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Alyssa Underwood Aug 2018
We're forced, each man, to walk a trialed path—
resisted trek, uphill through blinding daze
that shrouds with crucible's perplexing haze
till fog-white skies yield quick to black clouds' wrath.
Affliction brims a thorny pack to bear
whilst dewy darkness drenches in the night,
but where is calming lamp to lend us sight?
And who will come to give us saving care?
Here through veil is heard a whisper certain,
then o'er the mountain creeps the dawning day
and with clear eyes we see the brume give way
as God retracts His theatre's curtain,
unsheathing velvet waves whose morning sheen
beyond grey mist splays vast and wondrous green.
~~~

"I will exalt You, LORD,
    for You lifted me out of the depths
    and did not let my enemies gloat over me.
LORD my God, I called to You for help,
    and You healed me.
You, LORD, brought me up from the realm of the dead;
    You spared me from going down to the pit.
Sing the praises of the LORD, you His faithful people;
    praise His holy name.
For His anger lasts only a moment,
    but His favor lasts a lifetime;
weeping may stay for the night,
    but rejoicing comes in the morning.
When I felt secure, I said,
    'I will never be shaken.'
LORD, when You favored me,
    You made my royal mountain stand firm;
but when You hid Your face,
    I was dismayed.
To You, LORD, I called;
    to the Lord I cried for mercy:
'What is gained if I am silenced,
    if I go down to the pit?
Will the dust praise You?
    Will it proclaim Your faithfulness?
Hear, LORD, and be merciful to me;
    LORD, be my help.'
You turned my wailing into dancing;
    You removed my sackcloth and clothed me with joy,
that my heart may sing Your praises and not be silent.
    LORD my God, I will praise You forever."

~ Psalm 30

https://hellopoetry.com/poem/1464179/the-beauty-behind-the-fog/
zebra Jul 2018
like cellophane wraps hard candy
like ink loves to dry
like hot sauce drenches noodles
like sunrise casts shadows
like band-aids sooth cut flesh
like irons crease linens
like origami folds paper
like water floats boats
like a tempest loves a teapot
like syrup and bananas drench waffles
like spoons love soup
like cats love fish
like french fries love ketchup
like wild girls dance
like a crow loves road ****
like eyes love beauty
like a circle loves a square
like buttered buns fit a bikini
like a kissed mouth hungers for wet lips
like moths love a flame
like dogs love *******
and like ******* hug butts

like howling ******* pulse hearts
like vampires love blood and castles
like dark grapes ferment in bubbling cauldrons
like white loves rice
like madness loves a straight jacket
like a ***** loves a ****
and music gets you dancing

like suns fall through cobalt night all smashing diamonds
  
that's
how i love you
love
Noandy Feb 2015
I say;

The drifting rain dissolves sea salt
Turning tears into dangled monsoon
Under the bleak ballad of dying dawn
Where I long for heat unbroken

You say;

The drifting rain drenches my tiptoe
Witching smiles into deranged equinox
Upon the downpour of ancient daybreak
Where I pray for old snow long sunk

All was as if the days faded
And morphed into younger sunset
It was as if mercy was drained
And no one preach as desired

The downpour stench though remains constant
Of rotting perfume of the rouge graphite
You drowsily drip from dowsing fingers, they lit
Into pages of burning, dancing melodious lads

As will, you may keep those imageries for you
And give up old stories as my slumber lyre
Whether it is about the burnt down marching boy
Or the bloodstained pianist from our ancient joy

For the bleak heart aesthetic
has affected a new kind of love
And the bleak heart aesthetic
would never let you feel so certain

So please keep your drifting rain of strings
During the downpour of the deranged equinox
When the snow goes black and slowly sunk
Into pages of firespit melodious lads
Devin Leigh Nov 2014
Love doesn't die over night but the dreams you grew and planted with one another do. One day you wake up and his scent drenches your skin but other then that there is no trace of him.
K Balachandran Sep 2018
When first-rain drenches the trees,
Mango trees full of blooms whine,
Rains wash down the pain!
zebra Apr 2017
kisses on your warm sweet mouth
tender lips caressed
exploring your ******* and raised ******* ..
belly and thighs enveloped
those eager dark delicious places that i covet so
your musk erogenous
the path to your hungry soul
eater of the poison apple
your eyes widen bright with delight
a strange synesthesia you say
your smile a hypnotic alter
you prone
back arched
belly willing
as i drag a curved blade slowly across your winsome flesh
worshiping you
breathing your warm breath into my mouth and nostrils
come now
you coo
i am sheildless

then little strangles that excite
to see how you do
will you love it
adorations twisted mind
she demon
a wizened dizzy Venus

please yes
her **** drenches the bed
a warm viscosity
legs widen
feet piqued
*****
exotic delicatessen

Heralded
i enter with long sweet butter strokes
the sabbath of desire
I swear
i wont let you suffer...
never !
why you say?
because i love you
lovely scythe you call
as if lulled to sleep
whispering dreadful incantations   .
i ache to close the curtain
to lifes scalding chatter
wrap me
in a raggy shawl
impale the throat
like ive alway dreamed
a last exhalation
flood gates pour forth
as deaths dark fold
dissolves all

i rock you drugged
absinthe and wormwood
a last ***** of candles flame
white gauze cinched
lips on a lost mouth
eyes a static pyre

i linger
wishing you still plush
an animated glow
so that i could feel your arms,
now milky white relics
only to take you all over again and again and again
dreamer of the abyss
yet you stand
aberrations, smoke ghost
sacrificially swaying your hips
calling from Hades
dancer of ritual copulation
i melt like wax in the sun
wither
and die myself
marriage Italian style
dead bells in love
blotted out by the Sirens of Mara
Mara ..Greek Damon of deception and distorted thinking
You are my
Ensorcelled Elysium,
You are my
Eden Dream.

You cascade
Upon my Dreamscape,
Enshrine my slumber in
A flowered gale of aromatic petals
That envelop me, beckon me
To herald the rebirth
Of Days of Yore.

You vein
The Glistening Glade of Memories
With your
Brooks of Aqueous Emerald.

Tis' the
Phantasmagoric Plane
Where still
My wayworn spirit wanders, wearily
In search of the magic
To enfetter
The Hands of Fate
(For they conspire against us).

Swifter than your descent
Into my soul
(Five seconds still and flat)
By
The nexus of your affections,
You evanesced
Like vapor,
Yet
I shall not concede to
The Malevolent Matriarch of Destiny.

For you
O, Breath of Life,
Forsook me not
So I sublime all stains
Tarnishing my flesh
By cries to The Ethereal.

At midday
Awaiting the Twilight
I long for
The birth of The Womb of Aether’s
Progeny,
Starlit winds.

I muse
Swimmingly in Seas of Reminiscence,
Banished from that Blackened Bastion
Of Shadowed Heavens,
For when darkness shrouds
My dreams can be seen
Draping the skies.

I then fathom,
You must not be far off,
Wishing,
Hoping,
Believing
That perhaps
You too
Wonder upon stars
Longing to find that one
That entwines us anew.

You shall alight,
Upon me once more
As
August Sun’s Nimbus
(If only for a moment)
Is thwarted
By
Ebony Miasma
That drenches Cimmerian skies.

In search
Of Ardor’s Light abiding in
The Sylvan Shrine of Your Numinous Eyes
I plead that
The Crag oppress
The Coals of Tribulation,
Until my anguish is
A Diamond Heart.

