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Kashfiya Ahsan Apr 2020
They say endings are scary
Again, what do they know?
Maybe they’re just guessing
Perhaps, going with the flow

Endings could be peaceful
Of endings I’m not scared
They are regretful that’s all
But my whole life I’ve dared

Endings could be happy
Of endings I’m not scared
They are just very guilty
Of things they hadn’t shared

Endings could be calming
Of endings I’m not scared
They’re just anxious because
They’ll witness all that they feared

Endings could be nice
It’s probably not, I lied
I’m not just scared of endings
Truth is, I’m terrified.
I once talked of endings,
Like beginnings I couldn't see,
Like new adventures to be taken,
Like half a chance to flee.

I once talked of endings,
Like the story I can't tell,
Like the future out or reach,
Like a legend I know well.

I once talked of endings,
Like the drink in my glass,
Like waiting for a refill,
Like a glorified restart.

I once talked of endings,
But I won't anymore,
Too many times I've missed out,
Because I slammed and locked the door.

I was always afraid of endings,
So I painted my own sequels,
To hide the fact that all I wanted,
Was to turn the page.
abigail Aug 2013
endings are weird.
you cannot practice an
ending,
and you cannot
anticipate a beginning.

endings are bitter,
because you don't want
to look for that silver
lining everyone is trying
to point you towards.
you want to sit in your
**** and be mad and sad
at bitter endings
and nonessential
beginnings.

why can't good things just stay.

why are endings so
dismal and heartbreaking.

why is it so hard to let go.

why do we lament over conclusions,
more than we rejoice the birth
of new eras,
of fresh starts.

why is it that nothing gold can stay.
Candice Jan 2016
Endings are painful, who doesn't agree right?
they say that this is the end of everything you once had,
or the time that you recall memories,
no matter how bad, ugly or painful.
But for me,
endings are just new beginnings,
yes something has to end,
but something will also start.
A new chapter of your story,
a chapter wherein you can apply your learnings from the past,
a new chapter wherein there's a room for a change,
and a new chapter wherein you become stronger and tougher.
Endings can somehow give us happiness,
we can live without doubts,
we can live without even worrying 'bout the past,
and it can give us hope to keep striving and working hard.
So, let us not worry about our life's ending,
your story is what you will make it,
and if it becomes the chapter you don't want,
then be free and open for endings for it is a new start.
HAPPY NEW YEAR GUYS!!
Sjr1000 Jan 2017
There are no endings
as long as I have in
my mind.

I always start off so optimistic,
I'm disappointed every time

Starting off expecting nothing
pleasantly surprised

But the voices they keep talking
and the road is hard to find

We start off so high
looking down on all mankind
but as we decend
the
buildings get bigger and bigger
as
reality ascends

There are no endings
as long as I have in my mind

When change it comes
all will never be the same again

It's a rise and a fall
the time of us all

The light starts in the East
Darkness comes in the West

Change is on our finger tips
But gone with the wind

Anxiety sings in apprehensive images
Peace it sings in harmony
The heart it beats so slowly

In the midst forever
In the past forever too

There are no endings
as long as I have in my mind.
Taylor Link May 2015
The funniest thing about endings
Is they rarely look like endings
They are wrapped in smiles
And plastered with words
Meant to sting but not burn
They wear hope like a jacket
Which they leave on the floor after a night you can't remember
The thing about endings
The key to their masquerade
Is the fact
That they look like beginnings.
Kaitlyn Marie May 2014
Glowing from the refreshing crystal blue water
an angelic presence
along side
an artistic landscape
with an abundance of animals
roaming freely
everything appeared unblemished
perfect
desirable
my mother finished reading
I asked
is there such a thing as happy endings?
my mother replied
yes
if you work with what you have
and are satisfied in the end
that’s all that truly matters
I took her words to heart
because I’ve never had a true answer
happy endings seemed to only be in fairytales
over the years,
I’ve also picked up on something else
in every fairytale
there are common factors
you aren’t just handed anything
you have to fight
overlook the irascible people
and do what’t best for you.

this was the most  important lesson I’ve ever learned.

Happy endings don’t only exist in fairytales.

**they exist everywhere.
@Copyrigh Kaitlyn Marie
eliza bonnet Jan 2014
conversations run dry
not wanting it to end
but endings are inevitable

you can only talk about something for so long
before the jokes are no longer funny
and the punch line is over used

forcing it to run on makes it awkward
and causes anxiety

but conversations run dry
not wanting it to end
but endings are inevitable
M Salinger Jul 2018
A moment.

A line between
empowered
& defiant

holding within in it
the tenderness of our gaze

The night calls me
sometimes
tauntingly,
while sleep escapes,
sometimes
earnestly
to show me the truth
that day
hides

it calls deep within
my being,
like you

it resonates with
my darkness,
like you

Will you stay with me,
for a moment

of real honesty
& if you want,
silence

The valley of space there,
& between us
pulling me in,
like you

a moment of freefall
& endless endings
ours,
there to be
chosen

where we find
a way
to be suspended
in the
warmth between
you & I

I stand
on the sharpest edge,
below, the water surges
over the rock face
deep teal and chilling
a reminder that
beautiful
can also be
destructive

like you.

In awe and wonder
I'm trapped
in these
moments.
Inspired by the great beauty of British Columbia and how it's grandeur and imposing nature can be reminiscent of imperfect love
woelita Mar 2015
The thing about spontaneous beginnings and rough endings is that they're often the same thing & I have been an abrupt ending ever since I could remember opening my eyes. I'm sorry you looked into them and saw something more than chaos, i was a slow burning fire and you were patient but unsuspecting. I'm so sorry. I don't deserve the patient ones. I am an abrupt ending, I am all endings, I am nerve endings exposed. I have never been a beginning. Let this be it and let it be without an apology.
Bellie-boo Jun 2014
People like happy ending.
Sometimes life isn't so happy though.
But there are times when your're so extatic that you jitter in your seat.
And there are times so ****** that you could jump out a window.
But always remember the good things to come.
And never wollow in your past.
But do not forget you past because it made you...well, you.
And so embrace all your mistakes to brighten up your days.
People like happy endings.
Sometimes life isn't so happy though.
But if you can remember the happy parts,
And keep a smile on your face...
People like you will have happy endings.
Sometimes some not so happy days but the endings will be the happiest, I promise.
Keep looking up whoever :)
jane taylor May 2016
the needle on record
catches a scratch
the music’s awry

happily writing a story
the inkwell
runs dry

interruption of
fairytale endings
where nobody dies

awaiting a biopsy
out on a limb
nowhere to hide

©2016janetaylor
a doctor thought i had cancer ~ turned out to be a misdiagnosis
Coleen Mzarriz Aug 2020
“You know why am I always scared? It's because when you feel happy at the exact moment, that is when empty endings occur.” He breathlessly spoke in the air.

Endings, happiness, and emptiness. Those three words I hated. It haunted me. I was gazing upon it, and the next words written on the wall was, "I must survive it." It was a familiar one. I traced every letter written on it, and it was like remembering how he wrote it, and how he fell upon it.

He could've survived it.
If it wasn't for me.

Scattered petals were surrounding me. The wheezing winds from the windowsills embracing my already gnawing body—my eyes wandered the old house. My eyes fixated, on the dried drops of blood, on the empty sofa he always sits in. Where we always tell each other's carpe diem.

If I didn't leave, will I make a difference?
If I didn't let the monsters win, will I be able to stay?

“Do you want to know the answer?” An old lady patted me on the back.
It sent chills down my spine. Her voice sounded as cold and barren.

“Who are you?” My voice began to shake. I took two steps backward, but she keeps drawing nigh. Who is she?

“Do you want to know the answer? She repeated. How did she found out?
“I don't know what you are talking about!” Then, I ran in the other direction.

