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Pagan Paul Aug 2018
.
i.
Smoke coils up and dissipates,
soon the images will be clear,
as she stares with cold contempt,
into the depths of the Seers Sphere.
And she stands toking her pipe,
watching as the story unfolds,
soon her hate will boil once more,
unleashing her vengeance of old.

ii.
Smoke coils up and dissipates,
a thousand lifetime's away,
blackened stone and charred bodies,
the remains of a village destroyed.
The flames still licking at the flesh
and melting mortar of cottage walls.
Raiding horsemen ride off cheering,
with swords, shields and firebrands,
carrying amidst them a prisoner,
their prize and sport for the victory feast.
Savages are these violent men,
barbaric in their wanton lust for war,
the red mist and the ****** fury,
it's all they really have a care for.

iii.
She waits with patient seething,
her moments will arrive so soon,
the spilling of her black arts,
witnessed by a Woman's Moon.

iv.
The Vale was so beautiful lush and green.
Steep sided, oak trees, clear blue stream.
With fresh grass on which horses grazed,
and smooth rocks where wild fowl lazed.

v.
But the leader here was not a man,
she was the daughter of this warrior clan.
Fierce, cold, she barked out her orders;
build a fire, make food, secure the borders.
Her status unquestioned by her riders,
they would all fight and die beside her,
and as the camp grew out much wider,
her boot casually crushes a hated spider.

vi.
Manacles held her ankle fast,
shackled as she was to a tree.
Withdrawn, shivering with cold,
still seeing her burning family.
Images scorch her private intimacy,
awaiting the moment of her epiphany,
eyes watching with careless vacancy,
preparations for the nights ceremony.
But she would not co-operate,
would not give her jailers pleasure,
as she knows these last few hours
would seem to her like forever …

and Nature weeps with a prelude to grieve,
as the Maiden pulls a dagger from her sleeve.


… deny them their sport she will,
placing the dagger 'neath her breast,
a sharp tug towards her heart,
a thousand nightmares laid to rest.

vii.
A thousand lifetime's away,
smoke coils up and dissipates,
a cackle rents the air like ice,
the time her Woman's Moon anticipates.
And the instant arrives with joy,
as the Seers Sphere is thrown,
shattering and cackling hold hands,
as the glass touches solid stone.
At that moment of contact with rock,
time slips into a reverberating shock.

viii.
The Vale was so beautiful lush and green.
Steep sided, oak trees, clear blue stream.
With fresh grass on which horses grazed,
and smooth rocks where wild fowl lazed.

And the earth heaved and tremored,
shaking the Vales languid peace,
uprooting trees with tremendous urge,
rending the loamy soil from beneath.
Frenzied horses scatter with fright,
and men are thrown up high,
screams and shouts of piercing pain,
and the stream suddenly runs dry.
The quake unsettles the warriors camp,
leaving many broken bones and blood.
Then an ominous deafening roar
heralds the arrival of the coming flood.
And water coursed fast into the Vale,
no longer pretending to be calmer.
All living men drowned and dead,
encumbered by their heavy armour.
But she was much fleeter of foot
and ran hard as the waters rose.
Tripped by a treacherous branch,
head banged, stunned, her eyes closed.

ix.
Sunrise saw many things.
Smoke coiling up and dissipating,
over the ruins of a village,
crows and dogs feasting well.
It saw
the hooded robed figure of a woman,
squatting on top a new grave,
smoke coiling up from her pipe,
cackling …

x.
She awoke in darkness.
It didn't take long to panic and scream.
It took no time to realise,
she was sealed naked in a coffin.
And she screamed and screamed.
Pushing at the sides, the lid.
The air was heavy, stifling, stifling, stifling.
Precious oxygen running out.
The coffin moved, and she screamed,
desperately scratching and scratching.
And in the box she heard … cackling.
Her frantic screams turn to sobs of pleading
to be let out, to breathe, to live.
She felt something touch her inner thigh,
she screamed, as it touched again feint.
Brushing it away as the voice cackled on,
more tickles on her thighs, she screamed.
And something landed on her face.
The feel of a large spider on her mouth,
and she screamed and screamed.
But the cackling persisted
as she scratched at the wood,
her fingernails shredding to pieces,
but the wooden prison gave no quarter,
the skin raw and bloodied,
scratching, scratching, scratching.
And in her tomb she screams,
she screams and screams and screams.

xi.
… sunrise saw many things.
It saw a new river,
wending its way to the sea,
caressing the contoured land,
it saw horses running wild,
across the lush grass on plains.
It saw
the hooded robed figure of a woman,
standing beside a new grave,
as she places the flame dagger
upon the Maiden's final resting place,
it saw
ice blue eyes of fire and malevolence.
Weeping.


© Pagan Paul (02/08/18)
.
3rd poem in Judderwitch series.
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/2076298/judderwitch-the-beginning/
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/1923972/judderwitch/

Today, Aug 2nd, marks two years on hp for me.
Thankyou to all those who have supported and helped me over these last 2 years. You are all greatly appreciated :) PPx xox
feeling discomfort dissipates as
I embrace instead of
pushing away
10w
Cali Oct 2013
When the fog dissipates
and the city skyline
winks into your clever retinas,
will you be satisfied
with what you see?

When those things you had forgotten
are worming their way back
into your bones and blood vessels,
will you still glance at the intractable sun,
awestruck and catatonic,
like a moth to the moon?
Will you still find beauty in
sidewalk weeds and broken glass?

When the fog dissipates,
and humanity presents itself,
brazen and unabashed,
in a flurry of chaos and stale dreams,
will you still fall into the mass
of faces and hands and ******* and eyes?

Or will you falter at the glaring sight
of a society that's run amuck?
Victoria Queen May 2014
They say that over time, it dissipates -
it will drain from you, evaporate like smoke.
It will descend upon you, destroy you;
but will soon release you, and fade.

But with time it instead grows stronger,
demanding to be felt.
It knocks on the doors of my soul,
its urgency to be let inside unrelenting and ruthless.

Like an unpredictable storm, it lands and ravages,
leaving just fragments of a heart already rebuilt.
What is gone is the will;
the resiliency dulled, the courage spent.