The pilgrimage
I must bear,
Must be traveled by
The Adamantine alone.

Where have you gone,
Tree of Life?
Why have you withered,
Yggdrasil?

Do I possess
The Eradia of Souls,
By which you shall
Effloresce?

I would halt the cogs of time,
Relinquish my liberty,
To slumber for eternity
In crystal stasis
By your side.

Even in that crystalline quietude,
I would be eminent,
I would be exalted,
I would be ennobled,
In the knowingness that
Your
Stalwart Heart
Radiates
Just beside me.

I exhale Empyrean Winds
When rapt in reverie,
Yearning to be
Captive to your devotion,
Yours alone.

The Bliss of Your Most Holy Kiss
Would signet me
With the
Bounty of Your Name
Burnishing the skin
On my lips.

Though ephemeral,
Your presence divined,
Your presence
Was my anointing.

To be solaced
By the astral resonance emitted
By your touch
Sent the
Pulse of Nirvana
Surging, rippling,
Like a kaleidoscope tide,
Down my spine

You are
The Waters of Vitality
That floweth from
The Creeks of Eden,

You have been
Poured upon my palate
From the
Goblet of Redemption
That I may drinketh
Of
Supernal immortality.

When once again we meet,
Perhaps the tears you summoned
From my spirit
By your
Stirring caress
Shall have absolved me
Of the pangs
In loving a man
(And man alone).

Perhaps then,
The sentiments
I pine to profess,
Will resound.

A melody
Sung in legato,
A  mellifluous melisma,
Flawlessly delineated
And
Intonation in deiform
Or perhaps,
Flowering fioritura
Lacing airwaves,
By the Empress Coloratura.

Perhaps then, piety
Betwixt you and I,
Will waft the air
And I might then,
Permit my quaking body
To succumb to
You alone.

Until that morn,
I shall be vigilant,
Counting the Dawns,
Counting the Twilights,
Until
I can gaze
Into your forested eyes
If even for but a moment.

For even but a moment
Spent with you,
Will bleed a nostalgia
Across my mind's sky,
Painting clouds crimson with passion,
And
That I shall revere,
And
That shall last
And last
And,
Last… And
Last.

O, it will last,
To Elysian Infinity.


            I am a vestige,
               But I shall live once more,
                  In the light of memories
                       That blossom, are perennial,
                           And imbibe the dazed glory of the past
                       Until the past is vanquished
                 By a future that is fragrant
             With the mist of romance
          And eclipses the simulacrum,
       A fictitious sun of the infernal masquerade,
    The antithesis of the truest holy,
Then, rapture of life shall mystify no longer,
For the Numen of Truth,
  Shall cleanse creation without a drop of façade,
      His Providence shall emancipate the hollow,
             The Death of Dreams shall writhe
               In everlasting abeyance,
                 Absolving our wayward spirits,
                  The Winds of Change,
                  The Scourge of Pain,
               And
          The Loveless Wraiths
        That haunted our husks
      Shall be transcended for aeons,
  And tribulation made distant, made nebulous
As the Genesis of Time and Space itself
  For we embark on an exodus,
     Beseeching salvation to redeem us
        When the Requiem of Iniquity
           Is triumphed by everlasting cadence.

Be Valiant,
                 Be Sapient,
                             Be Love
                                       And
                                          By this
                                                You shall conquer the world
                                                           ∞
Hello my fellow comrades! This piece was originally written as a means of catharsis. I wanted to express the romantic sentiments begotten by an individual who deliquesced from my world as swiftly as they arrived. I hope you guys can glean virtues of humanity, poignancy, candor, and (an organic) transparency in this piece. I want to impress the density of reverence pulsing in my heart for the person who enraptured me by the thew of their tenderness and kindred spirit.

Hopefully the massive length of this piece does not deter from reading its contents. Holistically speaking, the volume of content in this piece is the metaphorical incarnation of the Ocean of Affection that ebbs and flows within my soul (for this individual). I would love to improve, so if you have any constructive feedback you'd like to convey I would be most grateful. Anyhow, I hope that on some level you can connect with the overtones of undying piety in love that deluge this piece. Thank you all for reading and God bless!
Conor Letham Mar 2012
A thin, red trail
slaps the pavement,
becomes so swollen,

strands trip around
the neck and cut
deep where there,

in the slick trickles
pulled to small floods,
sinking out, a tip

of the tongue cry
never quite confirmed,
stays strangled. Drips

and ebbs with bottle
in hand, a scarf
in the other. Like ribbon

it weaves into spaces,
drenches the ground
until everything is art.
When your gaze scours my curves,
I feel naked, yet cloth pulls tightly.
You go beyond ******* me with your eyes.
Tequila has nothing on the way you look--
at me.

When you speak to me, only me,
The lead of words is turned into
The gold of excitement.
Every syllabe tickles my sensitive stimuli,
Every word seduces my thought,
Until all I can utter is--
"more".

Hot breath on my neck drenches
My senses, leaves me breathless.
And when I ask, "can I borrow yours?"
Your kiss rivals that of the french.
So hot, our lips are not our own.
Then your tongue turns into Columbus,
and explores.
Your touch is my master,
Your movement my release.

And when finally,
Liquid love makes my clothing
Suffocating.
There is only one word on my lips--
"Remove".
Mary Gay Kearns Mar 2018
Travelling by foot in whatever weather
I took to walking the gardens' route,
With single lens reflex camera
Still able to take the sort of pictures
That stop the eyes from wandering.
Photos in black and white
Where contrasts given a subtlety
Slowly revealing the depths
Of the familiar.

And into the park
Where rain, recently fallen,
Drenches the lens with jewels
Dropping from tree and cloud,
Sporadically,
Catching the light
With its rainbow spectrum
And collecting moments
Of nature's splendour
Into unnoticed places.

Love Mary ***
Carlos Andujar Jun 2010
Dress yourself with my kisses,

Décor with my embrace;

Paint, with my words, your lips and face -

As my skin, over you, creases.



And your moonlit eyes undress my soul,

And your smile, like rain, my mind drenches.

Drown me in your scent,

As your touch, my thoughts blenches.



For the world will pass us by,

And between us only exists you and I.
©2010 J.R. Morales
Dan Pramann Mar 2010
The tapping
and rapping
of which you believe to be rain
striking your glass
belongs not to nature
but of the rocks which
my hands hurl

Drowning in rain
and thoughts of you
driving me
placing me
a few feet below you
as you dream

the shouting of mine
is lost in the whirling,
whipping rain and thunder

pronouncing and proclaiming
true feelings
i somehow seem weightless
under the window
which i hope to glimpse your face

but... asleep you stay
comfortable under sheets and covers
with eyelids tightly sealed
dreaming away
white noise the only thing
your ears pick up

After hours of waiting
throwing and screaming
i quit
not wishing to awake the unwanted
i leave a simple note
tied round your mailbox
and let the rain
push my head farther into sorrow

walking away
not even comprehending
the fact
that the same rain that
drenches me and,
falls on your window
is blurring the ink
of which i confessed

truly and completely
i love you
© Dan Pramann. All Rights Reserved.
decompoetry Oct 2010
dystopia, where are your welcome bells?
utopia—must have missed the exit.
oh *****, I’ll gladly breathe your scent
if you’ll calm this paranoid cursive.