I woke up and it was on the 5th of May when mornings are cold and grey. I flinched when I saw his back, asleep. “I was just dreaming,” I whispered. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Just when I was about to open it, he groaned and stood.

“J-Jack?” I called him. My raspy voice echoed throughout the room, but he didn't even budge and walked out of the room. I followed him and my hands reached him, yet it passed through him. Just what in the world is happening?

I tried several times to touch him and even cupped his face, but I was a ghost passing through his body, and the sudden thought flashed through my mind that I remembered the old lady.
“What did you do?!” I called her, but no one is answering. What am I suppose to do?

The rush of waters coming from the faucet overwhelmed my ears and I saw him lying in the bathtub—his eyes were bloodshot red and his wrist was full of scars; his body weight fell and his face's swollen.

I sat beside him and rummaged his hair, even though I could not hold him, yet my coldness reached through him that he flinched and met my eyes.

“Shh... I am here, I am here.” I whispered. He closed his eyes and dipped his face in the bathtub. Adrenaline rushed through me, and my screams were almost a whisper. I threw out the chair, and that caught his attention.

I ran and found a marker lying in the table. I went back and wrote “Helen is here” on the wall. I peered at his direction and saw his stunned expression.

“He-Helen?” His hoarse voice sent chills down my spine. I wrote “Yes” on the wall and sat beside him.  “Don't do it again, Jack” I wrote again.

Then, I woke up.

The first thing I saw was the old lady sitting at the edge of my bed. She was intently staring that it pierced through my core. Then, her expression changed—it was now a soft one, and she flashed a genuine smile.

“You did great, Helen. You must find the answer, yourself.” She said and vanished.

I looked up and it was on the 5th of May again. And Jack was walking up to the door—I followed him until he passed by the Bridge of Adelaine. If I stop Jack when he was drowning himself, then I must find a way to stop his death.

The old lady may be giving me chances to change the course of Jack's past. To save him from dying on the 5th of May.
But the problem was, there were no walls or things I can use to stop him. How will I save Jack?

“His mind...” The old lady's voice echoed through my mind.

His mind... What about that? I asked her again, but she didn't answer.

Yes, his mind! Panic registered through me when he already was standing on the other side of the bridge and I closed my eyes and found his still mind—yet so dangerous.

“Jack, stop it!” I screamed. But he wasn't listening.
“I said stop it!” I repeated but he wasn't listening.
Then I remembered something—something in the past we both held on to whenever we have bad days.

“You know why am I always scared? It is because when you feel happy at the exact moment, that is when empty endings occur.” I spoke, my voice cracking.

His face flashed a hint of surprise and looked around. Then he saw me, he saw through me.

“Helen?”

It was on the 5th of May again. I immediately roamed around and saw myself passing through the walls of this empty hospital. I found myself looking for his room, and I opened the door.
He was lying there with IV fluids inserted into one of his veins.

“Helen...” He called out.

“I'm here,” I whispered, and cupped his face. He smiled and looked at me.

“You can see me?” I added.

“Yes,” He replied.

“You know, I will always be your hero. Remember that. I will always save you, Jack.” Then I kissed his forehead.

“This is why I don't want to be happy, I know you will leave me again, Helen.” He spoke in silence.

“Then I will always come out of the grave, to save you then.” I grinned, and we both laughed.
I accidentally wrote this story, and guess what? I enjoyed writing for the first time. Also, for the first time, I wasn't insecure.
Happy reading
Nabs Dec 2015
By Nabs

    When I was little, I dreamed of being a princess.
Just like so many others do.

Imagining all the fun we will have.
Of Tea times and dressing in the finest dresses, wearing tiaras, and jewels,
      all day of the week.
              Princesses only seems to dress prettily in the stories.
                
We all dreamt of the same thing,
        Happy endings that always come at the end, cherished and pampered.

        Most of all loved by everyone.

  Princesses were always loved because she was inherently kind. Inherently docile.
Inherently pure and innocent.
              Inherently beautiful.

( Remember, Your purity is your worth)
                  
                            None of them was because
                                  people respected them.

All of them was because
Of their beauty.

      ( A princess have to pamper their self to utmost perfection, your beauty define your worth)

Princess is a symbol of perfection.
                                      Symbol of Divinity.

A guideline for Goodness and womanhood.
                Standards that shaped and pushed them self to little girls to be molded into a perfect piece of art that they them self would rarely get to enjoy.

( Art pieces, after all cannot admire them self)
    
                We have to strive for divinity and no less, because less means
        we will be condemned to be the wicked ones.

( No one bother to tell us that it is unreachable.)

        No one wanted to be the wicked ones because history burned who ever were branded as wicked.

      ( we stood on a world
piled with their ashes
          and everyone will claim it as a victory)

        One of the lesson, that these tale seems to croons that there is no in between for us.
        That there is only two archetypes for girls to grow up to.
The Princess or the Evil Witch.

Choose, the tale seems to shout.
            ( be obedient, be submissive).
                    (Good girls)
                ( Princess lives happily ever after).

(Fight, rebel, speak)
        (Bad girls)
  ( Evil witch will always be burned)
      
  ( This are the endings we have set for you, girls)

          Back then, after going home from school, I would read tales about princesses from all over the world.  
From Africa
                to Europe
                              to Asia.
      I devoured them like they were gospels, Laughing delightedly when the princes save the day then marries the princess, and frowning when the villain managed to defeat the heroes.
Happy endings,
      Happy endings.
( Death, is the only happy ending we will really get)

    I learned that to have a happy ending, a prince need to save me,
                from my self.

( Every princesses need a prince,
for a proper princess cannot save herself.
                
            You need to be saved to be complete)

      My parents called me their little darling princess, Their crown jewel,
              Their most cherished treasure.
They would hug me, clothed me, spun me into a figurine that they like.
Telling me that I am theirs.
Flesh and blood,
              Glittering orbs of red.
                                          Ownership.
Another princess tales, which plot echoes through out time. Beggars can't be choosers.
                              The same way a princess can't  choose anything for them self.

The tale said,
    A good daughter is an obedient daughter.

Shouting and screaming is prohibited.

( Lower your voice,
        princesses don't raise their voice.

They speak softly as soft as the flutter of butterfly wings

            or preferably they don't speak at all.)

      To be a princess, foremost is to sacrifice your whole being,
      To subdued your self
          To stop being human,
                and start being a treasure, a jewel.
Being fought over for the rights of possession.

( Isn't that the most highest pedestal you can put someone to?)

        As I grew up, these tales keep following me.

( Dont run, princesses never run.
                                    They submit.)
Of Snow white,
      Who was treated as if she was only an object of desire after the prince saw her dead in the glass coffins.
( You're mine, you got that?)

Of the sleeping beauty silence,
            that was taken as a consent to ravished her until she woke up because she gave birth to twins.
( Babe, you like this don't you? You have to, you're made for this)

Of the little mermaid plight,
      Discarding herself completely to be accepted on the lands, trading her voice and being in excruciating pain for her prince.
                        The one who will not love her.
( You look horrible in that, change into something prettier and for god sake, put some make up on)

Of Atalanta, who could not escape marriage
              and forced to marry a man she lost a race  unfairly to, because her father decrees so in the first place.
( My princess, you can't be with that person.  
                    They're not suited for you,
                              We want the best for you.
You don't know what's best for you. )
              
Of Bawang Putih and Bawang Merah,
                Echoing the morals, how your beauty define you, how you will be evil if you are less than beautiful.
( She's ugly, that's why she's jealous of her)

Of Putri Hijau ending,
            That to be free from being under the power of men, you have to jump into the ocean.
(You are mine, forever)

Of the archetypes for Good and Evil,
            ****, *****,
                      *****, Saint,
                              Witch, Princess.
( A good girl says yes, A bad girl say no)

How The Tales, often than not,
                          parallel each others, as if trying to drill them self into our subconsciousness with these toxic message.