It's a deep-rooted ****, an unrivaled opponent;
It's a malevolent fire that refuses to be smothered.
The Hurt:
a wound that permeates, and remains.
Erenn Oct 2014
The mind has its boundaries
Taking every life to its pasture
You often deny your existence is valid
Drained to flout all the people-
That tried to alleviate your worst outcome
You can’t foresee what’s imminent
Yet your past hinders you to move forward

Motions of the night sky
Appeases you within
The stars glinting like they know you exist
Taking every setback that you had
Full of misery & regret
You fathom what if you didn't live
It doesn't make any difference
To be conceived into eminence or filth

The fear of disappointment escalates
Disappointing your loved ones resents you
You concealed every skin of-
Impetus that espoused
Knowing you could be
Abundantly stronger than this
Yet fluctuation compels you
To cower in distress  

'Why can't I be normal?'
You questioned this in your head everyday
Fragments that made you elated dissipates-
Every time you tried to defeat yourself
Falling again & again

You’re afraid of losing your conscience-
Into the abyss that kept drawing you in
You conjure up notions of ingenuity
Just to rupture it repetitively

*Is this who you really are?
Is this what you really wanted?
To infinitely hate yourself?
You are better than this
I know it's not easy.
But, go out! It's not easy overcoming the enemy.
When the enemy is you. I get it. But this life, the life you're breathing has so much more to give. You have so much love to give. Let the hate out.
Be free. Don't let it end you,
knowing you're better than this.
(I repost this cause I think it deserves the recognition to spread the message that i wanna bring out)
charles hamilton Apr 2013
Hopelessness is the worst feeling of all

Hope must be the very scaffolding upon which we build ourselves

Because the moment hope dissipates the moment it begins to wear and give way

We collapse within forgetting any light that ever previously illuminated the circumstance

When you demolish a building, you don't have to destroy every piece but merely compromise its infrastructure

The same goes for destroying a person, or even a group of people. You don't have to destroy them as a whole but simply destroy their hope and watch as they collapse inwardly
Pen Lux Aug 2013
I see you, as if for the first time,
and my heart collapses upon itself
a million times over. I see you, and
my tongue tastes like silver as I speak.

Words cannot contain themselves within my vessel.
Words cannot escape the realms in which I tread.
Words fall short and I bend over to pick them up.
Words slip through my fingers and burn my skin like acid.

Words trip me over myself, myself breaks habits
and creates new ones, new words to fall after, new
webs to catch opportunities to catch you to leave me
bruised.

Morning fails me,
afternoon and you lose me,
night beckons my entirety
and my self is searching.
I can no longer control my direction
as I am pulled by "fate".

I saw you again for the first time in forever.
Your eyes were sad, curious, and tired.
They were hurried in their silence, and
screaming in their wake.

"I will see you again!" they said, "I don't know when,
but soon..."

Now is forever, and I will see you again.
Now is a friend, the past an enemy.
Now is reality, and all else a memory.

I am dissolving in my madness,
having days that run like snakes,
I want to slam the breaks of my wake
and shake the feeling that I am a mistake.
Each day that passes tells me to take myself
and go, find a ride, hitch hike, **** yourself before
it's too late to stop breathing, semi-comfortably,
in these darkened days that bud neglect, and
self-destruct. I enjoy the rude and malicious
taste of nutrition after being starved of all
passion. I enjoy the pain-tattered crack
in my skull from the thoughts I collect.

I want to project something worth a lifetime.

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The prisoners
of Gaza have
an open portal
of freedom.

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

It is a day of
possibility for peace.  

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

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

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

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

Music Video:

Silk Road
We Will Not Go Down

Oakland
2/9/12
jbm
a poem from the epilogue section of Tahrir Square Voices
Hector Jul 2017
~

She always leaves with a smile,

eagerly arrives dragging hope like a blanket

frayed and old.

Love dissipates with time I was told

and hers lacks the gleam of fresh start

feeling worn like old shoes that we keep in the closet

and we can’t toss away.

And I knew that such love wouldn’t stay

when it’s fine to watch flames from afar

but to burn in the blaze, that we need!

Because love without fire

becomes cold with no warning or sign,

just a glow in the distance

of the flares burning out over time-


-
H.O
-
“I felt her absence, it was like waking up one day with no teeth in your mouth. You wouldn't need to run to the mirror to know they were gone”

― James Dashner, The Scorch Trials
Rad Tad Apr 2015
Forever neglected
Forever dismayed
Forever deafened
By the cacophony of the trade

The antiquated digger stands by
A sentient guard of the worker
It watches as the tree slowly dissipates
Its life slowly crumbling
As the voracious chipper
Devours the tree whole

The worker stands by
The digger stands by
The chipper chips away

The taciturn worker remains
Ruminating the existence of the world.
Why was he put here?
For what reason must he stay with these hallowed construction tools?
Do they feel any remorse for the change that they've enacted
On the world around them?
Are they aware that they transgress the laws of nature?

The bellicose chipper
Wages war with nature
As the people watch so distantly.
Its sound makes the neighbors quite belligerent
Yet the zealots watch attentively.
The pure ignorance
The pure neglect
The blatant apathy
Is something to be seen.

Whatever could possess you
To follow in the footsteps of the worker
To feel his pain as the trimmer
Chips away at the trees' centuries
The sound of shattered glass
Punctuates the air.
Perhaps there has been an accident.
Wrote this one on a plane, too.
Erik Sorlie Oct 2012
My visual field flashes white in a moment of highest swelling heart
white light dissipates following blackness of my hearts lowest sun­dried hurt
my view of oppressively low hung clouds questions any earthly sensation, twerked torture
of a self­inflicted radiation of irredeemable gloom, hung by self

The acrid ebony of my soul dissipates to an antique comfort with love stretched infinity
I then breathed an atmosphere of sorrow; snapped, shattered infinity into a pile of broken windows
My call of a family of evil given in an intolerable agitation and searched remedy
led to be found abandoned within a continual struggle of grim phantasm

Necessity spake in me, called one mili­helen enough to launch my remaining ship
a cadavorness of complexion, forced port­side of me when crystal ships started to drip with lies
a guttural utterance whispered blankly, alluded keine endurance
as I could only wear certain textures, and not endure the physical elements of this sensory deprived flower

My conjured will, looks upon the morbid moral of an undiagnosed existence
if not unreservedly found in the recesses of self
rosie cheeks forced not by pleasure, but screamed excitement of eternal enjoyable nothing
as my visual field flashes white with a moment of highest swelling heart
Sarah Spang Dec 2014
One year has passed today, one year since you took your last breath on this earth. A whole planet-full of anguish has been left in that wake. You would have been 23; a full month older than I am. No longer is such. You’re frozen; forever young at 22.