drag me from this bush
and introduce me to a forest
to claim my own.

skipped the chalk
of enlightenment,
and landed on a crack
and sprained my ankle.

head beating like a popcorn machine,
membrane popping in the sun,
sweat pours through ****** doors,
drenches my senses in gasoline
while a mosquito strikes the match.

pupils flawed by nails clawed,
bloodied sockets gouged
to forget to remember
and to remember to forget,

to stop thinking about life
after it’s all over,
and when that will be,
just let it be,
you and me?
relieved free?
maybe …

… and maybe flesh will sizzle to the bone,
maybe I’ll scream and moan,
and pound my fists into my skull.

hamburger raw,
soon to unthaw
in the flames
driving sanity
insane.

posture with the shakes,
productively stressed and
destructively depressed,
I just want to shed my clothes
and drain my lungs into the moon,
like a wolf without reason,
without a single concern
except for me and the moon;

the moon and I.
A B Faniki Jul 2019
There once was a girl who was sad
she wear what is black so to hide
when summer is here the dress,
it calls heat that drenches
these cloth in summer will have her mad.
Limerick about summet cloth. 7/20/2019
Astronaut Mar 2014
As sleep invades me foggy mind
My subconscious rampages about
visions bloom in front of my eyes
That I could surely live without
paranoia drenches my thoughts from
Simple thoughts and dreams
& the hidden Hell I sewed shut
Begins to break at the seams

I want to live inside my head
where everyone is mad
& living in that corrupted world
Would it really be so bad?
I wonder what I'd be
if I traveled to my mind
I could give all of this up
& leave it far behind.

& as I fall asleep now
Laying in my bed
I hope to dream a dream
Where I don't end up dead
One where Alice beheads the queen
& everything is right.
I want to be that Alice
I suppose now goodnight
WistfulHope Jan 2015
I wear baggy clothes so that I can feel skinnier.
I reread all of the notes I've saved almost every night.
I write really loopy because it's hard for me to let go.
I close my eyes and imagine things, constantly.
I paint with black because colors are too interesting.
I rub my face when I'm stressed, or I claw at my skin.
I wear my hair over my face so I can't see people staring.
I hate liquid eyeliner, insincerity, and pomegranates.
I love being in the rain because it stings, cleans, drenches.
I want to either die young or marry young, always have.
I try to walk everywhere I go so I can lose more weight.
I wish I remembered how to be happy.
Some things that don't matter.
kat Feb 2013
because a burnt tongue can evoke the same kind of emotions
as watching your fears go up in smoke
its not a coincidence that fireworks sounds like kettles
and that you live for matchbooks and destruction
because you love burning fingers just as much as bridges
your mouth waters at the sweet smell of gunpowder
and craves the taste of chaos
hot liquid drenches your throat
and you cringe and you breathe
and you wait for the bang
and you wait for release
because it hurts in the most peaceful way you can imagine

you don't call yourself a *******
but you admire the way
you can find beauty in pain so easily
your skin is tinted red and angsty
from the snap of rubber bands against your skin
but you crave that sting like ******
lifting you higher into the atmosphere
until you crash among the cosmos
and fall into the earth like flaming debris
and you drink in the disaster
but never choke on the smoke

you admire the way rain falls like atom bombs
and the sun boils like nuclear warfare
you've got the world in your hands
and you're clutching it for dear life
trying to hold on to your sanity
but everything you touch crumbles
into ashes at your feet

I'm sorry
I'm so sorry that the only way for you to feel
is to burn your arms with lighters
and scratch away your skin
to scar your body until its hanging by its corners
and you look in the mirror and all you see is shame
but to me, its a canvas
because from destruction
comes creation
i won't let that very disaster that you indulge in
be your demise
i promise
if you want me to,
ill help you brew new blood
ill pick out herbs and leaves
and combine them with heat
so this cold world
will never leave you feeling heartless again
so even when you watch those fireworks
and watch your life go up in smoke
you'll have something waiting for you
to savor, to release
to drench your throat and bring you peace
the baby pin oak in my backyard
is strong enough to support
the wild bird feeder
blue jay watches avidly till the coast is clear
relaxing in the garden jhoola
I sip my morning tea
a lime pastel butterfly flutters close to
my cup and a tawny brown lizard
his balloon red throat puffing love-calls
scampers over my feet
sky drenches the moment in blue
and chest thumping sounds of a
Saturday baseball game
herringbones through the fantastic
fabric and handiwork
of the here and now

Your melancholic memories come every second
You are invisibly floating all around me
My breathe plays your melody
My heartbeat plays your love-poem
My soul listens to my own LOVE longing
The breeze swirling your scent around me
I walk amidst your fresh jardine

When my eyes are traversed by YOUR eyes
Then the weather drenches me with your colors
And YOU pour all colors of LOVE on me

My numerous sleepless nights
I stand and see you in the stars
I count every sparkle you've left behind
In those million heart beats within

In that nighty silence I wait to hear
Your silence footsteps walking around me
I look up and see the reflection of
YOU nudging & hugging me from behind
In the mirror of that bright BIG moon

Each passing breathe conveys your arrival
The one, who is revered & adored all the time
My heart-beats showers cascades of blossoms
All along the places YOU- my BELOVED exists
And I render the whole world in my BELOVED's colors


Jimmy King Dec 2014
.              Part One               .

January
I wake up in a hungover haze that seems
Irrevocably unending. All the places I threw up,
That stiffness in my neck, the emptiness in my love;
There is too much to feel
So I feel numbness
And I feel remnants
Of ***** in my throat, only manifested fully
When my friends and I make fortune cookies,
Singing along to songs that we’re hearing for the first time
Amidst the chaos of exploding poinsettia plants and nascent tattoos,
All of which litter your mom’s otherwise bare counter.
I don’t make much mention, in my fortune cookies,
Of that girl who still leaves me hungover;
I fill them instead with cruel jokes
That send me cackling
Until my dehydrated headaches pass into

February
When I’m moonlit tipsy stumbling
Through a campus-wide coniferous forest in Washington State
With two strangers that I soberly think
Might be my future.
We arrive at the clear polluted waters
Of the Puget Sound, our boots all
Sinking into deep-mud as we walk past broken bits of shells
To low tide.
Even as the full moon sinks and I realize
That those two strangers can never be my future
(That Athens, Ohio is my future)
I still walk forward
Into the Puget Sound
Knowing that the water will stay with me
In my lungs, on my skin,
In my mind, and although I don’t tell a single person, I fear,
So rightly,
That the water from the Puget Sound,
Set to perpetually accumulate in my lungs,
Will one day come to drown me.
Even as I cry to my mom in our kitchen,
Relieved from that seemingly endless indecision
I’m not surprised. I’m not surprised
By the choice I’ve made, I’m not surprised
By the fears I still have, all that surprises me
About any of this
Is the immediacy with which
My conclusion’s future culmination begins, as I begin
And continue
While always feeling like I’m concluding,
An infinite

March
In spirals, spirals, spirals, leaving trails
In subconscious sands, someone paints
Blue spirals on my body, and when
I drive back to Lake Erie later,
To retrieve abandoned items and moments,
The road looks much different.