( Princesses belongs to the people.
                      She never belongs to herself. )

These unspoken rules followed me into adulthood.

            Subconscious message of how to be  loved you need to be less.
You need to submit,
to be obedient,
docile,
pure,
innocent,
        most of all, you need to be beautiful.

      That beauty is how you're going to get your prince. Never it is because your wit, your courage, your wisdom,
what use do you have for them if you don't have a pretty face.

                No husband will find ever find you.

( Remember, wicked ones doesn't have a prince to set them straight.

                You don't want to be a wicked one,
                                                  Now do you?

So spread your legs, and lay down.
Take it. Atta girl!  )

These unreachable standards, bound us the same way they bound people feet to be dainty.
                They are rules for us to be less human, to be a thing.
      A princess, in this world is another term for a possession.

            (There is no such things as an independent princess, object need owners)

The stories always put them in gilded cages.

Once I asked why?
          Why do they need to be caged?
Why can't they be free?
        
The tales said that beautiful things needed somewhere to be kept.

The tales said many thing,
        seemingly innocent but  screaming about our worth, girls worth in the society.

(You need to be pretty for anyone to love you.)

(You're good if you are obedient.)

(You have no need for your voice,
                Silence is the only voice you need.)

(You're made to just lay down and take it.)

(You need a man to complete you
                                      and set you straight.)

(Never be yourself.)

I grew up wanting to be a princess,
Just like many others do.
        What we realized, to be a princess
                                  We have to be a slave.
                                      We have to be dead.
This was inspired by lots of books and articles I read.
Sorry for the cliche title, and thank you for reading the long poem.
Fern Aug 2018
everything has three things in common
a beginning
a middle
and an end.
like my mother has been saying since i was young:
my son, you are in your beginning,
and at some point
you must accept your end.
endings are inevitable,
for everyone, and everything.
someday I will have an end, too.

sometimes an end will come too quickly,
but there isn’t anything anyone can do to stop it.
if there was, then it wouldn’t be an end, would it?
the inevitability sometimes lends to hopelessness and cynicism,
a terrible way to live.
the key to living your life in peace is to find comfort in the fact that everything has existed,
everything follows this cycle,
and that everything did have
a beginning,
a middle,
and an end.
em Sep 2015
the world is e.n.d.i.n.g
every. second, is. fleeting.
minutes. become empty pockets
of moments. no longer,able. to, support
existence;
those. who .see
each; br,eath ,as a tick. on their own
clock; reminding them that
they too are
ending.
run, from. their lungs.
forgettin to. let e a c h insta.nt
take hold, of their. flesh.
because,
even. if father time.  has claws,,, that
lea.ve scars.
at least, etched into their
bones. would be, the
smiles, wide enough.
to convince, the man on. the moon
to. hold, back night,fall. a little longer
letting. this brief, lifetime, linger.
and the ,laughter. that rippled; time, into
deep wrinkles. of prol,o.nged being.
scratches, that. symbol victory's, over. time's
elusive game.
so that. when. our, clocks run. out of time
we can, be winners. without
being the first to the finish line.
leave. our, bodies behind.
as, time capsules.
filled, with. the lives
.claimed
by, patient.
eyes.
enjoy each moment
Staff Sgt. Joseph D'Augustine
a proud Jersey son
whom Thou hast blessed
laid in St. Luke’s ground
for his heavenly rest
April 4, 2012

1.

in a far off province of
God forsaken Helmand,
our dear son Joey
met his untimely end

an explosive crack
a most terrible sound
felled a beloved Jersey son
to the cold cruel ground

working the live wires
of a well placed IED
a deathly burst killed him
it was awful to see  

Staff Sgt. Joseph D’Augustine
in solemn duty fell
fellow brothers in arms
will forever reverently tell

of courage and character
of a dear fallen friend
and how the valiant warrior
met with death at his end

for he was always faithful
to his beloved corps
comrades couldn't ask
a valiant marine for more


2.

details of his death
are not the real story
selflessness and bravery
are but part of his glory

is it brash to
question why he fell?
in a useless bitter war
an embroiled senseless hell

a generation mustered
to fight in the war on terror
serving four tours of duty
in a lost decade of errors

two tours in Afghanistan and Iraq
could a nation ask a man for more?
for he was always faithful to the call
upholding pledges he hath sworn

3.

the burden of war
to a  few confined
it rarely crosses
an American’s mind

incessant war machine
drones on apace
the horror of conflict
so cleverly displaced

with afternoon baseball
and super bowl parties
big disco paychecks
and other selfish priorities

pay hollow tribute
to dear weary troops
when valor is mentioned
we gather in groups

we’ll raise the flag
sing stirring anthems
than its back to the party
pay it no more attention

self styled patriots
wave handfuls of flags
but ask them to contribute
the zeal soon lags

its left to the few
to shoulder burdens of many
fairness is lost
its a democratic calamity

four tours in a decade
an inhumane task
burdens require sharing
its only fair to ask

Joey was always faithful
to the task at hand
willing to step forward
to serve his homeland


4.

in the wake of 9/11
a nation deeply shaken
young patriots stirred
liberty’s call not forsaken

a call to serve answered
to quell the rise of terror
a clear clarion alarm
marks the nature of the era

Joey boldly came forward
to train and learn
the art of warriors
his bright patriotism burned

deployed to Afghanistan
to capture Osama
routing the Taliban
without much problem

but a pacified Afghan
not enough for Bush
he invaded Iraq
another military push

we rolled into Baghdad
adorned with victors garlands
Saddam’s statue toppled
our troops were honored

deposing a dictators
soon turned to occupation
a ****** mission transformed
to build the Iraqi and Afghan nations

once honored liberators
now a conquering force
bestriding broken nations
on a civil war course

military industrialists
stood to profit most
sweet protracted conflict
record earnings to boast

lives bartered for lucre
a region held hostage
the conflict deepened
hostilities hardened

America dipped into
a great recession
the war machine
bled money and
kept on ticking

scooping up contracts
rewarding investors
the dividends of war
heaven sent treasure

continuation of hostilities
preys on a nation's youth
as casualties mount
ill portents forsoothed

a fraction of citizens
bare heartaches of war
gulping measures of despair
to guard a nations door

a nation always faithful
to the holy pursuit of profit
a highest citizens calling
put money into your pocket


5.

our beloved Jersey son
gave a full measure of devotion
in dress blues they shipped him
back across the ocean

on the Dover tarmac
they received his remains
for a last ride northward
to his hometown terrain

repatriated body
bereft of soul saluted
solemn escort knelt
hearts trembled, tears muted

a hearse for a gallant man
flanked by state troop cruisers
to escort the funeral train
assure an honored movement

one last trip up
old thunder road
the storied highway
Joey often trod

the last detail legged up 17
reverent firefighters saluted  
from overpasses
to honor  the woeful scene

as the motorcade passed
the Garden State Malls
frenzied consumers
failed to notice at all

busy window shoppers
didn't to turn an eye
as Joey rolled home
to the sweet by and by

vets interred at the
Old Paramus Church
gently stirred in their graves
reasons for war they search

Channel 12 Chopper
circled its eye in the sky
televised the sad parade
captured many teary eyes

the early spring blooms
colorful petals displayed
maples and forsythias
a royal carpet laid

spring remains always faithful
as the new season turns
offer sunshine and glory
as our sinking hearts burn

6.