They told me time would ease the pain, and I guess they meant the physical display of hurt. I don't burst into tears every time I see a Steelers logo or find myself suddenly breathless whenever I hear a song that you loved. No, I am not that same mess of a girl that existed last December. I do not look like her, but she's still present within me.
The thing about time is that the pain never really dissipates; you just unearth ways to tolerate it. Ways to function around it. I am able now to maintain a smile on my face whenever I need be, and a small, invisible part of myself can curl into the crook of my head and weep. I numb myself and place the pain on the back-burner, to deal with it later.

One year, come and gone. One year without you.

One full year I've wandered around until my feet were bruised; until my shoes were breaking. Wandering and not perceptive to what I was looking for. I know now that you are the destination.
I'll always be searching for you, and you'll never be there.
Because you're in the wind. You're in every kind gesture, in every hill and mountain I find beauty in. You're in the smile of your sister, the love of your mother and the memory of every family member or person who mourns you today.
And I mourn you so much. I never considered that this much sorrow could be coiled into one body so firmly. So crammed in that at times I spring a leak and you fracture forth like a rainbow on an oil spill. My mind circles back to you thousands of times in a single day, like a little determined moon circling the wake of her planet's obliteration.

I don't have a place to visit. At first, that was one of the hardest parts of moving on. By nature I am a wanderer, and in my travels I yearned for a place to stop; a place where you would be always.
You don't have a final resting place, and that's fine, I've accepted that now. It wouldn't have made sense with who you were as a person. You always were more like a force of nature than human- so beautiful, destructive and awing. So when I imagine you in the present tense, I like to think of the swirling dust devils that whirl leaves into miniature tornadoes. You had a playful spirit like that. I think of you in the wind that gusts paper from my hands, because you were always a joker. And I think of you as a warm breeze on a summer day because your warmth was something people sought out.

I'll continue writing for you, even though you'll never read it. I'll never stop loving you, and your memory is enough of a home for this wanderer.

To quote What Dreams May Come:
" I’ll cross whatever distance there is. I send you my love."

Forever and Ever, C.J.H.
-Sarah
I know this deviates from my normal prose. I just wanted to pay tribute to my greatest muse. He inspired the following poems:
Grief
Nightmare
Silent
Deterioration
Come Back
Wither
The Silent Ocean
Ocean Eyes

Rest peacefully, C.J.H. All my love.
Valsa George Mar 2018
‘LOVE’ – What mystique power it wields
In what myriad guise it wraps!
At times a sweet ache so coy to reveal
Or a sudden urge, hard to unveil

Sometimes a deep sensation
A strong surge of emotion
Permeating every atom
Pervading from top to bottom

It heightens the pulse
And makes every nerve convulse
It has left kingdoms fall asunder
And many a mighty man - surrender

Often, like dew drops falling from above
Or the warbling notes flowing out from the grove
It leaves the heart go upbeat in prosody
Changing every sensation into rhapsody

As beams of silver cast by the moon
Or the cold touch of spray in the horrid heat of noon
It soothes, embalms and thrills the heart
Filling the void and leaving no dearth

Love sublime, sure like a candle lit
Consumes itself, and never dwindles a bit
It dispels the gloom and dissipates the fright
Invigorating the soul and healing every hurt

As brilliance to stars, fragrance to flowers
Music to flute or shade to bowers
Love is to Man, freeing him from all sores
Bestowing him the strength to meet all throes

Love can neither be beguiled nor disguised
Nor be stifled or be construed
Love puts all other things into place
And hems life with a lovely lace

Love is all we seek and too scarce to find
A magic thread by which hearts are bound
Hark! It is love that makes the world spin around
And cures all the ills that surround

Oh! Love thou virtues I will defend
Tip Your hat
And curtsy low
The masses so mandate absolute guile
A handshake, a smile, a proper and refined bow!
To adorn thy head and semble wit
And do your best!
Take pride with etiquette
If not informed
Ye won't last a mile
And differentiation between animals distinguishes you,
Resplendent child
Wash your hair and underclothes with soap
Lest ye resemble sow
And goodness dear
Have I forgotten now?
Always remember to smile!
So I'll take your Winter clothes with zest
I'll scramble on point
No unruly mess
Oh, did i forget your coat?
No, I've got it, relax, care for a smoke?
My apologies, please forgive my latency
It must be warm in here for my blood
In fact...
Boiling over kettle within
Prevent me from committing sin
I do wish to vent
Pick up this pen
And release red wells from his dainty, fragile neck
Or...
The underbelly. It's beknownst to me entrails are thick
Now whatever shall I do with this fresh clutter?
I'll act for free, so cordially!
With my chivalrous lines
But can you, my friend, respond in kind?
After all, it's only common courtesy
It's over now, my fantasy
It dissipates with urgency
And this is my confession
Yes
Imbibed in me from every grueling, tedious lesson
An implication of uniformity
The daydreams borne from the perfunctory
This is for anyone who has ever worked in the retail industry. As politely as you can possibly express it.
Ivy Rose Apr 2014
~
You could say that my sanity dissipates with the moonlight,
slowly being covered by the sun.

You could say that my anger dissipates with the moonlight,
being drained from my soul with the overwhelming shadows.

You could say that my heart becomes inflamed with the moonlight,
aching and wanting and hurting

You could say my soul is bound with the moonlight,
and without its beams I am not whole.

(i.r)
Antino Art Oct 2018
If you're unclear about love,
return your heart to a place with fog
With clouds created from breathing in the cold during long uphill walks that end in a view of the water
Return the way daylight retreats to the grey embrace of the Pacific Northwest sky at the edge of winter, dissipates in all directions like ripples upon their misty bay
Return the way sunset colored leaves hanging in limbo fall back to Earth
Visions to pieces
Tears to eyes as condensation builds
against the glass of a coffeeshop window and distorts the view from outside and from within
Return the way rain lands on a broken sidewalk in Seattle,
not pouring so much as drifting
through what looks like a new morning
blurred with all the dark nights that came before.
-gabi p- May 2016
daydreaming is like a fog
      that dissipates when you try to touch it
it’s that perfect mirage
       that can’t ever be reached

look! there she comes
     ”splish, splash”, that’s her
             stepping on a rainy day’s Night
but her head is always in the clouds

her mind reciting sweet words
         that will never be said
and her thoughts are running, wild
    chaos like tangled thread

“who is she?”
         and the birds, smiling with joy:
“it’s the daydreamer, she's the Daydreamer...”
    you know… daydreamers are always the bird’s favorites.
Nekhbet Hermit Oct 2018
I lay my head upon my mother’s chest
And for a moment, I’m a little girl again.