Less swirly, less threatening at first, and when we get there
We eat pineapple/onion pizza on my ****** cottage’s front porch,
Just barely shielded from the snow, and just barely
Shielded from one another. And even those
Slim shields between us begin to fall
When we stand on our melting Lake Erie.
Because the whole world
Calls to us.
The sky screams, the wind explodes,
The thin layer of water above ice rushes
Blissfully, almost hallucinogenically, towards you and towards I
And I am howling
Into the face of it all,
Fearing nothing—not even
The absence of that girl’s palm in mine
Or the water from the Puget Sound
Or the cold of the air
That is tearing at my scalp; that is tearing
At my whole being and

April
Is best described by a rampage
Home from a campsite
That I only ever saw
Drunkenly, in the dark, and under the pressure
Of Allan Ginsberg’s poetry and an ultimately failed ****.
On that rampage we steal tombstones,
We steal memories for ourselves,
And we steal crass glances
With crass jokes that sound sort of
Like the crass fortune cookies which somehow
Never went bad.
Someone notes during that drive
That the air is getting warmer
With regularity now,
And while I somehow can’t bring myself to cry when my cousin is shot to death,
I have to struggle to hold back tears
In our high school’s only classroom when you tell me
That you’re quitting that play we signed up for together.
I guess it’s cuz I’m concerned—
Cuz I’m deeply
Deeply
Deeply concerned—
That it’s a lack of dedication
To me, to what we do together, to everything
That will prevent my rampage from concluding quietly
Amidst the smells of Indian food and the soft light
In your future dorm room
Where I will hug you
And where I

May
Finally
Let all the tears
Flow freely.
I guess it’s the unnecessary intensity
Of this collective celebratory anticipation
That preemptively reveals to me
That the moment of walking across a stage
To receive my high-school diploma
Won’t be quite as transformative as I’d hoped it might be,
And when I make out with that girl who still has me hungover
In the bed at my dad’s house where I lost my virginity
Almost exactly one year prior, I realize that in fact,
I’m still marching the same march, and
Both magic moments of idealized transformation in that bed
Were just as illusory.
Somehow though
Your no longer nascent tattoos have not yet faded
And I can’t help but worry,
(As sweat pours from my forehead and drenches these bedsheets;
As my finger nestles itself tiredly between the folds of her ******)
That I have, and in

June
When all my anticipation is realized,
People clap in the audience despite the fact
That it’s the same stream of sweat
That’s trickling down along my spine
To reach my ***.
I stare into the spotlight
For just a moment, amidst those stale applause
And in my squint, I think briefly
That none of it ******* mattered. I mean,
Despite this perspiration, I’m
Dehydrated. Hungover. I guess
Drinking more alcohol
Isn’t the best way to get over it, but I can think of nothing else,
So even when I acknowledge
That all my attempts have not even been half-assed,
But, like, one-quarter-assed
The only resolve I find is in distraction, in
******* my other ex-girlfriend instead
And not until that distant

July
When I’m ascending through Never Sink,
Does my head finally
Feel clear, yes,
In that glowing blue pit
Of bioluminescence,
I feel the whole world slow to a stop,
Embrace my body with its taproots
And whisper
Playfully and
In a child’s voice,
“You are the whole world” and I know that I
Am the whole world.
I breathe heavily, the only sound for miles around,
And for a moment I feel that the Puget Sound,
Along with everything else that is so ******,
Has fallen away.
For it is not my body
That is climbing on-rope through the stars and galaxies of this great sinkhole
But my mind,
But my soul,
Because Never Sink
Is not a landscape
But a mind-scape,
A soul-scape,
And it is one which is never dark
Thanks to the blue lights of soulful- (not bio-) luminescence—
A glow that is strong enough to see
Finally
A singularity
In the form of an unlocked lock,
Appearing with grace upon my driveway
After I return home
From ******* my other ex-girlfriend
For the last time.
It is only when I stop the car,
Open the door,
And hold that unlocked lock in my hand that I realize the extent to which
I am being
Un-defined.
The ethereal being in Never Sink’s soul-scape,
Alone in the blue grace of the night,
With nothing in my breath.
The thought is terrifying.
So in

August
On the night of my eighteenth birthday,
The girl I’m hung over and I
Send magical, sparkling lanterns into the sky
With a wish so brilliantly bright and simultaneous
That even I am able dismiss the slurring drunk words spoken next to us—
“Here’s hopin’ that you two get married some day”
As superfluous.

.                Part Two               .

The winds above Lake Erie carry me,
Along with that lantern, into the foreignness
Which Never Sink foreshadowed.
But with the lantern as my very being
And the Puget Sound in my every breath,
Athens, Ohio does not become my soul-scape;
Even its gorgeous autumnal rolling hills
Are just land-scape, and I don’t know
Whether things would have been different
Had I not walked into that stranger’s party
For that terrible beer
On one of my first nights there, but regardless in

September
I walk up endless hills and stairs daily
To get around this hellhole where the only genuine people I’ve yet found
Were prepared to leave from day one, like I
Wasn’t. I wasn’t preparing for that at all, but the Puget Sound,
Lingers like phlegm in my lungs and distorts my regular refrain
Of “I can be happy here, I can be happy here,” keeping it
From ever loosing its hypothetical but eventually forcing it
To loose its conclusion:
I can be…
I can be…
I can be anything that I want to be and I am still here,
Sitting on the top terrace of this weird-assed biker bar with some girl
I just met, with some guy
Who seems cool, but in both cases
I drink one too many Blue Moon’s because I know
That neither of these people
Will ever loose their hypotheticals and will only ever
Loose their conclusions.
Gazing upwards towards the stars in the fading summer,
I try to ignore the physicality of all that’s around me,
But the alcohol churns in my stomach like violent waves, like in

October
How I rock like tides between the shores
Of two continents, of two
Acid trips.
One, on the floor of my dorm room, staring at my ceiling
In an attempt to make patterns
Out of patternless white paint, all the while holding hands
With that guy who seems cool, who has been dancing
In and out of hypothetical.
And the other acid trip with you,
Who somehow in the face of everything
Became one of my only certainties.
You, with whom I stood on Lake Erie
Howling into the wind in an unrealized epiphany.
An epiphany
That is now realized
Because the beers on that top terrace didn’t matter.
The white speckles on my dorm room ceiling during that first acid trip
Didn’t matter.
Hell, that girl I am in love with
Didn’t (doesn’t, can’t, won’t) matter.
What matters to me,
As I’m dressed in drag on Halloween,
Lying in your dorm room that smells of Indian food
With 120 dollars of drug money in my pocket,
Is what’s ultimately present. Right there.
Right here. But then, lying there, the time
Clicks over into

November
And at two in the morning it becomes
One in the morning.
I don’t know which of those hours wasn’t real
But when I hug you and cry in the soft light
It is a moment too brief.
