adya Jha Oct 2017
It's hard to fall in love again
Because after all that I've been through
I very strongly believe that the only ones who can ever truly love you back
Are your parents and your dog
It's hard to fall in love again
Because I was born and brought up in a culture which said that all that matters is the outside
And the inside can just go *******
It's hard to fall in love again
Because it is shown that being fair is the only way you can be lovely
That all matrimonials ever wanted was a slim and b'ful lady
If this was an MCQ, I'll be the none of these
It's hard to fall in love again
Because I'm scared all men just want the body with curves and face like an angel
That the only things that should be big are your **** and your ***
Because who gives a **** about a big heart
It's hard to fall in love again
Because the words that he said in the past still haunt me, telling me that I'm not good enough
Pretty enough, **** enough, anything enough to be loved
It's hard to fall in love again
Because eventhough I read quotes on how beauty comes from within, it's proved wrong with every single encounter
Which leads to be believe that all that movies and books ever taught us about romance is absolute *******
That the only reason Jack ever loved Rose was because, well, she was ******* hot
It's hard to fall in love again
Because people don't see that you're born with the skin but it takes effort to build the soul
Because the skin will form wrinkles and sag with time
But the soul and the mind won't
It's hard to fall in love again
Because I don't want to add more to my list of insecurities and brokenness which scar me forever
Because I don't want to dive down and down and down into my worn out self esteem
It's so ******* hard to fall in love again
So I laugh it off and joke around
But everytime I see you
I really, really want to fall in love again
But I'm scared that you'll do the same and break whatever is left of me
That you'll turn me inside out and rub my imperfections till they burn
That you'll laugh with your friends and say
Where did that ***** even gather the guts from to come up to me and say, "Hey man, I like you"
Like that's the worst thing anyone could ever say to you?
They say
Love is a drug
But I think I'm in rehab
They say
Don't be cynical about love because in the face of all aridity and disenchantment
It is as perennial as the grass
But I think I'm better off in a barren land
A place that can accept me for who I am
So the next time you ask,
"Are you dating someone?"
And I reply with a snort and say, "Huh, look at me. No one would want to be with me."
And you say, "No, looks don't matter and the personality-"
I'll punch you in the ******* face
Because to hell with all your crap
You won't want to be me even for a single day
You won't want to be the ugly girl standing in the corner of the hallway
Michael R Burch Mar 2020
Of Civilization and Disenchantment
by Michael R. Burch

Suddenly uncomfortable
to stay at my grandfather's house ―
actually his third new wife's,
in her daughter's bedroom
― one interminable summer
with nothing to do,
all the meals served cold,
even beans and peas...

Lacking the words to describe
ah! , those pearl-luminous estuaries ―
strange omens, incoherent nights.

Seeing the flares of the river barges
illuminating Memphis,
city of bluffs and dying splendors.

Drifting toward Alexandria,
Pharos, Rhakotis, Djoser's fertile delta,
lands at the beginning of a new time and "civilization."

Leaving behind sixty miles of unbroken cemetery,
Alexander's corpse floating seaward,
bobbing, milkwhite, in a jar of honey.

Memphis shall be waste and desolate,
without an inhabitant.
Or so the people dreamed, in chains.

Published by The Centrifugal Eye and The Centrifugal Eye Fifth Anniversary Anthology. Keywords/Tags: Memphis, river, barges, bluffs, Alexandria, Pharos, Rhakotis, Djoser, Alexander, waste, desolate
Here on the pale beach, in the darkness;
With the full moon just to rise;
They sit alone, and look over the sea,
Or into each other's eyes. . .

She pokes her parasol into the sleepy sand,
Or sifts the lazy whiteness through her hand.

'A lovely night,' he says, 'the moon,
Comes up for you and me.
Just like a blind old spotlight there,
Fizzing across the sea!'

She pays no heed, nor even turns her head:
He slides his arm around her waist instead.

'Why don't we do a sketch together-
Those songs you sing are swell.
Where did you get them, anyway?
They suit you awfully well.'

She will not turn to him-will not resist.
Impassive, she submits to being kissed.