I remember what it’s like for the whole world to stop
For worries to melt away like candle wax
My jagged edges smoothed by a warm embrace
It’s a feeling I’ve rarely felt since

Maiden, Mother, Crone
I watch the wheel of fortune spin
Daughter, Mother, Grandmother
Me, Myself, I
The passing of time I there observe in all its stages
In our faces
Growing old,
To be young,
The illusion dissipates when I look into the eyes of those who I love most
In those luminous pools I see more than a person, I see a mirror
I see my connectedness and yet
There’s an immense need to defend what is mine

I wish I could stay here
Just for a little while longer
But we are all just passing through
I can only hope, this selfish desire
Is justified
shåi Oct 2013
pink sky
drizzled with the radiance of
the morning sun
the earth holds this precious light

purple smoke
dissipates into
the woven clouds
the sky holds the secret

luscious greens
mixed with aqua blues
soothes the serene landscape
the land expresses a longing desire
to be one

(b.d.s.)
AntoinetteBrandt Aug 2013
give me love because lately I've been trying to tie a ribbon in my mouth. I forget too soon all the lessons i learned from leaving the south.

i bend over backwards and open my chest in a position to bring it to rest like Prima the Ballerina. My fingers ***** the empty air as if to pluck a rosy twang from a long bow I just imagined. my circumference dissipates to reveal my core, wake up not any more in  a beaten trailer, but a nest full of hope.

i'm wearing a black body suit and i finally have strength to stand on my toes. My point is I wish I had stood up for myself.

I can't forget looking down at the sad scene and I knew : I could never write again.

I lived in a place where the windows were nailed shut. You had to drink from a broken cup. Still. There's a place within that I refused to give up.



An angel above watched the figure of a girl stumble out from a tunnel into a staggering light, her feet ***** through the next 3 years of her life. The angel was forbidden to break a strict law of interference. The angel stood like an innocent bystander at a bar, babysitting her drink as the tall young brunette the one with beachy hair, she had sailor striped earrings,  staggered into womanhood. The angel hovered closely over her shoulder during the young lady's independent study of the greatest lesson in life's classroom: Acceptance. Finally. On the brink of the greatest love of all.

"Give me love!" She shouted from a rooftop and crossed that off her to-do list. Then she danced like there was no one who could judge her except the angel who sat there in Lovely Sally leggings in a wistful stare, her blood had turned into alcohol. She wondered who this person was, too full of music to be filled with sorrow, dancing in a **** hole and on rooftops. She knew as an angel, she shouldn't drink, but no one judged her. She knew a few monks that smoked.

This chick had drank more than enough, hollered on a rooftop, kissed a girl, and now was too tired to stand, she swayed like willow tree. The 20 year old traveled without stopping to a park & sat
in the same seat she did when she was 17 and made love for the first time.  Now the angel was seeing double.

The angel had this silly thought to take her to a rural town in Germany. Angels were allowed to visit any where and with any one. That's what she was doing now.


She watched her pick herself up and find herself home after a long wistful silence.  The angel glanced at the spot under the oak tree after she dissapeared from her eyes.   She left behind a checkerboard composition notebook bookmarked with a  pink mechanical pencil. It was her to-do list.

- learn ballet
- buy my cat the most toys on the block
- afford sophisticated clothes
- get new violin strings and bow
- drink more water
- love myself
-donate nice clothes to an unfortunate girl
-deforestation

The angel read all 47 items through her bloodshot eyes and decided she'd help fullfill it.
Captain Trips May 2015
She nods and sighs
amongst the conifers.

Evergreen sap coats the
rug of needles beneath, and
the wind covers her skin
with rippling gooseflesh.

A little black balloon lies
beside a bindle of rigs.

The moon robs and blinds
her of sight, shining so
very brightly into her dilated
pupils and hidden irises.

A single rusted spoon glows and
A stolen church candle smoulders.

Her golden locks encircle
the crown of her cranium
in a halo worthy of stained-
glass windows.

Rubber tubing is tied off
above her collapsing veins.

The fallen leaves under her
protruding shoulder blades
stretch out for miles in a
pair of clipped wings.

With a final rattling cough
the light leaves her eyes,

and dissipates into
the punctured skies
as she quietly fades,
and dies.
Angela Mary Pope Aug 2013
Don't you chirp at me.
Eyes closed, the sun stabs her in the mouth.

The taste of fear fills her face as everything come back;
she vomits a good while,
memories stirring and playing themselves in the tune of a forgotten sea
(cause times are changing and that's just what they do).

spit. trust. trust. spit.

Waves crashing against a wall of recollection in a way
that is meant to be kept for the punitive and the exiled.

The train blares outside somewhere
fuzzy focus dissipates quickly
and this slowly comprising function of clarity
comes to a screeching halt as it begins to pour in.

In some state of bewildered entitlement
Andrea Jan 2014
Lost notions of hope
fade into thin air,
developing with destructive growth.
Warm sunlight on an early morning
evaporates a single teardrop.
Broken waves crash
in debilitating consolation.
Moaning winds blend to create
agonizing discontent.  
Darkness brings upon
growing rage and
Remorseful renegade
ends with burnt offerings
and insincere apologies.
Misty air dissipates,
dishes break.
You and I
replace foggy memories full of
grief and regret and unsaid words
with
Indifferent opinions
lacking courage or conviction or compassion
creating comforting chaos.
The slumbering void
full of encompassing individuality
somehow pulls us closer.
Freedom and peace
found.

*-andrea
Cory Ellis Jan 2014
I wondered if it was universal
and escaped archetype on the run
coming to me
w/ jazz loud on FM
and nicotine perfumed air
Restless
soon to be turned on
Magnetized
As the cars passed
time slowed down
Heavy attraction
Was it the southern comfort
or was it elusive
The mantra slurring my mind
Go Back
Go back
I step out of my vehicle after retrying a parking job
stutter step
SLAM!
the feeling again
Go back
Go back
I am waiting for my car light to turn off
cigarette connects with ice gold ground
I turn to go
Go Back
Go back
I miss to stomp the smoke
Mantra oh
I crush the smoke with my lead foot
the car light fades w/ the smoke
surreal
The energy dissipates
Left again
but was there
one thing
I did learn
is that
Confidence
makes your driving better
Elusive
please come back again
Driving for cannabis
finally refuse
A young girl asks for advice
Music take me away
KnudsonK Oct 2013
Im so Alone..     ..... .on my own .
Im bent....Iam spent..... darkness my only friend.
Another secret we will share.
Inot sure when and I dont know where.
But I dont care. Im glad Im there.
It    Whispers  Images that come in waves...
Each appearing  in it own unique way.
In a  vibrant white and yellow glow..
A silhouette of a man...   I do not know.
The outline of a  very high bridge....
That spans across a narrow ridge.
Letters, numbers a bass guitar....
A lined highway road that  goes straight ,very far.