motorcycle escort
northbound lane clear
rolling homeward
Waldwick was near

leaves exploding
green shoots budding
****** white maple blooms
natures accolades stunning

the oaks yet bare
just waking from slumber
winters death passing
a sad day put asunder

the motorcade passed
Joey’s home on Prospect Ave
few  envision lifes endings
this woefully sad

red chevy pickup idles
in hoop crowned driveway
never to drain jumpers again
departed children can’t play

the eye in the sky
framed neighbors in mourning
welcoming back a fallen hero
unsettled emotions dawning

neighbors waved Old Glory
from painted stoops and curbs
unsure how this tragedy
visits this blessed suburb

green grass of home
always flush with spirit
tears welled in the eyes
most difficult to bear it

last cruise of the town
sad neighbors stand witness
paying final due respects
and ponder from a distance

what purpose is served
by this man’s passing?
the dead cannot speak
rationale is for the living

the terrible herse
death circles our town
moves through our day
hope of spring drowned

murderer of sunshine
killer of young flowers
budding trees breaking
our hearts an ashen pallor

we remember the beauty
of Joey’s stout face
as it looked on your finest day
exuding pure honor and grace

old vets gather
donning caps and pins
boasting semper fi jackets
jutting tear dripping chins

shaking hands, giving hugs
bearing tattered banners
the hearse ambles onward
we head home in solemn manner

good folks are always faithful
where beloved ones grew
the death of our children
we sadly cannot undo


7.

the bells of St. Lukes
called out from the sky
platoons of limping vets
marched in with pride

pomp and circumstance
requisite dress blues
family, friends, townsfolk
overflowed the pews

doleful bells resound
tolling a mournful reckon
the cost of war mounts
a family’s loss beckons

the casualties of war
falls upon a nation's youth
a seasons page not  turned
a flowing wound not soothed

the wistful cornet calling
floats on the fluted air
the bereaved ***** gently sounds
a congregations somber despair

an unsettling dirge
the parish grows uneasy
nationalist bravado wanes
in the forlorn sanctuary

both church and flag
draped in colors of war
mock stain glass windows
communicants adore

is it a betrayal of the flag
to offer enemies
psalms of reconciliation?
where does true loyalty lay
with God or a warring nation?

afterall this is a sanctuary
where peace and harmony reigns
are we not called to beat swords
into ploughshares as the highest
calling of our Lord?

we are always faithful
to the pathways to war
when the practice of peace
is what we should adore

8.

coughing and whispers
incessant low murmur
a baby cries out
we sit and remember

the crucifers process
in solemnity to greet
subtle ***** notes salute
a coffin draped in Old Glory sheets

the beloved child welcomed
to his eternal repose
priests splash holy water
within the sacred dome

an amazing grace revealed
lifted by marine pallbearers
dearly departed body presented
gently placed at the altar

a grief struck sister
lovingly eulogizes
recalls tonka trucks,
GI Joe’s and cool transformers

a punch in the nose
an approaching wedding
beckoning Eastertide
vacation plans left begging

my second grade class sent
Christmas cookies and cards
to dear Joey and warrior friends
he said it warmed stark winter hearts

he was raised in this church
taught trust and reconciliation
the comfort of the Lords peace
may it surely go with him

for he was always faithful
to sisters, family and faith
his resurrection service
imbues sacredness
to this space

9.

sharp in dress blues
Eddie T USMC Gunny
big 50 caliber smile
offers his eulogy

Bada Bing Jersey Humvee
we called him Joey Calzones
good mood, loved sausages
he tickled the funny bone

always willing to sacrifice
loved the Patriots Tom Brady
a women dominated household
gave him a way with the ladies

his calling explosive ordinances
he said he was livin the dream
March 6th last time we met
knocking frost off cold ones
man whatta scream

a gallant marine,
beloved brother,
a sure friend
he was always faithful
I’m deeply wounded
by his untimely end


10.

the gospel read
the homily offered
Ecclesiastes wisdom
a time for everything
proffered

God never turns
an eye from the beloved
though seasons change
we are not forsaken
never unloved

as loss arrives
surely grief grows
turn away not
wisdom knows

in resignation
love lay dead
diligent intention
banishes dread

our rekindled hope
we rend and sow
our beloved Joey
knew this was so

our favorite son’s
example taught us
now rises on eagle’s wings
to claim his divine justice

Jesus faithfully tramped
the path to an awful death
Joey too fought the good fight
a warrior now gratefully at rest

The Lord holds him close
to the ***** of sure love
a cantors beatific voice incants
Joey’s spirit that forever enchants

The Lord is always faithful
to the bereaved and  beloved
no one ever forsaken
all unconditionally loved

11.

the Holy Eucharistic cup
affirms everlasting giving
tasted to nourish evermore
a libation for the living

singing the Beatitudes
praising peace makers
mercy filled voice and song  
pallbearers lift Joey’s coffin

off to seek his final peace
an earthly occupation ended
he’ll suffer worldly hate no more
down the aisle his coffin wended

the family closely followed
a mother haltingly sobbing
faithful marines came forth
to steady her wobbling

there is no sudden waking
from this terrible dream
the pungent incense rose
to the chapels sacred beams

the stained glass murals depict
the passion of Jesus’s story
illuming a consuming sorrow
in all its grace filled glory

the ***** of death slinks on again
we search for consolation
the recompense of honor blest
leaves a hollow heart wanting
no answers offered to quell the dark
of these terrible life’s moments
only the desperate need to hold onto
beleaguered treasure that sustains us

for we are always faithful
to the things we know
always faithful to the
things we refuse to let go

12.

the color guard and funeral detail
assembled in front of St. Luke’s
the cemetery right next door
the procession a short troop

the living will stumble through
the darkness of separation
seeking elusive answers
of poignant uncertainty;
all gave some, Joey gave all
nothing more required for his
journey through eternity

Joey will always be with us
his stories forever retold
as long as the machinery of
great nations engage
the gears of wasteful war

Joey’s spirit lives
in a peoples desire
for freedom, only if
our hope of peace
is greater than the
need for conflict

Joey’s lifes work
is sure to bear fruit
if those remaining
fight the good fight
by taking up the
task to protect and
expand the values
of liberty we
hold most dear

like our good
friend Jesus
Joey wears a crown
bejeweled with
a ring of thorns
hoisted on a
terrible cross
the sweet
incense of you
meets our nose
we inhale your
earthly presence
beholding beautifully
adorned crucifix,
a reminder of
unjust persecution
and a perfect
resurrection
yet this wretched
coffin remains

pledging allegiance
we rationalize our
stories, articulating
our small parts
in  heroic sagas,
reciting myths of
ourselves, recording
the grim history of
a young marine
surrounded by
a smart color guard,
feasting on todays
eucharist, this
days sweet taste
of  the daily bread
of human sorrow

The priest finishes
his graveside
commendation
of Joey D

Taps conclude
a wind rises
crows take flight
winging over
a stand of budding
Sugar Maples
exploding in white
blooms, reveling
in the glorious
sunshine of this
magnificent day

St. Luke’s stairway to
God Country and Home
smiling portrait of you
forever young

we surround your grave
to bless the earth
you've returned home
to your place of birth

our flowing pride
and salty tears bless
the anointed ground
that you loved best

a proud Jersey son
whom Thou hast blest
laid in St. Luke’s ground
for his heavenly rest

for he was always faithful
to the blessed land
forever at peace
in the soils sure hands

Charles Ives
The Unanswered Question

Oakland
11/10/13
jbm
jake aller Dec 2019
Snarling Cup of Coffee    




I like to start my day with a hot cup of coffee
I pound down the coffee
First thing I do every day
as the dawning sun
Lights up my lonesome room

Yeah, but not just a simple cup of java Joe, but a ******* snarling sarcastic smarmy cup of coffee