'My husband wrote all four of them.
You know,-my husband drowned.
He was always sickly, soon depressed. . .'
But still she hears the sound

Of a stateroom door shut hard, and footsteps going
Swiftly and steadily, and the dark sea flowing.

She hears the dark sea flowing, and sees his eyes
Hollow with disenchantment, sick surprise,-

And hate of her whom he had loved too well. . .
She lowers her eyes, demurely prods a shell.

'Yes. We might do an act together.
That would be very nice.'
He kisses her passionately, and thinks
She's carnal, but cold as ice.
Derrek Estrella Oct 2018
I dream of a master, a conqueror who roams
Leading an army of half-empty drones
Ambitions begotten yet souls abolished
Tongues ripped apart and spiders come polished
A realm of no living, dying, only dreaming
The fruit of the mind, the only place worth breathing
Sand is our time, no clock to betray
Our perception under the universe's display

I dream and I know of a very tall castle
Set in the centre of all worlds, all cattle
I conjure my brothers and sisters, they scream
Of human emotions, long-lost and redeemed
I have laid out my tools to carry my life
To settle the dreaming, the abominable strife
The sand to blow into my children's nights
The mask to conquer hell's realm-less frights

Though I may never walk among you again
I will be happy, remembered, well-spent
And you may live on in the real life we wonder
Where dilated truth, reaching the deep sea and under
I will be eons yet I shall be young
And you may age until kingdom come
For all the living, may I rest your soul
Into the land of dreaming, the years in our control

Shall you want a sea? Should you need the moon?
I pluck from our minds, your life is festooned
I am the passenger you never knew
I am the redeemer that dreamed of you
I will hold strong, for millennia and more
In this dreamless castle of endless doors
Disenchantment is no oddity
For I am the mind’s great commodity

So I am not broken, nor sad, nor begging
I am just tired from eons of dreaming
Sustaining a love that the void must embrace
And merely waved off by the human race
My tongue evolving, yet bitter and dry
No dream could change my saliva and lice
Eat away, for your demons, I feel
O blood, o mama, o touch of cold steel

Death, my sister, why must you succeed?
For all our life, you only plant your seed
So many plagues that I must heal
Countless nomad tears concealed
Our time will come, whence the world will sleep
And no single being will move or sweep
We will fall into eternal slumber
Later awoken by a cascading number

So maybe, I see, that we will carry on
Manifested as gods, manifesting the dawn
And as I see the races die
I can't help but see all of you as flies

I dream of a master, and it is me
I walk down an aisle of obscurity
You will dream until it exceeds your breath
And kneel to the teeth of almighty Seth
Then you shall fly briskly to oblivion
With images falling from your pavilion
Your last breath is put through me

And now, see all you can see
Be happy

The endless reaches for you, my long-dead dreamer
I will send you off into that goodnight
And you will be safe
Allison Neal Nov 2010
Perfidious lover,

With ambidextrous heart,

You’ve caused my mind to birth
A doubt



Entrapper of my love,

I gift my disenchantment ,

For choking romantic
Ideals


Dear insidious love,

With your infantile ways,

Such brilliant fraudulence,

Has to be commended

Homage
**Paid
Marshal Gebbie Nov 2018
Why do we strive to be effete
If the sum of all is fear?
Fear that they shall rob us blind
Of all kept near and dear.
Why then do we strut and preen
When fortune smiles our way?
For the dire sum of equals scream
That envy rules the day.

What seeks the strata here
But to keep the fools contained?
For the eventual sum is the end of a gun
And a simmering hate, retained.
Human nature comes and goes
But one rule reigns supreme
That rich is right and poor is wrong
With nada in between.

God may intervene here
The good Disciples say
But internecine battle
Determines Faith has seen its’ day.

So what’s around the corner
In mankind’s vicious romp
But visceral disenchantment
Singing vengeance for the mob?
Or  a mass incarceration
With holocaust entombed???

With either joust…. Just futile
For humanity is doomed.

M.
29 November 2018
Conondrum of the have and have nots extrapolated to extreme, but a scenario which well could eventuate if you apply it to the East/West morass, of today, the Trump regime and the resurgence of the extreme right, worldwide.
I wrote this as an exercise of extreme but I suspect it may well approach what might, in future, be.
M.
Bruised Orange Jun 2013
Whatever other costumes might have been hers for the choosing,
She wore the robe of disenchantment.