Each image manifests,and dissipates...
into the pitch black, empty space.
Illuminated in electric light.
Shifting shape before my eyes.
They see all ,theyre opened wide.
What happened to gravity.?Why do they glide?


What I thought was a loud buzzing hum...
Accompanied  by the pound of a  drum.
Is  the silence that  echos in  my head.
 It courses my   veins...Like the blood I have bled.
Only it  holds me here instead,as if im incased  in a ton of lead
To  my bed and pillow held under this weight.
 Only I could be fragile glass about to break
Until  I reminded myself that what I feel is fake.
Then my mind is pulled to a quiet hush. 
Where my  head sinks down in  inviting plush

Suddenly I feel as if  I'm floating  in time.....   
Forward yet I'm moving into mine.
Theses images -that  continue to fade in....  
Then changing as it fades right back out again.
 While others make there way with a pop
That flashes  down low and shifts up to the top....
And lingers for a moment til its shape forms  another to take its place.
 What omce  vague I come to realize that what actually fades in and out is  I.
In and out but forward into myself .I wonder how thought  it was anything else.
 Am I in flight or am I floating ...into the images I go through.?
Should I question if what I see if false or true?
I won't look down for fear the view.
It might will let me drop and'.I dont know if I want to start.

As I go forward   into my self I move  on- In this current  Im carried it pulls me  along .
Through a timeless space of nowhere.
Every thing is as meaningful  as it  is pointless  there.
 I m drifting.... I drift in a slow steady pace. 
Not just watching .....but Ive become part of the space 
Not only within.... but all over the place.

Interacting with each scene - that I see - as I glide.
Looking from inside .....but also within.
When what I watch ends....another begins.

As if it is the most normal thing in my whole life
What seems strangely familiar, Is too vague to realize.
While It escapes all  logic  Its so incredibly wise.
I even ask myself not to believe my eyes.
But Im true to myself I tell no lies.?..Not this time....
Not  to me myself and I.
I f  there were times , surely, this is not one.
  I see myself  doing things I've done
 And doing these things.... things I'd never do.
Yet Im continueing to do them all the way through.
And Im feeling the same emotions I see me haveing too.
They come and go as quickly as what surrounds me.
Whatevers around me..
. Laughter, surprise,embarrassment they go on and on.... 
Anger, contentment.....but  I feel mostly mostly calm.
  In a hum of  energy that  sometimes snaps and sparks.
But It continues in motion even when I dont want it.
 In a current pulled away  but within it ....Im on it.

In a flash I stop. It lets me drop...
With that halt - I m in a fall .
Gravity ****** me heavily away.
It pulls my body and stretches my face.....
It tosses my tummy like a carnival ride.
And me, with this awful fear of heights...
Thats when I remember- I know how to fly.
I dont end in a crash....I soar to  the skies....
Im an expert at this I barely have to try.

I feel so safe, so free from harm.Oh great ,Whats the noise coming out of my arm?
I this sound ,'What is it ?
Why...thats my alarm!!!
                       Eyes open wide.What a ride!
MEDITATION Astro glide.
    
                                      

                        ­          -
Zacgabranth Aug 2014
You will go to sleep early to talk to your pillow.-Isaac Brock
The thoughts in my head were spinning around. It's all in doubt, it's all in doubt. - The Pacific Ocean

"Tell me why the stars are so bright?"
"They are made of gas which is constantly burning and the twinkling light is the result of that."
"You are simple"
"so what, I didn't listen to my teachers very well. you were the one who asked a simple question anyway"
"But was it?"
"I'm pretty sure it was, and how come you don't know?"
"I wanted to hear you tell me. Are you done with your video games now? I want to go outside"
"The game is almost over. Where would you like to go?"
"You always say it's almost over and yet it keeps going on and on. I don't know where to go, we should just go do something outside.
"Like what? I haven't been outside lately and there isn't much to do when you don't have money"
"It's not like we need to pay to go outside. You seem so reluctant to leave the house, who are you again?"
"How come you don't remember? My name is Bashful. What happened to you Jealousy?"
"I'm not entirely sure, something must have hit me on the head. We have to go now Bashful!"
"Why? It's not like there is anything that interesting outside."
"You have to come Bashful or I won't know how to act."
"Remember going outside always ends with disappointment."
"It won't be like that this time Bashful. We will find something fulfilling this time I swear."
"No Jealousy I don't want to go back outside. Id rather stay here in front of my screen."
"You know I'm not surprised much, after that last experience I can tell you don't want to show your face again."
"haha whatever Jealousy, just leave me alone."
"You are going to live with that disappointment forever Bashful if you don't let it go. I'm going to see if Envy wants to go and tell me when you change your mind. ok?"
"Will do."

"Wake, wake up you."
"What, whats happening?"
"Nothing at all you see that's why you gotta get up."
"But jealousy I was just so comfortable laying here, and the dreams were just about to start."
"You need to stop sleeping so much Envy, you will end up holed up in your room like Fear."
"Hmm, whatever you say. So what exactly did you want from me?"
"I wanted to see if you wanted to go outside. So do ya?"
"You don't seem yourself today Jealousy, why exactly do you want to go outside?"
"I feel so restrained in this place, and I'm not sure what there really is to do here anymore."
"You could just relax ya know like Content. He's been sitting there all day reading books and he seems fine."
"Yes he seems fine ,but he rarely even talks anymore. That last incident was just to much for him. Its as if he isn't even present anymore."
"You think too much, but ya Ill go outside with ya it's not like I have anything better to do. Have you asked Bashful?"
"I did but he's still upset about the other."
"I see. He sure is getting sensitive these days."

Jealousy and Envy then leave the house

"This isn't like you Jealousy. You have never been up to leave without Bashful with you. What's up?"
"I'm not sure..."
"Well you should try to sort things out before leaving next time because you don't look well now."
"It's the heat I feel faded and stretched."

The two walk down to the road

"What is there really to do outside these days? All I see is passing cars and others in the distance."
"Umm well I know Stress and Confidence usually go to the nearby station.."
"That's where they work Jealousy don't you remember. You've had to go with them once or twice now."
"Maybe, but the thing is I have no recollection of it."
"Something must of happened to you too during that last time out. You can recall that something occurred, but do you remember what exactly happened?"
"An other created a disturbance... I can sense it in Bashful and the rest of us..."
"Yes that's true but you have no idea of how it happened."
"I don't ya.."
"I guess Ill have to tell ya then, but lets get out of this heat first."