It is a moment from which I am pulled straight
Into a hotel bed halfway to New York City,
Where I lie with that girl who I guess I’m in love with
And I’m kissing her, and I realize
That blue spirals still linger on my body, but when she groans,
So softly
That “we shouldn’t be doing this”
I pause before saying “I know,”
And in that pause, my pixelated, televised, and falsified image of reality
Briefly turns to fuzzy grey static, its finite infinity like the trance
Of meat on a rotisserie; I’m waiting
For this turkey to cook
In my friend’s mom’s home—funny
Because I’m still a vegetarian
Who sometimes likes to think of himself, in quest for definition,
As a vegan, but man
I’m beyond definition, I’m beyond anything,
I’m beyond even my darkest imaginings of myself, so when I get wasted
At a 2am that doesn’t click back on Thanksgiving morning,
I have a slice of that ******* turkey,
Cuz the vegan chili my friend and I made at school was good and all,
But I had to bike through freezing rain to get the peppers
And even though I’m starting to feel
Like I’ve found a few people who I can take in with permanence
Nothing feels more like permanence
Than this home-cooked meal
Of turkey and cranberries and sweet potatoes at a granite counter
Where, on January 1st when the ball dropped,
We all took shots, leaving me drunk, stumbling
And eventually
Hungover.
And of course in

December
I’m still
Hung over it all.
Part one, part two,
The futility of that division is so obvious now.
It’s the same poem, same sentence,
And when two not-so-new-anymore friends and I sit on a rooftop in Athens
With a bunch of still so-new I-guess-friends
Right before exam week,
Right before this emotionally excruciating semester comes to a close,
Right before I prepare to head home,
I realize that even though this place
Hasn’t quite become home yet,
My ‘home’ isn’t really at home now either.
I am without a bed in which I feel comfortable,
Without a body next to which my whole life makes sense,
And I am driving to go swing dancing—
An activity I can’t believe I’m still trying to like—
When I finally tell her that I’m in love with her:
Words that don’t matter despite
How much they do. Ultimately,
To me, to her, it’s just
A quick red-light phrase
And this poem is, without too many layers of resonance,
Not even addressed to her,
But to that girl with whom I stood on Lake Erie,
Howling into the wind,
Imagining part two but preparing
For part three, so
With that lantern still floating skyward, “here’s hopin’ that”
                                         (No. No. No. Start over.)
Here’s hoping that
At midnight
On this New Year’s Eve,
When the ball drops and when we all take shots,
Perhaps around that same granite counter-top,
These clocks
Won’t click back again.
These spirals
Will fade.
Latiaaa Jul 2014
The anchor has rose up from its deep weighed level pressure. It isn't as heavy,
I can hold it with one hand.
I can use it for important uses.
The anchor may have rust stains, rugged edges, bent tips, and crisscross seaweed,
but i can use it.
This anchor has been through steeps of rubble and underwater debris,
But i can use it.
Nothing can pull my anchor back to the bottom drenches.
It'll stay up, thank you very much
Lora Lee Mar 2019
The river in me
                     exists.  
Its outflow of pour
drenches the gullies
makes moist
the sand that
graces your toes
I flow into your roots
strengthen your
                   capillaries
pump liquid gold
inside your veins
loving your flaws like
kintsukuroi
you piece me together
adorn my cracks
with powdered metals,
still loving them for
being broken
a longing
              quenched
I want you dripping
down my chin,
my thighs
when you rush through
me just like that,
the soothing aqua tempest
I have always
wished for
kintsukuroi-(“golden mend”) is the Japanese art of mending broken pottery using lacquer resin laced with gold or silver. As well as a nifty form of repair, kintsukuroi has a deeper philosophical significance. An embracing of the flawed or imperfect. Rebirth.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lIrDCot0K_o
kari anderson Apr 2013
He stole every piece of me
And now I am his.
Living in this fear and anger
Of the man who stole my innocence.
He throws around pieces of me
As if I'm his to give away.

He tells others how I cried
When i begged him to let me go.
He laughed at the way I squirmed
To get away from his reach.

I'm forced to relive
Every second of that night.
Scenes flash through my head
Like a picture show.

The hard kiss.
His hand up my dress.
The smirk on his face.
His forearm on my neck.
Him inside me.
The look in his eyes.

Everything comes back
When I see his face.
I lose my breath
A cold sweat drenches me.
Numbness covers my body.

I can't breathe.
I'm drowning in my own insecurities.
But I need to be strong.  
I have to go on.
I can't let the Thief have the rest of me.
Theresa Grace Oct 2012
The Autumn rain
Drenches the Earth
the leaves of trees
continue to burn...
While all around me
Gray falls cold and heavy.
My ego is weighted down
by the atmosphere around me.
My soul
the same consistency of fog
remains upright.
I grow lighter.
The rain falls through the gray world
like liquid diamonds
or Gods heavenly pearls...
I look down at my ego
mixing with the puddles of the ground
reflecting the fire
in the autumn trees.
In me.
Burning as rain falls
Cold and heavy and clean
All around and on everything.
Today
As I stand ghost like in the street
Unseen
I see beauty
in the saddened faces of those around me
Their egos too
Are being drowned
by the cold and heavy
Gray rain.
They cling to their bodies
like hungry kittens
climbing up your pant leg.
They don’t hear me when I whisper
“Let go.”
If only they could catch
Their reflection
In a puddle
and see the leaves of trees
On Fire
See themselves burning beautifully
As cold, heavy, clean
Rain,
falls all around.
Gently cleansing
and washing
our Souls
And the trees
Clean.
Another poem on seasonal depression. Which has always thrown me off because winter is my favorite season! It's when I'm the most me.
Max Hale Jul 2010
Sometimes I miss you in a way that it hurts
Sometimes I so need to hold you when you're not here
I pick up your pillow and hug it
Sometimes you're here holding my hand,
Your breath kissing my cheek
Sometimes I feel you in the room silently keeping me safe
Sometimes a message reaches my soul from yours that lifts my spirit
Sometimes I can't go on without you and yearn for your return
Sometimes love is a mistress
That takes you and throws you against the wall but never lets go
Sometimes my heart overflows with so much love
It drenches me
My body soaked and heavy with emotion, passion
And a longing for the brush of your lips on mine
Sometimes this life is a mass of lost thoughts
Competing with a reality of the day
Sometimes I wish I could lift you up in my arms
Take you to a field of buttercups, poppies and cornflowers
And just lie and stare at the sky with you in my arms
Sometimes,  sometimes,  sometimes
the rain constantly buckets down
this deluge being over the top
gallons of water cause a frown
there are no patches of dry hop

this deluge being over the top
drops falling with continual wet
there are no patches of dry hop
we're tiring of the weather's jet

drops falling with continual wet
mud puddles lying on the land
we're tiring of the weather's jet
the sun's fuller face we could stand

mud puddles lying on the land
everything drenches with dampness
the sun's fuller face we could stand
we're in a persistent dankness

everything drenches with dampness
there are no patches of dry hop
we're in a persistent dankness
this deluge being over the top
Bella Feb 2015
Tonight he leaves you with a pile of his favorite CDs;

you dream of loading them onto Noah’s Ark before the flood,

along with his 3 A.M. texts and prescription glasses;

he will talk to you when she is not around,

look directly into your eyes, until your heart cracks

and spills into his palms like a weak egg yolk

ready for the frying pan. Do not wait for his little green Facebook

symbol to light up or you will be up all night.

He will kiss her in front of you, a kiss so deep

it could cut straight to the bone like an interrogator

slowly removing a suspect’s finger with a carving knife.

Shield your eyes and turn away;

pretend you are casually studying the poster on the wall.

You will wonder if her body leaves an outline in his bed

the same way a crime scene is taped off

around the chalked-in edges of the victim,

and still he will call you twenty minutes before midnight

wanting to go out for ice cream

when you end up comparing the best 90’s music

over his kitchen table instead. When he looks at you

across this very same table, stare directly back.