She should have been taught,
Truth skates a razor thin line that will slice the flesh from your bones
When you try to deny it.  

The mask she placed upon her face, a tragicomic mockery of belief,
Its blue-black marks tattooing her cheeks,
Were a constant reminder of her mistaken identity of herself,

Mistake.


(And in that moment of stark realization,
Didst thou not ponder the sickening irony of a life gone awry?)
Frieda P Jul 2013
A hollow stippling of a soul in the breeze
    hiding in the bushes of perilous vexing
there are days when the wind howls
    whispers darkly  at the ominous night
feel the chill that passes through
           dances coolly on pressed eyelids
                   floats tepid beyond the senses
             know it's the emptiness that comes
        right before realities' disenchantment
Prince Charles May 2014
We have no time to sit and wait,
Our incumbents already procrastinate.
What will it take for them to understand,
We can not act this way towards the land.
The skies cry polluted rain,
Those neurotoxins dance in my brain.
Our governments think they know whats best,
But how am I differentiated from the rest.
They do not know my personal needs,
My wants, my desires, my worldly dreams.
They are but that to infect decision,
To enter the brain with a quick incision.
Not to control, but to inform,
The world we live in is finding it hard to perform.
The things so many take for granted
have become a product of disenchantment.
Those that have noticed have started to yell,
To Rachel Carson's pen critics fell.
But to what end did it serve?
We want more than we healthily deserve.
With the end goal being money and power,
We have approached upon her final hour.
We have no time to sit and wait,
The problems tend to exacerbate.
What will it take to mitigate the masses?
While our governments feet are stuck in malaises.
Kambria Keelie Nov 2018
Go placidly amid the noise and haste,

and remember what peace there may be in silence.

As far as possible without surrender

be on good terms with all persons.

Speak your truth quietly and clearly;

and listen to others,

even the dull and the ignorant;

they too have their story.

Avoid loud and aggressive persons,

they are vexations to the spirit.

If you compare yourself with others,

you may become vain and bitter;

for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.

Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.

Keep interested in your own career, however humble

it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.

Exercise caution in your business affairs;

for the world is full of trickery.

But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;

many persons strive for high ideals;

and everywhere life is full of heroism.

Be yourself.

Especially, do not feign affection.

Neither be cynical about love;

for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment

it is as perennial as the grass.

Take kindly the counsel of the years,

gracefully surrendering the things of youth.

Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.

But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings.

Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.

Beyond a wholesome discipline,

be gentle with yourself.

You are a child of the universe,

no less than the trees and the stars;

you have a right to be here.

And whether or not it is clear to you,

no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

Therefore be at peace with God,

whatever you conceive Him to be,

and whatever your labors and aspirations,

in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.

With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams,

it is still a beautiful world.

Be cheerful.

Strive to be happy.


- Max Ehrmann
Stumbled upon this beautiful poem today and it brought many inspiring reminders on life. Thank you.
HRTsOnFyR Mar 2016
Go placidly amid the noise and haste,
and remember what peace there may be in silence.
As far as possible without surrender
be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly;
and listen to others,
even the dull and the ignorant;
they too have their story.
Avoid loud and aggressive persons,
they are vexations to the spirit.
If you compare yourself with others,
you may become vain and bitter;
for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.
Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.
Keep interested in your own career, however humble;
it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.
Exercise caution in your business affairs;
for the world is full of trickery.
But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;
many persons strive for high ideals;
and everywhere life is full of heroism.
Be yourself.
Especially, do not feign affection.
Neither be cynical about love;
for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment
it is as perennial as the grass.
Take kindly the counsel of the years,
gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.
But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings.
Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.
Beyond a wholesome discipline,
be gentle with yourself.
You are a child of the universe,
no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you,
no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.
Therefore be at peace with God,
whatever you conceive Him to be,
and whatever your labors and aspirations,
in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.
With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams,
it is still a beautiful world.
Be cheerful.
Strive to be happy.

— The End —