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ryn Nov 2015
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communicate•such are her methods to make us see•
she tries to                    the mother we've abused to such
the way                              a state•the earth we've squand-
it is                                         ered so very blindly•but we do
•                                              not change our ways • instead
                                                  we devise our feeble solutions•
                                               bunkers and alerts, in place we
                                           lay•hoping these would halt her
                                   spiteful vengeance•the past has sha-
                   red of what transpired before•our days carry
      on without words of thanks•we could never learn
of what's in store•what ripple could grow to consume    

  
**our banks•
Concrete Poem 8 of 30

Read from the tip of the wave and work your way around.

Tap on the hashtag "30daysofconcrete" below to view more offerings in the series. :)
.
Ah, so stately art t'ou, my prince-
prone as th' night, comely as th' moon.
And wakeful is my sorrow;
for waiting for thee-
is not at all th' same
as greeting him soon.
How all t'ese senses remain so numb!
Love, as 'twas first fierce ye'a living dumb,
now as insignificant as a thumb,
and th' fame t'at surrounded was breath
beforeth turning bald and corny as death.
I figure t'ou art now out of my air;
as nothingness like t'is
tears and usurps my hair.
Pursuit of falsehood, pursuit of greed,
is but a seed t'at makes my heart bleed.
Leaves t'at art fake within my torso,
art now crying-and pleading
Just like a cheeky little girl;
unreal as we were,
as t'ou but still t'en-belonged to 'er.

And just like our former sins,
silent but threatening-
thy goneness hath parted me
from my dear'st everything.
Ah, my limbs, my shins,
my lungs, my spleens,
art but now scanty and unawake!
And since t'ere's no give,
thus no more t'ere's take!
How t'ese shadows t'at our hearts made,
now alone and whimper and fade;
startling all over t'is notorious silky winter-
silly as our dear laughter,
but satirical-and edgeless as fate.

And bland, bland, bland;
o-how severely, and dreamily bland!
Thy ever gallantry and morning wit-
so well as charms t'at hath left my cheeks lit!
And with a smile I found so sweet,
to my long black hair t'ou would flirt!
But wherefore art t'ou, now, o my love?
My Russian gem, and prince alike!
Would t'ose mountains in thy Moscow-
be as dazzling as our tomorrow?
And be th' chamber of our dreams-
whereupon thou shalt rolleth into mine,
singeth and reciteth altoget'er our tales
with a glass of ****** wine-
tasty and delicate as our daring gales,
but complicated as we might dwelleth-
and be lost in one anot'er, in our shell.

And ah-comfort, comfort, comfort!
Our dear passion t'at wasth stopped short,
but hath now replied to me
within th' circles of its own balmy nakedness-
and see, my love-how canst it just not, conceal its bareness!
How on one morning shalt tread our foot,
beneath th' sun t'at shines, undereth daylight t'at shoots-
and across our greyish moors and t'eir roots-
all our charms, woes, and reveries-
canst but unite into one again,
as I hath thus dreameth 'twixt yester's rain,
and alloweth our smot'ered course to remain.
Ah, Vladimir, and of course as plainly but sure-
I still long to turn thee to my treasure;
but love is bold and far too inadequate
to our desolate dreamland;
and might be too cynical-
thus unbearable; to just my dearest, dearest friend.
How sometimes I wish to be free!
And obediently disentwineth my hand;
'fore to thee I gratefully bend.

But desires, desires of t'ese, canst only be despair;
and 'till now our meeting hath just been too late.
Tragic as our souls shalt re-main alone, and not ever pair;
as I hath now one else 'ere to date;
as innocent as we wert-could hath he been unt'ere;
whenst I gazed but into thy shadowy eyes-
ones so full of comical mystery, and manhood t'at lies!
O, Vladimir, but still-tears cannot be our pale answer;
whenst our hearts could but suffer;
and secret love; our sole-ye' joyless matter.

And tough, tough needst we be, just like t'is poem-
just by its battered hands on a piece of paper.
But strong, strong and guiltless my heart may be-
dreams of which it cannot lower-
as t'ou art here not with me, o dear lover!
Ah, Vladimir, th' skies above
art still my beauteous, but neglect'd view;
trifling to my veins, as it never knew.
And thus, Vladimir, as it shalt again glow
my heart shalt be with thee in cold Moscow,
as thou danceth and befriendeth
our triumphant tomorrow.

Returneth t'en should I into my clock,
drencheth myself in my best frock;
and waiteth for on my door his knock.
Ah, and whenst later t'is be over-
shalt I but dreameth of thee again-
a guilty, but flawless-as how
a waking dream should be!
A dream, ah, andeth with it still,
a peaceful dream-
in which I canst feel thee against me-
teasing my soul and rubs my knee,
and weaves thy love, into my veins.
Poison me-o, poison me, my love!
And riseth thou t'ere-as my own knight;
within our dark; but stainless night.
Adele May 2015
▖          ▖                                         ▖                        ▖

▖              ▖                                                 ­ ▖
her
tears shed under the pouring rain
with her yellow umbrella lying on the ground
She can hear the droplets echoing through her mind
The raging storm and the dark sky shrouded the entirety of her world
she is drowning, with no one to hold. Then suddenly, he came to grab the
umbrella, showered her like a flower, touch her heart like the gentle rain drops. planted
daisies on her eyes, so when she cries, it'll bloom to life and to remind her of beauty a beauty from
the
sun
shine
that
gives
light
to
her
own
       shatt
                  ered
                                 world
he'll never ever leave her, like how this guy let go of her hands under a rain's agony

Inspired by Yiruma's instrumental 'Kiss The Rain' ❤️ https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=so6ExplQlaY (what soothes me to sleep)
The Jolteon Nov 2014
Smoking *** can make you lose your job
Drinking liquor can make you lose your liver
Smoking tobacco can make you lose your lungs
Eating McDonalds can make you lose your heart
Drinking soda can make you lose your feet
Snorting coke can get your high(ered) in congress

You can lose your feet, liver, lungs, and heart while coked up in congress
But you can't smoke ***
An earthquake sev
ered the land from the
other land, disconn
ected the bridge from the
shore.