Jealousy and Envy walk over to a grass covered area with trees. Then Envy and Jealousy light up a cigg and resume their conversation.

"The day before, Stress,Bashful, and Coward had just returned from work and they wanted to head into another town to drink with friends. The rest of us agreed and we were able to get a ride. We arrived and thus collided into physical form."

Envy then shares the memory with Jealousy
"Who's ____"
"He's an artist she knows."
"Ohh ya, she told me about him last time I was hanging out with her. They seem to be getting along really well."
"Are you okay there___?"
"Ya I'm fine. I'm in the process of letting go. Are you ready to see if shes there? I want to get drunk."
"Let's go."

"Hey _____"
"How ya doing?"
"Fine. I brought my friend over too. Did you still want to hang out?"

The Memory Dissipates

"So where are you now friend?"
"I'm in a different place than before"
"Where is that? I've never seen you so distant"
"I think it's a place that doesn't truly exist. An imaginary space that confines it's only prisoner, me."
"That place doesn't sound very fun if its just you entrapped. Don't you have any visitors?"
"Once in awhile I let people inside, but then the space becomes distorted and chaotic with constant pressure to release myself"
"So you are the warden too?"
"In a sense I am but in another I'm not fully in control of that place."
"Who is?"
"I'm not entirely sure yet. I see a dark figure trailing me sometimes and I think it's the thing that brought me there. Though when I look back it disappears."
"Don't fade away ok?"
"I'm not gone yet. My mortality always brings me back, but someday I want to stay there."
"Why do you want to leave so badly?"
"I hate being here."
I thought it would be nice to start posting my writings here again. I don't necessarily like the direction of this piece, but it inspires me to write further so please comment away. I need it........
Ridvan Dibra Oct 2015
Ridvan Dibra


Everyone forgot Sephorah, the Prophet’s wife.



The heavens are unfolding like pages of a book,
My Lord.

Pages worn from time
Yet I say they are more worn from their daily reading,
Some are creased and some are shredded
From bolts of lightning and our impatience.

Just as blind as we were in the beginning,
My Lord.

Not a single page did we know how to decipher,
Not a single line, not a single letter,
Simply because we searched upward and afar
When the alphabet was taught around us and everywhere.

Just as deaf as we were in the beginning,
My Lord.

We did not know how to hear your voice
Distracted by a thousand and one false voices,
When everything was so simple and light
It sufficed that we bow our heads and listen to our breathing.

Just as hungry as we were in the beginning,
My Lord.

Simply because we desired our neighbour’s vine
And never blessed our wild weeds
Neither the globe that we should not have bitten
In a rush like the unripe apple.

Just as alone as we were in the beginning,
My Lord.

Scattered about like grains of sand
From the wind that we blew with our cheeks,
Or rather like repentant orphans
Because they raised their hands and slew their parents.
Just as much in the dust as we were in the beginning,
My Lord.

On our lips, in our lungs there is dust
And when we think we are flying higher and higher
The dust pursues us simply because we are idle or forget
To cleanse ourselves before every departure.

Just as homeless as we were in the beginning,
My Lord.

Our huts collapse before being completed,
No thousand years could they suffer your anger,
Until, one after the other, we blame
The walls and the roof, and then the foundations.

Just as thirsty as we were in the beginning,
My Lord.

With our dried and withering lips blistered as in August
We desiccated the sources of life one by one,
Sought and then created
Endless springs of blood.  

Just as ignorant as we were in the beginning,
My Lord.

Simply because we took the second step before the third
And said the first word after the second,
Thus, even our knowledge is nothing
But a correction of errors once made.

You are still everywhere
And we are nowhere,
My Lord.

We disregarded all the reasons for blood,
We forgot even the screams of grieving folk,
We forgot that the wounds of our foes
Would one day hurt even more in our *******.

And they hurt in my breast,
My Lord.


THE FIRST PLAGUE: BLOOD


You shake more from the blood than from the shadows, Sephorah.
From the blood that has no name, that rises out of the fresh wound,
Blood that shines the same in all wounds,
Blood that never knew how to become water.

But the water becomes blood,
My Sephorah.

I only need to strike it with my snake-shaped staff,
That is, with my untamed will,
Bang-bang-bang,
Bang-bang,
Bang.

See how the rivers and all other waters have been bloodied,
The snow is melting and it drips blood
The sharp-pointed icicles are dripping blood,
Drip-drip-drip,
Drip-drip,
Drip.

Understand now the value of water
And let my purpose go
You blistered lips and you arid lands,
You thirsty ******* and you hungry fish,
You forgot that they fished me from the water with my name:

It was life at the beginning
Death followed in its footsteps.


THE SECOND PLAGUE: THE FROGS  


You shudder more from the swamp than from the blood, Sephorah,
The swamp called oblivion and lack of attention,
The sallow swamp that chokes the green,
As the moment strangles eternity.

The swamp that spawns monsters,
My Sephorah.

All sorts of reptiles, repulsive, slowly creeping,
All types of lilies, brightly coloured, but poisonous,
All kinds of breaths, all of them muddied,
And in the end, the emblematic frogs:

Lured by my snake-shaped staff,
That is, by my untamed will.

They approach and enter your home, Sephorah,
In the room where you sleep,
They creep into your bed.

They stain its white sheets
Disturb your tranquil sleep
With their salivating cries,
Croak-croak-croak,
Croak, croak,
Croak.

When the Gods fight with one another
Man must make peace with himself.

My Sephorah.


THE THIRD PLAGUE: THE MOSQUITOES


You recoil more from the cause than from the consequences, Sephorah,
The cause that is me or somebody else within me,
It happens rarely, very rarely to human beings,
And perhaps never to the daughters of Eve.

The swirls of dust have now become clouds of mosquitoes,
My Sephorah.

Over your face and over your tall body,
Over your lips and over your small *******,
Over your sleep and over your ****** dreams,
Over your silence and over your divine patience,
Over your tears and over your rare smile,
Over your motherhood and over your rare fruit,
Over your roots and over your green stem
Have remained the gray scars of bites,

My Sephorah.


THE FOURTH PLAGUE: THE FLIES


They are tiny and everywhere and drive you crazy, Sephorah,
Like grains of the pale sand falling through the fingers,
Or like words and daily routines
That we could do without.