I mean, - we are talking about an alcoholic, all speed ahead, always hot, always fresh, always there when I need it, angry, attitude talk to the hand Ztude, bad, bad assed, beats breaking, beatnik, bluesy, bitter, ******, bombs away, capitalistic, caffeinated up the ***, cinematic, communistic, Colombian grown, Costa Rican inspired, Cowabunga to the max, crazy assed, devilishly angelic, divine, divinely inspired, dyslexic, epic, extreme vetting, evil eye, expensive, ****** vision inducing, Ethiopian coffee house brewed, euphoric, freaky, freazoid, foxy, Frenched kissed, French brewed, funkified, foxy lady, graphic, GOD in my coffee, with Allah, Ganesh, Jesus, Kali, Buddha, Christians, Durga, Hindus, Mohamed, Jesus and Mo and their friend, the cosmic bar maid, Sai Babai, Shiva, Taoists,

Zoroastrians, drinking my god ****** coffee in Hell;

growling, gnarly, happy, hard as ice, Hawaian blessed, high as a kite, hippie, hip, hipster, hip hoppy, hot as hell yet strangely sweet as heaven, jazzy, jealous, Kerouac approved, kick ***, kick my ******* *** to Tuesday, kick down the doors and take no prisoners, grown in the Vietnam highlands by exVietcong, Guatemalan grown, kiss ***, illegal in every state, imported from all over the ******* world,

insane, lovely, loony, lonely, lonesome, malodorous mean old rotten, *******, nasty, narcotic, never whatever, never meh, never cold, not approved by the CIA, not approved by DHS, not approved for human consumption by the FDA, not your daddy’s sissified corporate cup of coffee, NOT DECAFE coffee, not your Denny’s truck driver weak as brown water cup of fake coffee, not your establishment friendly cup of coffee, Not your FBI coffee, Not FAKE Herbal coffee substitute, but a real cup of coffee, not your farmer brothers dinner crap, not made in America for Americans, not safe for work, not your Starbucks average expensive overpriced ****** corporate chain cup of coffee, Not pretentious, Not White House approved, not State Department safe, nuclear, Not Patriotic, operatic, Peets’s coffee approved,

paranoid, pornographic, psychotic, pontific, politically aware, rapping, rhyming, right here, right now in River city, rock and roll up the Yazoo, sad, sadistic, sarcastic, sassy, satanic, schizoid, *******, silly, ****, smarmy, smelly, smooth, snarky, snarling, stupid, stinking, sweet as honey, sweat inducing, symphonic, Trump can’t handle this coffee, vengeful, Wagnerian, wicked, with nutmeg and cinnamon swirls, with a hint of stevia, with a hint of vanilla, with a hint of ***, with a hint of whisky, with a hint of cherry, with a hint of fruit overtones, with a hint of drugs spicing up the coffee, spendific, speeding, splendid, superior accept no substitutes, survived the Vietnam war, the Iraq war, the Afghan war, the first and Second Korean war, World War 11, the war on poverty, the war on drugs, the war on black people, the ****** revolution,

Soulful as a summer’s night in MOTOWN- James Brown approved, TOP approved, Berkeley approved, the coffee that Jimmy Hendrix drank before he died, the coffee that Elvis drank on his last breakfast, the coffee that Barry White crooned as he drank his cup of coffee – and the coffee that made the white boy play stand up and play that funky music, the coffee that made Jonny B Goode play his guitar, and made Jonny bet the devil his soul after he drank his morning cup of righteous coffee and the coffee that make the Rolling Stones Rock and Roll, the coffee your mother warned you against drinking, the coffee that Napoleon drank when he became the Emperor of all Europe, the Coffee that Beethoven drank when he wrote the Ninth symphony, the coffee that Mozart drank as he wrote his last symphony, the coffee that Lincoln drank before he was killed, the Hemingway drank before he killed himself, the coffee that started the 60’s, and ended the 20th century,

the coffee that Lenin drank as he plotted revolution, the coffee that ****** and Stalin drank with FDR as they divided up the world after World War 11, the cup that JFK drank before he was blown away, the coffee Jerry drinks while driving in cars with random celebrities and political figures, the coffee that Jon Stewart drinks before he goes on an epic take down of some foolish politico, the cup of Arabic coffee that Sadaam drank the day he was executed, the coffee that GW and Cheney drank when they bombed Baghdad, the Indian cup of coffee that Bid Laden drank before 9-11 and just before the seals blew his *** to hell, the cup of coffee that Tiger Woods drank with his mistresses while playing a 3, 000 dollar round of golf at Sandy Lane golf course in Barbados, the last legal drug that does what drugs should do, the cup of coffee that Obama drank when he became President, Vietnamese, Vienna brew, wacky, whimsical,

Whisky Tango Foxtrot, wild, weird, wonderful, WOW, Yabba dabba doo! Yada Yada yada Zappa’s favorite cup of cosmic coffee, and Zorro’s last cup of coffee, Good to the last drop rolled into one simple cup of hot coffee   
As I pound down that first cup of coffee
And fire up my synaptic nerve endings with endless supplies
Of caffeine induced neuron enhancing chemicals

I face the dawning day with trepidation and mind-numbing fear
I turn on the TV and watch the smarmy newscasters in their perfect hair

Lying through their perfect blazing white teeth
about the great success the government is having
Following the great leader's latest pronouncements

I want to scream
and shoot the TV
and run out side

Shouting
Stop the world!
I want to get
off this ******* crazy planet"

The earth does not care a whit
about my attitude problem

It merely shrugs
and moves around the Sun
In its appointed daily run

the universe whispers
in my ear
time to drink more coffee
for an attitude adjustment

And I sit down
The madness dissipating a bit
And enjoy my second cup
Of heaven and hell
In my morning cup of Joe

Coffee Revolutions



coffee cup
Coffee led to the American Revolution<span
As patriots drank coffee
To rebel against
the aristocratic English tea

Coffee started the London Stock Market
And started the gossip mills running
Every great invention
Was fed by coffee's sweet brew
sweet allure

All the great thinkers
All the great leaders
All were enslaved
to coffee's magic

I sing my praises
Of the great
glorious coffee lady

Long may she continue
To be my sweet companion

Long may coffee continue
To rule my heart
And set my heart
on fire

Ode to Coffee



Mistress of sacred love
Sacred lady of desire

You start my day
Setting my heart on fire
With your dark delicious brew 

And throughout the day
Whenever the mean old blues come by
You chase them away

With your bittersweet ambrosial brew
Every time I inhale your witch's brew

I am filled with power, light and love
And everything is al right Jack
If only for a few fleeting minutes

I love you oh coffee goddess
In all your magical forms

In the dark coffee of the dawning day
In the sizzling coffee in the mid morning break
In the afternoon siesta break
And in the post dinner desert drink

I love you my coffee mistress
You are my refuge
From this horrid world

And you are my secret lover
Never disappoint me, ever
I've never had a bad cup
Of that I can be sure

Even the dismal coffee
Served at Denny's at 3 am
Is still sweet loving coffee

Even the farmer brother's diner coffee
Excites me and gets me going
Asking for another cup of divine delight

Coffee always is there
It is always on and piping hot
With hidden dark secrets
Swirling in its liquid essence

Coffee is my last vice
My only legal vice left

Coffee does not cheat on me
It is always faithful, always true
It does not turn on its friends

And all it asks in return
Is that you come back
Cup after cup after cup

A good cup of coffee
Is a little bit of heaven
In a cup of dark liquid hell

Coffee is like a drug
But a good drug that does what is should
And never complains

It does not get grouchy
It does not hurt you

It does not make you crazy
But allows the muse to come out
And play with it

Coffee led to the American Revolution
As patriots drank coffee
To rebel against the aristocratic English tea

Coffee started the London Stock market
And started the gossips mills running

Every great invention
Was fed by coffee's sweet brew
sweet allure

All the great thinkers
All the great leaders
All were enslaved to coffee's magic

Yeah
I sing my praises
Of the great glorious coffee lady

Long may she continue
To be my sweat companion

Long may coffee continue
To rule my heart
And set my heart on fire

I love thee
Mistress coffee
And sometimes I think
You love me too

No More Coffee Blues








I love coffee
Always have

And coffee has loved me back
But lately I have soured on her
Soured on the whole coffee scene