Do not flinch. Do not turn away this time.

Let the tidal wave of his stare wash over you

until it drenches your hair

and he wants to comb out the sadness with his fingers:

let him. Let him.

It will take a while to work through the tangles

but savor this last moment with his fingers

unknotting you like needles, before tomorrow,

when he will go back to her again, bouncing

between the two of you like a yo-yo,

the kind that returns to the owner

then moves on to another when it grows bored.
The Noose Apr 2015
Violent effort lay waste
To writhe in distress
Body and spirit
Passion in my paint
Fading like cigarette smoke

The overlap of lines
Suffering or hardwork
The familiar bother

Visions of brand new skies
Over the hill
The slither
Into the portal
Of false hope
Fabricated gaiety
Broken glasses
Never half full
Golden gates sealed by fate

The thick mist
Of pessimism drenches
The aftermath
Of trampled dreams gone cold
And the ones
That ran away like children
Leave me comatose
In the hibernaculum
The wings of mirth
Never wanted me.
storm siren Jan 2018
It's funny, I think.
I guess it doesn't matter
If my soul is whole
Or torn and tattered.

There's a part of me
That finds peace in the night.
But that part of me
Doesn't always sound alright.

I like to wake up early,
When the world is still dark.
I sit and I wait,
To see if I recognize any part.

I am often reminded
Of hearts I've held in my palms.
I remember them fondly,
Each and every one of their songs.

Some nights,
The past drenches me in a cold sweat.
Some nights,
You remind me not to forget.

Some nights,
I can't tell my truth from their lies.
Some nights,
I find my home staring in your eyes.

I feel myself falling
Into pools of blue
Twirling threads of gold
That always lead me back to you.

Living in your heart
Is walking through a forest
On a cool, mid-Spring morning.
The waking birds and budding flowers rapidly become our chorus.

The ground beneath me
Sinks and soon gives way,
I plummet through the night sky
And find myself waiting on every word you say.

You brush my hair behind my ear,
Kiss the top of my head.
I realize you still think I'm asleep,
As you hold me close to you in our bed.

I smile to myself.
Old wounds begin to seal shut,
Scar tissue holding strong.
My soul, though worn, no longer cut.

Falling into the warmth
Of the heart I know so well
Reminds me of the life we share
That I always tend to dwell.
Hal Loyd Denton Jan 2012
Getting it

First this will be short and sweet I feel I have lost the connection. I need to stop read refill the tank or at least purify return intensified
Any way what I get is light I admit I didn’t get the appreciation of light in New Mexico first not being a painter or into photography
Is a hindrance then going to Santa Fe was for me just like the grass hills of California this is different than the desert scene around Taos
When you first enter from Texas on the east its Identical to Colorado I did get the action from the light gliding down the high way at
Different lengths of the sun with classical music that I never otherwise listen to the purple sage is a wonder and the drive to California
Through the southern route it is tremendous it is a Painted Desert mesas red cliffs arroyos adobe architecture the bare and sad housing of
Our first people no manner of light helps all it does is darken your mood and lets anger flare to drop back to the most common light
In the home there again it depends on the amount years ago or at least the houses I lived in didn’t have ceiling lights just lamps in the
Corners even as a kid I knew that was bogus it would been fine in a castle the dark texture and gloom would have set the place off just
Right but in a modern house you felt this darkness fine for barbarians to roar in but was off putting now the light drenches shines on
glass table tops deepens off of black leather gives large black flat screen television a feel of art again never one to be in the market but
I have searched for ever for a painting that would touch me so deeply have an effect that was unforgettable a lot of times I have gotten
Close but not yet I find it in nature and along highways see a farmhouse across the fields in the distance the widows a blaze in sunlight
And then continue another later in evening twilight diffused soft a low glow somehow the soul is engaged like at no other time the soul
Must identify as it works to soften as a filter the harder harsher outside life predicaments you appreciate a fence line especially one let
Go from painted white to weathered gray tuffs of grass protrude the gold and gray complement one another add the splash of proper
Sunlight gorgeous or a painting an aged city with the narrow street a house bathed from its own color by bright sun light have the
Door ajar dark shadows for a short distance show sparse furniture your mind can invent the family show their hard existence
Deepening perfecting the painting the ocean waves the delightful green seen in the curl reaches farther than the shore most days seem common
But then those days not quiet even time but the sun flares it holds a golden flash the green grass every tip fired to perfection trees buildings blazed
In a special glory wonderful undying light divides darkness enhances makes it endearing I get that much and that is enough for now
Until the master of light vanquishes all darkness that is evil then we will finally really see
Daniel Handschuh Oct 2015
He is blessed to have not lost a hair, despite his climbing age.
   He is both nearsighted and farsighted; can see every turning page.
   His gray mustache is thick; his smile is jovial; he is grandfatherly.
   He is loved by many for his outgoing, convivial personality.
   One might say that death would be quite peaceful with this fellow,
   But who is to be warned that he will not even see the morrow?
   A pipe bounces in his lips as he tells heroic stories to the children:
   “He hoists up his pack and fights to reach the peak of the mountain.
   “He battles the knifelike snow as it attacks like thousands of spears.
   They stab his burning eyes, and blizzardly winds scream in his ears.”
   But what is on the other side of the mountain? What lies beyond?
   What is so great that the suspense and action must be prolonged?
   The man’s face tightens, his eyes go distant, his body goes rigid.
   It is as if his brain has suddenly transformed into a slimy liquid.
   With a rough cough and a puff of smoke, the pipe falls to the floor,
   Spilling out unused tobacco; it is a quiet, unsettling roar.
   The man’s eyes grow dark; his face turns from healthy to deathly white,
   And his head slumps down, staring at his knees, the children affright.
   As a droplet of blood seeps from his nose and caresses his dry lips,
   And a restless bead of sweat travels down the bridge and the tip,
   The children scatter like cockroaches, searching for the darkness—
   Some comfort to ease the horror and the pain and the sadness—
   Somewhere to empty their minds of this terror into a black hole—
   Someplace that they can entomb their thoughts with the secret, unknowable scrolls—
   An undisturbed place where their innocence can be embraced and consoled—
   Yet is there such a place where the recesses of the mind do not unfold?
   But already the old man is forgotten, as are his great stories and tales.
   He slips from all conscious minds and leaves nothing, no details.
   No questions arise; his whereabouts are not wondered; he is decoration:
   A work of nature’s art that is meant to stir up onlookers’ admiration.
   His beautiful stillness strikes a long, thin, metallic chord of inspiration:—;
   But it is the gong of fear and disgust that overrides these ponderations:—
   Fear and happiness battle symphonically to make the best music.
   Fear wins because screaming noise shall always reign over acoustics.
  
   A young man, unmarried upon seeing his bride-to-be hung in her room,
   Has enclosed himself in his own prison and will not come out soon.
   It is rectangular and copper, putting a deep taint on the world outside.
   Long gone is his decency, his health, his love, and his signature pride;
   Long gone is the liquid of delusional ecstasy that once filled this bottle
   That he now resides in. He feels that he has lost a hopeless battle.
   His skin is whitening, the color in his irises are fading, his body is thinning.
   Everything in him is collapsing dejectedly as his skeleton continues creeping.