This cloud of flies is the shroud,
My Sephorah.

Neither wound, nor bite, nor poison
On your marble-white body
Or all three at once, somewhere under your skin
Where feelings sting like an uncommitted sin
And where the start is projected as an expected end.  

Because death comes rarely
Without being invited in advance by us,

My Sephorah.


THE FIFTH PLAGUE: THE BEASTS


Once I spoke of you as I did of the beasts, Sephorah.
Finding in them everything that is yours
Or finding in you everything that is theirs, it’s the same thing.

I am talking about those times when you were called nature
Or when nature was a woman, it’s the same thing.

But the beasts all perished,
My Sephorah.

They perished in you, grievously, one by one
Died the grace of mares in the fields at sunset,
Died the sacrifice of camels in the fallow desert,
Died the naivety of the donkeys chewing on thorny bushes,
Died the kindness of the sheep and the fertility of the cow.

They were cut, one by one ,
And perhaps it was I who cut them, one by one,
The threads that tied you to nature,

My Sephorah.


THE SIXTH PLAGUE: THE DUST


The dust is like prejudice, Sephorah,
With your lungs you breathe it in,
It envelops you entirely
In a mantle that changes according to season.
It’s the sky that sifts furnace ashes,
My Sephorah.

On you and on every other breathing being around
Falls the gray sorrow that thereafter conceives
Autumn, eternally ailing,
From its inability to be another season,
More similar to human beings and their fate,
For fates under the dust all become the same,
Or so it may seem to the untrained eye
To the stare that only strokes the surface
Like the dust strokes your senses,

My Sephorah.


THE SEVENTH PLAGUE: THE HAIL


Intermediate things have always caused you to shake, Sephorah,
Hail, for example - neither a raindrop nor a snowflake,
Not even a raindrop and a snowflake together.  

You are alone between fire and ice,
My Sephorah.

They are not pearly garlands that hang in the heavens
But ropes with hailstone spines,
Enticed by my wooden staff
With the fiery snakes of lightning,
Scorching like blind passion.

The barley in the sheaves is scorched and withered
As is the flax which just bloomed,

But not the wheat that endures and is late to ripen
Nor your invincible core,

My Sephorah.  


THE EIGHTH PLAGUE: THE LOCUSTS


The healed wound brings forth another, Sephorah,
As desire brings forth desire and pain brings forth pain,
Until the moment when the soul becomes a soulless object
And the body a soul and a breath together

The dancers of death are approaching,
My Sephorah.

A wind from the east has borne them in throngs,
An army of hungry moments, never satiated,
A plague that gobbles up everything that remains
Especially young sprigs, as yet to grow shoots
And everything else that is green and that nourishes the hope
Sown in your soul
And in your warm body,
My Sephorah.


THE NINTH PLAGUE: THE DARKNESS


You dread more the darkness than the fire, Sephorah,
When shapes disappear and everything becomes the same,
The highest and the lowest, and the black and white

You dread the darkness that is touched by hands,
My Sephorah.

Then you have no other salvation but to turn towards yourself
As to a friend lost and found after many many years,
Because darkness is darkness, and dissipates not like the mist,
Because it hides the unknown and reveals the known.
Man does not see man, and touches him only
When avoidance becomes impossible.

The belated reward pains you
As it does me and my rediscovered self,

My Sephorah.


THE TENTH PLAGUE: DEATH


You’re disturbed more by death than by life, Sephorah,
That is, life near to me and my isolated people
With their eternal and false aspirations for salvation
In their arduous attempts to be understood.,

While the death itself flees from you,
My Sephorah!

On your wise brow as on the crossbeam of a heated house
I have left the telling sign of blood:
May death remember and seek another shelter,
For man can recognize only what he has created himself,
Whereas the beginning and the end are the creations of others,
Even though the elephants return to die in their birthplace.

“Who is not with me is against me”
Said even death to itself one day.

My Sephorah.


THE ELEVENTH PLAGUE: SEPHORAH


Stronger and safer than on my wooden will,
I rely on your silent sacrifice, Sephorah,
You, the most unhealed of all my wounds
That pains me most when the others are silent.

Long has been the road, Sephorah, far too long,
Full of turns and ambushes that delayed my purpose,
Even though I knew that only children expect instant victory
And that all the prophets of old were marching through me.

But long roads never end, Sephorah,
My staff and my faith were too small: only to the Lord does its own self suffice.
I needed more love than understanding,
And then you came, with your body enwrapped in spirit.

I loved only the purpose and thus the people did not love me, Sephorah,
Filled with poison, the cup in your fair hands
And yet, despair is a virtue and joy is a sin,
Whereas events live less than people.

When you teach someone, they pay you, Sephorah,
When you teach all, you must pay yourself.

It is both beautiful and hard to be the wife of a prophet,

My Sephorah.  


March, 2000


Translated from the Albanian by Shinasi Rama, Janice Mathie-Heck and Robert Elsie
Poetry by MAN Jun 2013
I sit alone in my cyberspace home, king of my universe on my internet throne, searching through threads for my cyberspace queen, born in a fantasy, died in a dream, reality on the horizon through a sea of doubt, my cyberspace soul dissipates when my user logs out....
6-13-13 M.A.N
Steph's Corner Feb 2016
The wobbly love bits
woke up when the morning is
still fogged by cold purple-hued
freshness

She covers her face
but reveals those baby eyes
to follow you with
mirthful wonder
and she flails her wobbly fingers
and wobbly arms
with playful waves
and her mother
takes away her blankie
And she is dressed in
blue, and that sort of
beauty all crammed inside
that little brand new human being
can be quite
overwhelming

Her few feather hairs
and happiness-crinkling eyes
and mouth in a laughing sort of circle
and her invisible neck
and super puff-loved
cheeks
And love-hearts
fill the air
and spread joy
though your bones
and nerves
like warm sunshine
that melts
yesterday's despair
and dissipates
all the tiny
agonies
within
her radius.

-To Alice
Jan 7, 2016
Katy Laurel Oct 2012
These autumn sunrises bring a remnant

Of cool spring mornings we spent
In 
moments of content, encompassing silence.

What is the foundation of this feeling

You once claimed to brand me with

Inside other lips?

The truth comes out,
coated in masks,

And unknown hopes,

That we have already proved to be wrong.

Can we rewind?
Can I bring your mind

To understand the beauty of the present?

Will ghosts always follow the trace of footprints

You left when you took flight from me?

But this language of ****** magnolias dipped in salty water

Recognizes the impossibility within her pleadings.