On the harshness
of the morning brew
And the promises it makes

As I sip of its nectar
Drawn into its lair

Drinking drop by drop
As the caffeine takes over

Rewriting my every nerve
Turning me into a slave
For its perverted pleasure

Yes I love coffee
But I am afraid

Coffee is a harsh mistress
Demanding so much of me

Promising the sun
And delivering the moon

As I drink her swill
Deepening under her influence

I have the coffee blues
Can’t live without her
Can’t live with her

I try
But tea does not cut it
Not really

***** does not do it
At least not in the morning

Yoga is not enough of a buzz
Nor is the runner’s high

And I am afraid deadly afraid of *******
And speed and drugs and energy drinks

And so I remain a slave to coffee
My only legal drug

As I sip another
and fall under
her seductive spread

Once more failing my resolve
To skip coffee for that day
That morning that moment

I shall never be free of her spell
Ever and she knows it
As she beckons me
Every morning with her intoxicating smell

And I come to her
and drink her brew

And become her slave
again and again

Coffee Ya Du





must drink coffee
have every day
the morning dawns
drinking my coffee as I yawn

Morning cup of coffee 



every morning
I drink my coffee
as I contemplate 
the dawning day

watching the news anchors
blather on and on
drinking my coffee
thinking of life

and my coffee
consumes me
overwhelms me
and at time controls me

after all coffee is a drug
and I am her slave
from time to time

Drinking Coffee in the Morning



in the morning
dangerous mood
felling deranged
watching the news

trigger warning
you are ******* dude
end of the world
the end times come

I drink coffee
in the morning



Coffee *** Killed





His wife has banned my use
by my owner
says he makes too much
of a mess when he uses me

it is not his fault
I want to say
but being a coffee ***
can not speak

and so I am abandoned
thrown out into the trash

and feel very sad
for my owner

who was my friend
he liked me

he keep me going
and I did my job

providing him
with fresh coffee

doing my coffee *** duty
and now it is over

Drinking My Coffee


drinking coffee

drinking my coffee
early in the cool morning
thinking life is fine

everything will be okay
after I drink my coffee

morning coffee



morning coffee

dawning sun 











coffee MGur Poem


coffee

I pray to the coffee gods
every cup of coffee
is like a sacrament to me

I pray as I drink my coffee
that it will fill me
with wisdom

and find peace
with my coffee

as I drink
my devotion

Hot coffee


cup of coffee


take coffee with you
Hot hot coffee, makes my day -

Must drink My daily coffee, as the morning dawns - 

With out my morning coffee

in me,  I feel nothing at all -

Electrified Hot Coffee



coffee is the drug of choice
nothing else will do it
as I drink coffee
Electrified
Hot Coffee

Hot Coffee and Cake


coffee
coffee is the drug of choice
electrified circuits
as I drink coffee
coffee and cake



Coffee Patina



coffee
hot coffee
hot Hellish Heaven
Essence of coffee
the rest of the coffee poems can be found at
Arlene Bozich Jan 2013
Sleep, little girl, where the nerve endings died,
And pain no longer finds you.
In the sun’s thoughtless light your heels are too high
With your chest falling away from your body.
It’s on the edge between dreams and waking
The shore of feeling and thought
That those gentle storms kick and shake you.
Don’t you see it? Sitting wide
A hole with a mouth to swallow you.
It’s the place where the glass kept cutting and cutting,
Where fires burned and the salt ocean burned worse.
Memories forgot about it and they’ll forget you too,
In the place where all nerve endings died,
Where the little girl forgot she cried
And drowned without pain to alarm her.
Tomas Denson Apr 2014
A wild flight into drizzled dark night
The chorus line thumping
Overcome by roar and strain
Of metal tested to limits as we race
An endless risk disregarded as thought
And the sound of a bright giggle
Wondrous eyes lit in thrill of threat
Fear has no place in this setting

A manic gleam and set to her face
Sharing a secret as we laugh and howl
Because this is who we are
For all out control and desire
We scream endlessly through life eternally silent
Until we do not have to be
And in glory we release!

Fear is a thing to be learnt
A feeling to ******* and freeze
Is it felt here?
A resounding no! Shatters the question
In the screech of tires
In the surge of adrenaline
In the wild savage smile of freedom
Of a shout into the night in defiance of order!

Does my heart race as we tear around?
Not even a tremor! Until I turn,
My face from the moaning wind rushing past
And i gaze upon this savage exposed
Lips pulled back in ferocious glee
A focused and fierce glare to the world
We deny life and taunt the spectre
Come to us, we cry!

The paths are slick with tears of the gods
The roads tempestuous writhing in deceit
I sit in peace, relaxed
A warrior companion at my side
We know no fear of what may come
For trust
Ah trust
Is the colour of life
Ever shadowed as a challenge to endings!

She lights as a fire of the brightest stars
And i would embrace her
Burning endlessly.
ryn Jan 2017
I read a story today.

Like any good story it was layered upon the premise of the love between two perfect strangers.

Like any good story it was about romance that blossomed... and then flourished as quick as it was fierce.

Like any good story it spun a far-reaching web of hope and longing whilst still holding on to the uncompromising nature of responsibility to one's dreams.

Like any good story, there was a spot of intimacy. The gradual build up of physical and psychological attraction that culminated in the merging of two, was nothing less than tasteful.

Like any good story there was conflict.
But it was not the cliched garnish that involved oppressive parenting styles nor glaring racial differences.
It did not rope in the overused notion of "we're so different, we're two parts of a whole".
It was... a beautiful conflict.
One that does not allow the audience to choose sides.
In fact, it encourages you to think inward and root for both parties - be them together or apart.
If anything at all, it boils down to the pursuit of each individual's happiness.

Like any good modern day story, it ended with a breath held in a gasp. You hold it there for the longest moment and you have to close that breath with a heavy sigh of loss.
It also leaves you with ample room to deliberate the "what if" factor.
Happy endings last a while but sad ones... they rip a hole in you that almost never closes...
and you cannot help but go back to read it over and over again in the hopes of finding the elusive right answer or the best alternate ending.

Like any good story it was tailored in my fit. Because I envisioned myself in it. I got consumed by it. Overwhelmed by it, enough to almost break the pipes.

And like any good story, it's worth keeping...
In heart and in mind.

So I read a story today. And I didn't want it to end.
cynosure Aug 2014
Your electricity flows out of your fingertips shocking me
and making me feel energy in places I didn't know it could reside.
Lightning jump starts my heart and sends a current through my body, accelerating my breathing and fueling my desires.
Impulses fire in my brain rewiring my thoughts
and I can only compare it to crawling in to bed with the thought of Christmas morning in the middle of June.
Your fingers send jolts through my nerve endings and power surges through my hair, making it stand on end.
They feel like cigarette burns on bare flesh and I can't help but cringe at how much I enjoy it.
Ruheen Aug 2019
I don't like happy endings,
Because in real life
Not many people have them.

But I also always want
A happy ending,
Because then I get to live
Someone else's life
And their happy ending.
I get to be happy
Even if only for a while.

I don't like happy endings
As that is all we can think of.
There is more to life than
Just riding off into the sunset.

I like happy endings.
As I am reminded
That there is a world
Of characters who are happy,
Even though we are not.

But I don't like happy endings.
Because they give people hope.
But it can't just be a happy ending.
Something has to come after.

More comes after the 'ending'.
Good, bad and ugly.
And then sometime after that.
Life really does end.