   He hums an arrhythmic tune with a salmagundi of conflicting emotions:—;
   The phantasmagorical manifestation of mental convulsions:—
   The hot flames of Hysteria make love with the cool rains of Sadness;
   Joy—giddy and intoxicated—rapes Hatred with confetti and madness;
   Anger blossoms as a spring flower and attracts the red blood of Love;
   The screams of this beastly mating is heard in the heavens above—
   Oh, the horrendously whorish screams, how the animals salivate!
   The wails of bastardly offspring! How the corruption does culminate!
   One can only marvel at the dishonor that the unabashed Morality
   Has taken! How can one now differentiate between dreams and reality?
   How does one now describe dreams—so ****** and violent, but perfect?
   Or reality—so disinteresting and faulted, not a wanted soul in it?
   The entrapped man has every answer, imprisoned in a cell, like him,
   But why should he utter a word at all when he is his very own phantom:—?
   He answers only to himself, never reveals the codes he has deciphered.
   So many anomalies, oddities, and complexities that he has been inspired.
   As his breath walks away with loud shoes and its head held high,
   The world is suddenly transfixed and does not want to see him die.
   They know not his name or profession, nor can they remember his appearance.
   Even so, he has been unexpectedly labeled as their guide, their endurance.
   But he froths at the mouth and urinates freely, like a wild, untamed animal—
   For even humans become animals, and grow further to become cannibals.
   Shall all of society tumble because of a lost faith put into the faithless?
   Needless to say, an impalement on jagged rocks will not be painless.
  
   Upon the gong, a naked woman is on her knees, her wrists tied behind her back,
   And her ankles shackled. She is a pained, a contradictory nymphomaniac:
   Oh, how it hurts, but how thrilling! What is pleasure without the slightest pain:—?
   Deception! Nothing! It is suddenly worthless and full of absolute disdain!
   The woman looks up with bubbly, tearing eyes and awaits the cannonade
   Of gripping and violent desire. She will gladly be a toy, and a toy she is made:
   A sword descends and inserts itself into the woman’s welcoming throat.
   She gasps at the cold metal; how deep it falls, how it makes her feel afloat.
   How her ******* bulge with warm milk and her hips shake with anticipation
   Of what the sword has to bring: Happiness, glee, lust, and beautiful vibrations.
   She pants and chokes as the sharpness slices her inside; she tastes blood.
   The sword breaks flesh, finds her womb, and fills it like a flood.
   ******—******—******—!
   Gulp—******—gulp—******—!
   Oh, how her desires are exploding, going far beyond the limitations.
   The tastes of fulfillment come from the monsters of intimidation.
   She coughs; a crimson blob fountains and drenches her cheeks, neck,
   And her mermaidian black hair, like soft silk across her smooth back.
   Whatever blood she does not catch, the gong of fear and disgust catches,
   And it is painted redder than Judgement Day’s moon. The blood attaches
   Itself and becomes one with the gong and sings it's now morbid song.
   As the woman’s lungs are violently ripped out, she feels nothing wrong.
   Nor does she feel at all as her heart is shredded within her tireless chest.
   Rivers of blood flow down her impure body—its warmth is the best
   And brings dizziness to her he head, tears to her eyes, and wetness to her legs.
   Even as she weakly collapses, eviscerated, she continues to long, to beg.
   The gong of fear and disgust vibrates roughly, sparking hormones—
   The hormones of terror and revulsion that help her to never be alone.
  
   As the corpses rot below the acidic waters, the blood polluting
   It even further, horrors beyond comprehension begin rooting.
   The gong of fear and disgust drones over he mountains, emotionless,
   In a great search to find a host. And searching has never been hopeless.
   Catch its eye, and be afraid, or catch its eye, and breathe fire.
   Either way is a dangerous pursuit of will and courage—a dance on a wire.
                        Fly—
                    Goodbye
Sobbingsoul Jan 2019
Drafts  of
Your thoughts
Passes  through
My mind
Piercing
To
My achy heart
Cracking  
Into thousands
Of pieces
With the knife  
Of separation
Pain engulfs me
My eyes rain
Here
Drenches my
"Sobbing soul"

©️Sobbingsoul
mj cusson Nov 2012
The years go by me, as alone I weep.
My strength escapes my eyes, water bled.
My clothing drenches and turmoil deep.
She lives on and I? I crave to be de’d

The years go by me as comfort I need.
Love is a force for good, yet it hurts me.
Love is hazy, crazy - a cause to bleed.
I wade my life behind me, try to be.

The years go by me, as lost I become.
Sight wounds me, everything reminds of past.
sight is a plague, I am trapped in a dome.
She bereaves me, for out of shame I fast.

I live on and the years keep going by.
The years go by me, the years go by.
dew drops glisten
as the morning light dances
in peaceful silence

in peaceful silence
the great eastern sun rises
greening the ridges


Greening the ridges
Of the mountains and the vales
Delightful—serene.

Delightful— Serene
Flowers Waltz Upon The Ground
Feel The Rising Sun

Feeling the rising sun
Beaming on angelic faces
Leaving a heart dazed


Leaving a heart dazed
In love with this tranquil scenery -
A true beauty!

A true beauty
Of love and colours,
Brightening life forever.


Brightnening life forever,
Like a dove engulfed in a clear sky,
Yet a trick of our sore eyes.

Yet a trick of our sore eyes
Cannot obscure the glistening
Of whispered rain


of whispered rain
which drenches our mother earth
in a warm and loving embrace

In a warm and loving embrace,
The winds prance apace
While the rain sings its tranquil grace


while the rain sings it's tranquil grace
my soul dances with joy and
my heart joins in the song of the universe
To anyone who would like to add onto this, please leave your lines on comments and I will update it as
people add on.  This is an ongoing collaborative piece.  

The format is 3 lines, and 1st line begins with the last line of previous 3 lines.  I discovered this way of collaborating on a different site and it's like playing telephone with poetry.  You can add multiple times as long as you are not responding to yourself.  It feels like a fun game with words.

1st stanza & 12th stanza written by me
2nd stanza written by John from Austin, TX
3rd stanza by Timothy: http://hellopoetry.com/timothy/
4th stanza by Marian: http://hellopoetry.com/marian/
5th stanza by Cat aka catbrd:
http://hellopoetry.com/cathy-s/
6th stanza by Blythe:
http://hellopoetry.com/blythe/
7th stanza &11th stanza by Mercury Chap:
http://hellopoetry.com/mercury-chap/
8th stanza by Snowy Writer:
http://hellopoetry.com/SnowyWriter/
9th stanza by Parsavagely Kompenere
http://hellopoetry.com/parsavagely-kompenere/
10th stanza by Pamela Rae:
http://hellopoetry.com/pamela-rae/
Anonymous Jun 2014
Your eyes are the shimmers of gold within an ocean of brown,
The sun rays dancing along bark after a beautiful storm
You could hold my gaze forever with your eyes alone
I lose myself in your blank stare
Just trying to chase after the thoughts you keep silently in your mind

Your lips are the color of pastel painted across a canvas
The collision of colors until it forces a soft magenta
Mild and gentle but ever so captivating

Your smile washes me in serenity
As if my veins become a steady stream
With flowers blooming in the pit of my stomach
You wash over me like sunrises wash over mountains
You slowly rise above the walls I've built
Until finally you begin to drip on pieces of my soul
Like the sun drenches the sky
As it's yolk cracks over the horizon
Taya Nata Jun 2014
It is dark and I am at peace
Slithering into the whites of my eyes
The blackness sheets and covers my body
rippling its white hot way down my spine
somehow finding its way into my little black toenails
it drenches me with a sweat that gives me a sweet tingly sensation
down passed my bones;
soon the darkness will consume me.
fugyadzi Oct 2011
My heart shakes like
The bottle I pour my coffee into.
