harlon rivers Nov 2017
The nakedness of winter lies heavy upon
the tolling Sunday quietude
Shed  leaves perish into yesterday
and the dream of another
dawning  someday wanes

The  sun ― lay low
the drudging  ashen  skyline  
Barerd emerald moss scaffolds
draw much more distantness
to the pallid shadowed horizon

The evergreens step forth,
roots grasping sacred heart,
soil  and  rock
In the swelling aloneness
you can feel the grain
of  the  heartwood
rooted in your soul

There are no hard feelings
but there's an enduring ache,
like a tree with a rotting limb
languishing  within
its blackened bark sacrifice

It's not just the grinding time
that slips away begrudgingly;
more of the same takes a toll 
as if another unrung belfry hour
in an empty bell tower
without a song rang out in vain,

peeling  reflections
of reluctant hours  c r a w l  by
in the insensible apathy

A so called holiday passes ―
its footprint bears down
hard  and  deep
as if a paling winter rose
grieves its own passing

A dry wishbone unbroken
lay bare the poignant
truth  it  holds;

it takes two to make
this wish come true


.
Written by:  harlon rivers
a winter Sunday
11. 26. 2017

Note : alternative title before
accidentally published
by write/ public/default

"Unlucky Wishbone"
September Rose Nov 2017
Rot
My soul has started to rot
Charred black by the flame of heartbreak
Cold as the night you left
I don't think I'm breathing anymore
The feeling of dread carried in with the wind through every open window
Every shadow whispers your name
I feel myself fading as fast as you left
I don't feel the drive and passion anymore
My happy place has crumbled to dust, broken fragments of reality
The air I breath poisons my lungs as I fall faster and faster into the hellish hole that appears on every path
My heart as empty as the canyons that used to make me feel free
My breath as cold as the pouring rain that used to send me to sleep
My soul as rotten as the core of the witches apple
The witch that has cursed me
Cursed me with the boulders I carry on my shoulders
Cursed me to lie when I say I'm fine
Truly and honestly made for poetry not of reality
Nigel Finn Jul 18
No more poems, thank you;
I think that I'm done.
My notebook's half empty,
And apathy's won.

Please turn off the music;
My songs are all sung.
I think the night's over,
Although it's still young.

No more words, I beg you;
Just slice off my tongue!
They're just wasted air,
From a withering lung.

I've no more left to say;
Time to blot out the sun.
My notebook's half empty,
And apathy's won.
This space to be left blank
Shofi Ahmed Mar 2017
As wide open as the sea
as resonant as the waves
splashing on the beach.
For a moment or so I was
pondering so full as the sea
what has it left to tally
with as empty as the the beach?
September Rose Oct 2017
To watch one suffer
To be there as they slowly fall to the rubble
You reach out but as the tides pull in they go further and further from hope
From comfort
A never ending spiral they're falling your fingers slipping through theirs as you let them go
It isn't your fault but blood still runs
And you still remember
Nobody Aug 2017
There's no place to suffer,
no going away.
It's dark in here,
all of my days.
No smiling lights,
no happy surprise;
only a disguise
of constant lies.
I know they bother them,
my sad eyes;
they can't bear to see,
they want me to hide.
Or stay empty inside,
so they won't feel down;
still one by one,
they all turn around.
They never stay
or test their extent of pain,
they only obey
their impulse to stray far away;
and desert me to ache,
in this dark hole, they can’t take.
Where I get no relief,
not even in sleep;
so I guess save yourself,
I’ll taint that light you keep.
Burden your soul
till you can't take anymore.
Drain you dry
before I kiss you goodbye.
And you'll never know,
when it's all done;
I'll still be empty,
and you'll be gone.
Fayre Jun 1
Her mind became
the antagonist
of her own being,
pursuing the sadness
that followed her treachery.
My mind empowers the person I am.
Lit Aug 1
My heart hurts
from pouring it out so much

It is full and overflowing
so I drip it into an empty vessel
a silent ghostship
and hold my breath
for the echo
that does not return

My soul plays to an empty room
and I think that's the tune
of the human condition

We can listen and speak
from the heart
but only ever hear ourselves
Our own experiences, perspectives, our deepest longings
coming back
untouched
unfelt
in the precise way
we feel them
ourselves

All this talk of the heart
Romantic. Representative.
I can hear you now
It's only an organ,
you'd say

But you feel it, too
CAM Oct 2017
Some days you feel like you need to write something.
I know I'm not relatable, don't be too worried.
But today is one of those days where writing nothing,
Feels like betrayal hurried.

Some days you wish you could disappear.
I can't decide whether today is one of those days or not.
My crush disappears at 1:55 I fear,
But it's not like I ever enter his thoughts.

But some days aren't like that.
Some days you think there's nothing at all.
When in reality your mind is filled with chitchat.
You feel ready to fall
Right out of your seat
But that's alright.

Lunch sounds kind of boring,
But I suppose it's the people there who count.
My friends are always kind of alluring
They're some of the best people I've found.

You think someday someone will sit next to you
And you'll know it's them,
But you realize few
People find it's them.

I'm one of those people who finds the empty parts of the hallway to walk in.
Luckily, my friends are too, so I'll see them there, in the empty parts of the hallway.
Sorry I just kind of wrote on the page today so it's there and unorganized and beautiful in its own way.
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