You don't have to like the ending.
You could love it.
You could hate it.
But at least then,
You'd know what it's like.
You would actually get to live it.
Finally remembered what I forgot...
But I don't like the ending.
Hyue X Jan 2014
The time we all spent has come to an end
The things we know will become our past
But the things we do will guide us into the future
We will make a path towards a brighter destination

The past holds many things we hold dear to is:
The experience of growth
The feelings we gained
The friends we met, may them be old or new

The result of blossoming love
Having our hearts broken
Repairing or rebuilding relationships
Death of precious people we cherished

However, along the way we had fun
This year was a great experience
But the next will always be better
What awaits us may still be unknown

Although we don't know what's ahead
We know it will hold great and bad fortune
Because its something we don't know
That's what makes it fun to not know what's ahead

We will see new beginnings of life
Endings won't seperate us, only death can
Relationships will shatter along the way
However, we will get new lovers

People will gain more experience further in life
Couples will be formed
Or couples getting married
Or perhaps getting old together

However let's say goodbye to an old year
And let's welcome the next one
What lies up ahead my be a mystery
But we must welcome it

*Lets welcome a new year (2014)
And say goodbye to this year (2013)
Have a great New Year everyone
Denise Ann Dec 2013
The traditional story has a beginning and an ending. Between these two are strife and conflict and dragons and witches and handsome knights and beautiful princesses. The middle, they say, is the heart of the story, the journey which rises or declines to the ending. This is where the carefully crafted beginning is torn asunder, where valiant heroes attempt to stitch it back together, where most of the time it only ends up flayed further open like a wound.
Or an unread letter. Or a broken fist. Or shattered chains. Or dying stars.
And.
And it is the storyteller's choice how it ends. Whether they all live happily ever after or they all become nothing but windswept ashes. Most of the time the story is just beginning, middle, and end—not necessarily in that order. One will never know how it really ends.
And.
And that is the happiest end to any story. Start with the middle, continue with the end, and end with the beginning. End with the knight on the dragon's back screaming a war cry, or with the princess locked up in the tower, or with the witch falling asleep. End with a sentence cut into a phrase, with an invisible ellipsis, and no 'The End'.
One will look at a universe of different endings. Here is a galaxy of sadness, here is a solar system of bitterness, look, there's a star drawing its first breath, perhaps this is happiness. It will be like looking at the vast expanse of the sky and seeing stories written in the clouds, in the silhouette of mountains with their hunched backs telling a different ending of their own.
You will see a princess in every woman, a knight in every man, goodness in a grain of sand.
Or a drop of rain. Or a blade of grass. Or a pebble in the riverbed.
And.
And they will say you are a dreamer, disillusioned by forestalled endings, but dreamers are the happiest people in the world. They live in captured moonlight, thrive on dappled sunlight, see emeralds in leaves and gold in autumn's touch. They fly in oceans and float on tempests. They walk on treetops and ride horses crafted from twigs to the burning sunset.
This is a world of endings.
And endings are always the best part of the story. And if it remains unknown, all the better.
Look here, at the ink that traces every letter of every word, dancing with utmost gaiety like a raptor in unbound flight. Swooping down, down, down, and spiraling up, up, up, gliding through the clouds, resting in the breeze like an eyelash on the cheek.
Look here. The ending is nowhere.
The ending is everywhere.
But look here, at this words, because this is a story that will never, ever end, only swirl in eternity like ink in water, billowing like, perhaps, a valiant knight's cape as he perches on top of the dragon, roaring a war cry along with the beast, while the witch falls asleep, and the princess waits in her tower.
Look. Or read. Or stare. Or write.
And.
And so they lived…
Ian Cairns Feb 2014
For centuries philosophers have speculated the role sleep plays in society
But it was not until the 1950s that sleep woke up in academia
And today sleep studies show what dormant minds really look like
Information about our rest we've never seen before
However, I've always understood the importance of bedtime
You see my parents taught me that sleep and love are soul mates

My mom
She's the sleeper
She loves to sleep
She cuddles up on any piece of furniture in my house and snoozes for hours
Never views a sitcom past the first commercial break when she's tired
And she's okay with that
Dad never lets her drive on road trips when night falls
Preferring his sleeping beauty tucked safely in the passenger seat
Their hands meet as she lets the stars serenade her to slumber
While he anchors his left hand on the steering wheel
Thanking his lucky stars for his real life princess

My dad
He's the snorer
He loves to snore
He roars like a lion on his love seat and naps for hours
Never views a sitcom past the second commercial break when he's tired
And he's okay with that
Mom never lets him sleep alone too long though
Keeping his nose plugged strong enough to signal for bedtime
They both stand together as he lets her guide him to slumber
While she ushers her left hand around his back
Thanking her lucky stars for her own prince charming

Now my parents call me the dreamer
And I sure do love to dream
It seems my parents are textbook role models for me
Because when you live inside a fairytale for far too long
Your reality becomes an endless stream of fantasies
Your expectations are exceptionally out of context
Strictly written for poetic lines in picture books
Never meant to be held
Never meant to be felt
Only meant for spines stuck on rosewood shelves

My parents call me the dreamer
And boy I love to dream
I believe in creating the unthinkable
And when you live inside a fairytale for far too long
Nothing is fictional
You picture a life with storybook endings
Praying the author never runs out of ink
You crown each syllable the king of the moment
Treating each page like royalty
And I've always been okay with that

So when I asked my mom when she knew she fell in love
She spoke of an instant of unadulterated emotion
She said she knew instantly
She didn't need to sleep on it
When I asked my dad when he knew he fell in love
He just smiled back at me
He must have known instantly
He didn't even speak on it
So when I ask myself when I might fall in love
I can't help but smile
Think of fairytale titles
Mile wide love notes in all shapes and styles
And a moment where my reality sets my hopes on fire
And I won't need to dream about it anymore
mori walts Apr 2016
ME?
I am like a riddle
WRITTEN
but
UNREADABLE.
unless
you
know
that
ENDINGS
are
BEGINNINGS.
then
you
know me
as
{INFINITY}
Darren Mar 2015
I thought that the end would be poetic,
like our favorite novels that end so cleanly.

I thought it would end with a period
or exclamation point, even just a question mark.

Instead I was left with a simple,
unpunctuated sentence, that was cut off.

I now know that happy endings
are supposed to stay in favorite books.

Life is more complex than
perfectly squared endings in neat boxes.

Life ends in the middle of a verse-
Ignatius Hosiana Jan 2017
Even when I know they're but unfinished stories,
accepted pain and acknowledged sorrys,
virtual realities reflected from mirrors of a lost paradigm
and engineered metaphorically vocalized  pantomime
even when I know that they're not the end of the road
(that there're even many more miles to walk)
or even  blossoms of life within a spectral pod
but merely a beautiful view of the vast and
rough ocean from the calm of a floret mental dock
through tinted glasses in pink of perception with utmost optimism
a fairy born of refraction through a phantasmal prism
even when the universe disputes the truism of a magic wand
I still fantasize about holding your hand
and matching with you through thick and thin
for better for worse, against the torrents from foe and keen
in turbulence of rage and storms of tears till we find laughter
until the bruises of souls and hearts shattered find mending
in the enema of our blending so we can have a happy ending
even when I know forever and for always is just a true lie
and we are likely to more than anything make us cry,
I still believe in pulchritudinous endings, in happily ever after
in you and I, in the beauty of wilting roses and those in the rain
in sticking together through the pleasure and pain...
Even when I know love is just a word,
we can lend it every meaning we've ever dreamed
I still believe in real romance, in the broken being fixed
in forever being now and now being forever
in never saying never, in you and I
truth or lie, do or die... roads and bendings
long as it's with you, I believe in Happy endings...
She introduced herself, as
Sunset.
Batted her lashes not to be flirtatious ,
But to hide that her eyes were wet.
All around me were blurred, but beautiful faces.
Yet, my eyes only focused on hers
The first that I noticed.