How selfish I become with the possibility of magnificent love.

Perhaps all I do to you now is inflict pain upon the

Wary navigator who sails the ocean of your soul.

I feel the weight of your ship sink into the water well of my mind.
I let it sink into my numb mind.
This juxtaposition fills my veins with anxiety,
For all that places itself in my hands
Quickly dissipates, melting under my overbearing love
And insecure need to be fully loved.

This has led to a natural novocain,
Which I am unable to keep from filling my blood,
And infecting the dear heart within my ribs
With nothingness.

I sink into the comfortable, encompassing black
With a blank stare and shiny scars.
Reminders that this abyss,
Often leads to insomniac slicing.
Watching my own blood leak out with happiness.
Sickfully joyful to see my liveliness,
Praying the physical will call upon frozen passion.

This is the secret.
This is how I could bear to look at you for years without emotion.
Your love sang too true for my many masks to survive,
And my fear of feeling became cold, guilty friendship.
Perhaps, my guilt hoped for your understanding.
I just couldn't commit you to my own insanity.
Too many times have I tried to find fulfillment in lips,
I would never permit inside the lost water well.
You were better off without my tactless attempts at love.
Perhaps, that remains the reality…
Doubt haunts determination.
My difficulty in recovering our old language
Begins to overshadow my bright hope.

So now I contemplate the truth in my journey.
Am I merely chasing down your ghosts
Fighting to show you the value of your own love,
When you are so pridefully aware of its worth.
I wonder if you have ever truly observed my own love?

It existed, long ago, once within childhood
And then transformed into trapped, teenage hubris;
Prideful of my naivety, and what I then called fate.
But almost all evidence has been destroyed,
Out of selfish preservation.
How could I expect you to understand,
I only continue to breathe to rebel against these violent memories.

Yet, my fearful pride continuously tears at my honest ambition.
So, I call upon rhythm to release me.
Bon Iver breaks all my honor,
Evoking all memories of my ******.
Moments of time I keep deep in my silent sorrow.
Only this particular pain,
Allows me to isolate my words,
And continue singing.
I realize I have become lost in the water well.
When will this precarious ego finally shatter?

The silence returns to the mountain night.
Frigid, soft breeze breaks my blank stare,
As I fight with my twisted nature.
I continue to hold out my hand,
Shaking and trembling,
As you stare at me with shocked confusion.
I am no good with promises of the future.
So, I remain in the present,
And believe,
In the vulnerable emotion,
You unconsciously paint upon me.
Pagan Paul Jan 2019
.
Cohesion has been fragmented,
merely an old dissolved memory.
A shroud darker than pitch black
heralds the omni-directional strangler,
seeking to crush the fragile neck
and slowly asphyxiate the minds reality.

The turbulence of mute non-existence,
trapped in an endless glass sphere,
a cold snow-globe paper weight,
screaming for the end of the world.
Terror dissipates all common sense,
the inner head explodes and implodes.

A wracked skeleton of fevered flesh,
the violated remains,
beautiful and torn,
left,
when the butterflies of darkness
******
the fire.



© Pagan Paul (2017/19)
.
Sia Jane Mar 2014
Love bug, lady crush, peeking through a midnight sky,
Deep Purple, Smoke on the Water, before a
glimmer in her eye,
90's girl, child stars of, The Disney Club,
Timberlake, Spears, Aguilera,
Backstreet Boys, Spice Girls dominating,
every air wave,
Victoria Beckham, her Parsons inspiration
fashion designer she'll fight her way,
to the top, so much power in her name,
yet even stripped bare, she'd be a star,
her talent to sketch, draw and drape,
falls on knees bent, if only we pray,
to even have an ounce from her display,
I know few like her, love unconditional,
we're the writers seeking solace,
an unforgiving pain,
life taking so much drain,
in the light of day this pain brings forth,
an edge to your art, a masochistic feel,
creating itself a soul untamed.

You write to remember, you sketch your dreams
hopelessness turns to desire,
the dark cloud of youth,
dissipates in the air,
knowing there is a way through,
treachery and despair.

My dear, you may some days,
feel in that gutter trying to,
catch a star,
but today you shine, as bright as
a diamond in this very same sky,
we see across continents,
each night that we pray.

Release the grip, lessen the pull,
fly and fly,
sore heights so high,
you ain't ever coming down.

© Sia Jane
My little love bug, celebrates her birthday today and this little bit of poetry, if we can call it that, is the least I can do. Love you angel <3
Emmy Nov 2013
This empty feeling in me does not want to leave
Refuses to pack its bags
don’t see what it’s trying to achieve
Made a home in me
right in my heart
turned it cold and dark.
I used to run away
                             I was weak
                   I gave in
fell to my knees
I let this darkness overcome and here I lie, broken inside.
The will to fight dissipates
as it     whispers            its convincing
                                                          lies
That here, where broken and empty
reside
Is so much safer than letting myself feel happy inside.
That being this is so low
there is no
                fall or receiving                         blow
I used to run away
      I was weak
                 I gave in
                              fell to my knees.
Now when you come knocking, know that there is no me
I’m gone
this is broken and empty’s home.
Free Bird Feb 2016
In these moonlit hours
I lay here, my thoughts racing
Sometimes it's hard to handle
The realities that I'm facing

My mind is over-tired
Yet my thoughts keep me awake
It's just the way I'm wired
It feels as if there's no escape

Flashbacks hit me like a flash flood
I'm drowning in the memories
My wounds have opened, there is blood
Pouring from my arteries

As the crimson river runs
It feels do or die, this battle
The journey's never any fun
When you're up a creek without a paddle

I see everything so vividly
The visions that dance before my eyes
I'm overcome with melancholy
As I whimper out soft cries

Then just as quickly as it came
The feeling is gone, I'm no longer numb
My body's shaking dissipates
As I brace myself for when the next wave comes
Stringer Jul 2018
Ode to sincerity
Unlike a candles flame
Wrath contained,
Dissipates not
                    but
        grows and gains

Wrath contained
A brick in a washing machine
A moth in a closet
Wrath contained,
A plant growing
As Providence's Gardener is perpetually hoeing
With a deft hand doubt's seed Wrath is sowing

Wrath contained,
Is Suffering's Yeast,
To its expansion there's no end
The closed mouth is an open space for Wrath to bend
Sprouts of hope Wrath's malice fends
               Away and blights
With its bligthening might
Grinds light to dust
Creeps under the plant *** it must
Break in the foundation it may
Once cheery now morose
Day-by-day Wrath dissembled its host

— The End —