I remember you and I drown and drink
the ocean trapped inside, brown and
two and a half times lighter than your skin,
two and a half times more than the coffee I should be drinking.
That night was our last in the same room.
You sat beside me to escape your sleepless lonely limbo.
My head throbbed and the way my heart raced then

and the way the storm crashes the air and breaks the trees and blows the rooftops
        and drenches the world -

is the way
I refused to swim in the brown seas of your skin.
The waters might wash rafts and boats and lifesavers
to the shore where I am standing
But I know that before the sand and the trees
there was a sign that said
‘No Trespassing’.

Intoxicated I stumbled and grabbed a raft of brown arms
and stepped on the black stones of your face
and slipped into your sandy smile and
buried my face into your green shirt waves.

No Trespassing.
The words loomed over my head
like the clouds that filled up the sky so much
that there was no sky -
and somewhere out there, like God in the clouds, she was
looking at me,
looking at the way I grabbed a bottle and swam in her seas.
reread, cringed, thought of deleting (a first draft for a creative writing class) but decided to leave it be.
Luke Kerzich Aug 2018
You're so selfless,
Picture perfect in your essence,
Your future and your presence,
Sketching scribbles with your red pen,
Your ink and your corrections, permanent,
Like the letters that you sent,
Kept inside a pink ribbon,
Brighter than the sunset,
Vibrant like a sunrise,
Priceless like the sun sweat,
The golden glare that shines,
A stream that drenches me wet
With the letters of your name that I will never forget.
Hal Loyd Denton Jan 2012
Christmas Knowing
We mourn the life of Elisabeth Edwards a life
Truly that was Magnificence blasted
She truly will be home for Christmas

It happens imperceptibly on any given winters frosty morn the Christmas spirit returns where has it been many places here are the
Most important places Heaven and church houses the angels and carolers coalesce in this regard both act kind of alike both groups
Highly anticipate this time and then they both seem to rush out unknowing they bring the holy hush and sacred atmosphere along
Since they rush out at such speed it has no time it remain with them and then the other places the Christmas spirit resides in last year’s empty
Boxes quietly put away in closets, attics, and back bedrooms or in drawers with ribbons and even on the sharp edges of scissors that
Were used to cut wrapping paper and this spirit slowly recedes to far corners of rooms in all our homes it never really is gone it was
To strong mingled with love joy and laughter and hearts and souls of families you call it forth by speaking on the phone or speaking
To one another about it in the depths of each soul it has such a density it is layered by all that makes Christmas so great and real
It’s like blowing on embers that seem finished but by your gentle breath life is renewed at first just a small glow but with persistence
The reward a tiny flame and then the Yule log itself catches fire the inward dormant spirit floods the home on the wings of the cozy
Fire momentarily turn your attention to the outside what pleasure you can be the loneliest rejected person but driving by you see a
Families tree in the window what is it like the silver moonlight when it drenches the darkness it Illuminates everything it touches it is soft
You soften as well by looking at their tree you are seeing and feel welcome you magnify the setting to grand and immeasurable true
Depths your eyes pulled from the scene but not from the lasting effects of being conscious undivided from others and the love they
Feel for one another then returning in doors and especially filled with delight if your neighbor is one that has his yard and house
Decorated as much as you do you have to go look out the window for another look your window absolutely beautiful not only the
Tree is glory dressed in ***** of all colors deep greens with white powdered flow lines tiny Santa smiling beside rooftop chimney red *****
With brown reindeers blue with widows each square filled with snow then your own window sprayed with snow from a can the little
Trees that were cut out like paper cut out dolls sprayed over then when they were removed left perfect trees of glass surrounded
By the snow spray, feel Christmas in the air if it were an older Christmas there would be tops as big as upside down bowls with a point
Red with wide yellow rings with children painted in blue a long curled rod would protrude from the top and it would finish with a wood
Handle shove it down several times pull your hand off watch it whirl a more extravagant gift a Ferris wheel a foot high yellow dream
With blue stars splashed about get lost in this twirling wonder down and up it goes beautiful dolls compete toy dish sets tea anyone
A large view of the room candles on the mantle loved ones look from pictures in frames on walls and tables but as I have said before
How much more they are present in the living that contain everything that they were when physically present now they are dispersed
Through the tiniest treasures some small enough to nuzzle your neck try to buy that and put it under the tree there breath is present
In yours their spirits more real and stronger than the timbers that hold the structure over your head to move from the Christmas spirit
To the human spirit a few years ago an experiment showed a lighting type of energy in flux coming from a human body they estimated
Its power would reach levels of atomic proportions if harnessed then unleashed you’re not from monkeys and you’re not weak clay
That can be easily erased we already know we are eternal an a room filled with loving caring families are unbeatable nothing can
Compare to it this is the envy of time and eternity only His love out shines it and is more valued comfort knows no bounds but it rests within
Wooden walls and halls decked with holly love the legal true tender of Christmas enjoy spend it with abandonment there are a lot
Who hurt the whole year it is now a fight to even say Merry Christmas or Happy Hanukah worse it has become unimportant how sad
There is such a thing as being too modern we need to find the old sign post give them our allegiance speak truthfully be kind this uplifts
A nation and its people

12\7\10 The honored dead of punch bowl and Pearl whisper softly.
Life contrasts with death but gives birth to harmony.
The dead guide the living into a higher arena.
We are called and pressed by the common that are now lofty
jacky Nov 2014
She looks at me right now.* The full of her eyes wanders through the garden of roses inside my mind. All the sweet scent
of her lips are no on mine.
I will forever crave for her taste.

She looks at me right now. My skin is trembling, a wild thunder hiding beneath my vocal chords. Her eyes are hidden, a waterfall of saltwater drenches both our faces. We weep of the bliss that her laughter rings a sense of love and warmth.
I will forever crave for her sound.

She looks at me right now. Her hands are down my neck as her fingers rough as the sand tickles the spark in my eyes, in my body, and in my soul. Her tongue crashes with the holiness of the cries of my desire.
I will forever crave for her touch.

She looks at me right now. And I, her. Time lingers between us. We are denied of the grey in our skies, of ravens, of vultures to eat our bodies. She, an embodiment of curly hair and brown eyes that creates ripples down my stomach. All of her is the water of my blue and never freezing ocean.

*I will forever crave for her.
a  school project =)
Adam Zalt May 2010
In the pursuit, we find a thin line.

Is it the beginning or the finish line?
Beyond the horizon,
Over mountainous terrain,
With muscles distended and mouth agape,
You trudge on.

A sun scorched grimace drenches your face.

To accomplish your goals, you cannot wait.
Limits entomb you.
Will you succumb to life’s cramps?
Doubling over just before the winner’s stand?

Fear saturates your mind. It renders you blind.
A glimmer shines forever on what you never found.
Until someone you least expect shows that one can be kind.

Fortifying your feet,
Nourishing your soul,
Restoring your sight,
You discover your life is sound.

Onward you trudge!
Property of AJZ Inc. A company owned by Adam Zalt.

— The End —