When I bought my first camera,
From that sales-man down in Alabama.
And he taught me how to use it,
He said, "see here son, if I was to take your picture I'd set this camera here on portrait.
But if I took a picture of that pretty little girl 'cross the road"
he said with a smirk
"I'd have to set this here camera on Firework"


It's funny how memories work.
I think of that man now, of his coffee colored skin and straw hat.
I never thought I'd need to know any of that.
but right here and now I set that camera to sunset.
raise it to my eye
And take a picture of
Sunset.
As if she were a colorful sky.
and that's it.
some people deserve more than a portrait.

And I know, I'm going to take her to a dark room.
And see what develops, of her negatives.
But first, I want to hear all about her crazy relatives.
Who gives her, her beauty?
where's she take her dog to groom?
The poodle on her leash is a cutie.
and what does she doodle on her notebooks?
stars or hearts or sugar skulls....
Does she know she's caught me on her fishin' hook?
What's she think of me, I'm sure I look dull.
Why are her teary eyes so full, About to overflow.
There were so many things I wanted to know....
before I took her to a dark room.
But it happened
And all I found in the picture that developed was gloom.
I realized I was her first.
And the best night of my life became my worst.
because I took something from her she didn't want to give.
But I just didn't know that she wouldn't want to live.
Keep reading, this ends beautifully.
beautifully like a sunset ends a day.
But, you have to believe me when I say that's not nearly as beautifully
As Sunset ends my hopes and dreams.
How she ended her own life
With pretty little pink pills.
One....Two....Three
gripped in her hand they found a picture of me.
And now I know, Sunsets are all about Beautiful Endings.
It's funny how memories work

© copyrighted Nicole Ann Osborn
Alana S Sep 2015
my tears aren’t forced
they flow in that
dark tunnel that she
dreamed so long ago
she wasn’t ready
to take her first steps
I wasn’t ready to
take mine without her.
Little things bring her back
like empty bowls or the tower
of books she’s never going to read.
People have been calling this a
trauma, but they’ve forgotten the
loneliness of life’s journey. She dreamed
a tunnel and added bright lights
and dusted the floor with powdery snow
she traveled far yet I can
only see the trails of
milk puddling around the lost key that she
dropped under blankets
of memory and phrases of
I-promise and tomorrow. I’m growing up as
she falls down. She wasn’t
perfect but that’s why it
was so easy to love her.
My journey’s ongoing, and the
deep undercurrents of pain and
grief are pulling me through
that tunnel.
I’m rowing softly by,
quietly, quietly,
as she is laid to rest.
her memories swallow the emptiness
she is kneeling at the throne.
I follow slowly and leave my
tears for her to know that life’s
path isn’t paved in water but
with sorrow, with endings, and with lost
boats on turbid seas.
This is to anyone out there that's listening
From anyone who ever let you down and went missing
Lovers, parents, best friends, and siblings
Sometimes life conspires to make liars of good men

This is to anyone out there that's listening
From everyone that ever let you down and went missing
Lovers, parents, best friends, and siblings
Sometimes life conspires to make liars of good men

I'm sorry I wasn't who you thought I was
**** it-- I'm sorry I wasn't who I thought I was
I said no matter what, I'd always be there, but that wasn't honest
Because I'm not
And 'cause that ain't how life goes
Broken promise

Growing up, I always thought I was one of the good guys
I thought it was black and white like that
That I could nurture my good side
But I've caused hurt and I've stripped pride
Both on the surface and inside
I wasn't cursed with a dark side, I was just normal
Average, regular, nothing special, I'm telling you
Just being human makes you both God and the Devil's clear replica
I've had my emotions crushed and maybe crushed a few along the way
And at the time, I meant every single word I would say
Every word of love, and every word of hate
Every time I would adore, and every time I'd berate
But time passes, and sometimes those emotions fade
Making liars of both the threats and the promises made

But is a lie really a lie if you mean it at the time?
How can a lie be a lie if you mean it at the time?
A lie can't be a lie if you mean it at the time
How can a lie be a lie if you mean it?

This is to anyone out there that's listening
This is to
This is to anyone out there that's still breathing

I bought a heartbreak hotel
On my own, with no investors
Closed it down and opened the "*******, get over it" bed and breakfast
In loving memory of having loving memories
Of combustible emotions, and having real enemies

Typically poetically dramatic endings
Were once a trademark of mine
Patents pending
And the mighty height of emotions on parting ways
Was always grander than the connections of the early days

When we were fighting, there used to be thunder and lightning
Ferociously frightening, a clash of the titans
Emotions heightened, every single muscle tightened
An addiction to the thrill of the fight, the excitement

Love at first sight always seemed unconsidered
I'd rather love at first fight, and then onto double figures
An unconditional love? Well, that just means nothing
In love with the mere idea of loving something

Always just hunting for that near-life experience
In fear of missing something vital from your own existence
All your emotions subconsciously thought out and scripted
Less about how you're feeling
More about how you ******* depict it

But all that stops when one day you just decide to stop playing along
That point in time when the most amazing things in the world can just as easily seem
Pedestrian

You've lost both that loving and that loathing feeling
Turns out, hell does have a bottom
And heaven, a ceiling
Both love and hate become opaque in time's wake
A face that once summons rage now summons nothing
Whether it's emotions tethered, nerve endings severed
Or just the outlook you acquire when you're a little more weathered
Remaining conscious of this all, and in a way, feeling above it
Still feels like bad riddance to good *******

But is a lie really a lie if you mean it at the time?
How can a lie be a lie if you mean it?
By scroobius Pip
Stephan May 2016
.

*What ever happened to fairy tale endings
When did the sun bring the cold winter chill
Why are kind gesturers an act of  pretending
How did our heartbeats become ever still

Where is the joy that we found ourselves sharing
Happiness falling on much darker days
Meadows of flowers now weeds never caring
Blue skies are hidden behind sorrowed haze

Dreams slowly scattered on desolate oceans
Washed up on shore as the sandcastles die
Tossed overboard with the weakest emotions
Salt coated tears the horizon does cry

Once perfect mornings now afternoon weary
Gazing on edges cut sharp by the storm
Forecasts are sent in a poem that’s dreary
Standing afraid as the thunderclouds form

Hiding our eyes behind last April’s fashion
No cotton fabric for sale on the rack
Finding that drab is our lone source of passion
Marked down for clearance way out in the back

When did we give up on promises pending
Taking a place after push comes to shove
What ever happened to fairy tale endings
What ever happened to forever love
Number 8 Mar 2011
My father was famous for
noticing endings
admitting defeats
accepting declines
moving along
being a good, end-of-game sport.

Sometimes
he’d spark a surprise
come back—
an evening of the score.
The folks are as good
as the people
” he’d declare.

But as life
invariably turns out,
the folks are
   rarely
            as good
                         as the people
     the pitcher as the batter
     the husband as the wife
     the striker as the goalie
     the salesman as the prospect
     the child as the parent
     the ying as the yang.
In competitions someone
always conquers, even if just a bit;
the other
always loses, even if just surface wounds—
death always comes
natural or quick.

Then you
know:
It’s all over
        but the crying.


Dad,
I’ve been crying,
but when will I know
it’s over?
And, since some “folks” aren’t
so good after all, please tell:
        How victorious is victory?
        Who is defeated in defeat?
        What is the final score?
        Who won again?

The true score for when it’s over is
perhaps how
we make sense of the endings,
                                                    beginnings,
                                                                ­          and
                                 rebeginnings
                of life
shared and                                                              ­                             solitary.

So where is that game clock
that tally board, that ledger to
release my game
announce my endings
settle my scores

so I can do my crying
and
prepare
for next season?

        18.i.11
maybella snow Jul 2013
happily ever afters
are so stereotyped          

do two broken lovers        
fit into the category?              

x <3 x

— The End —