I felt the rumble in my glass,
saw the ripple in lady dacre's wine.
The quivers influenced the
nerve endings at the base of my spine,
and the dimmed lights flickered
almost imperceptibly.

I saw the faces of the lazybones
in the bar, the panic-

Most people survived.
Olga Valerevna Oct 2016
I finally got it right you see, he uttered with a smile
I'm finally back to where I was when I just a child
I spent my years pretending every move I made was right
until I faced reality without a place to hide
in baring what I'd covered up I breathed my very first
and realized I never lost my precious little girls
they walked with me through darkness, stayed together when I broke
reminded me the light was on whenever I went home
my hands were always counting down my fingers to a fist
and I would let the anger have its way because of this
but countless be my sorries as my character's remade
a father to his children says, I need you every day
sisterhood to fatherhood.
Jordan Frances Jan 2015
Up
I  
                                                    Thought
 ­                                                 I Might Die
                                         That Day As I Watched
                                   Your Lifeless Body Being Lifted
                         By Angels, and yet, lowered into the ground.
                                          Six feet deep, I refused to
                                         Throw dirt on you because
                                         I felt as though it would tar
                                         nish Your perfect complexi
                                         on The beautiful hand I wa
                                         nted to hold in mine Was n
                                         ow wrinkled and  withered
                                         I sank with you My blood s
                                         ank into my veins My heart
                                         sank into my chest My eyes
                                         sank into my head But I wa
                                         s not dead yet.  You  taught
                                         me to live So I could not fal
                                         l apart I bit my lips until  th
                                         ey bled Clenched my fists u
                                         ntil they went white Fightin
                                         g to hold on.  I could not cru
                                         mble  But as the coroner low
                                         ered you down  I realized th
                                         at I had no place to go *but up
formatting is being screwy whatever
Aya Baker Sep 2013
"How are you?"

"I am fine."

"How are you?"

"I am fine."

"How are you?"

And it goes on and on and on,
This courteous game no one invests in
Half-glances sliding over you
Catalouging your state briefly before
Moving onto something else

The unspoken rules of this game dictate
That you keep to routine.
How are yous and I am fines,
Never change
Never stop.
Never, ever, change.

It does not matter
If these are not truths
It does not matter
If you feel like your skin is bursting
And your head is exploding
And your heart is shrieking
And your blood is singing.

They must ask How are yous
And you must say, I am fines

"I am-"

But.

I am not.

I am not fine you want to scream and shout You have not been fine since last year the year you discovered that you don’t matter you are only worth the As in your report book. The teacher’s assessment of you is unfair yet true and you are never anything less than troubled. Red becomes the colour you see behind your eyelids in the dark and in the day When the red stands out and even if it doesn’t because that’s all. You. Can. Think. About. It is the colour under the skin of your thighs when you slap too hard It is the colour that spills over the skin of your forearms where you hide the cuts under sleeves You are falling falling a dizzy mess No one but you will taint this metaphorical white dress. You dig in your work. You solve math problem after math problem and buy new highlighters to line the pages of your Biology textbook and you pay attention in History class even though your friend elbows you in the ribs to get your attention to show off her latest doodle. But still red redred red red red redred dred ered red red is all you can think about, you don’t like the colour but now you just might. it keeps you sane. After class when no one paid attention and everyone disrupted it you ran to the bathroom to create more so. You tell your friends and they look at you sadly but forget later. It takes you months of not eating properly and starving yourself of sentiment before you realize you are too young to be jaded. Other, better friends (though it is no fault of your older ones) pull you through. You learn to like simple things again. You throw yourself in articles and articles of the feminist movement and watch that new TV show and make more friends that loosen you up and make you laugh and dance. You take pictures and create memories again. You live a little more again. You are making progress.

"-fine."
soul in torment Oct 2013
you are the smoke that fills my lungs
and draws from me such wretched cough
That lingers on my mouth and tongue
in simulated kisses soft

You are the stain on fingers clenched
that clutch at strands of wisp-ered prayers
who's presence from my grasp is wrenched
and from my lips my sorrow tears

You are the stubbed out cigarette
that burned away to nought but ash
and neath my boot the end was met
a love you freely turned to trash
Fragment* s
Of  a  riven  heart
              Sc attered  on  th e  floor
   With  battered
            Smi t hereens  which  can
           Nev er  ever
       Ameliorate  whilst  stars
    Scintillate athwart ­the
   Gorgeous d*ome  of the heavens
#Acrostic poem  #poetry #Heart break

#some riven hearts never mend
Scarlet Rose Feb 2017
I
             am
    just
                                           random

           p
                i
                    e
                         c
                              e
                                   s

                                                      sc      a   tt           ered
        
             on the
                          floor
ana f Jul 2014
the words we
wrote on our
slitted pieces
of paper wer
e all lies and
i hope that w
hoever pulls
our old batt
ered notebo
ok out of th
e dusty ches
t in the man
or falling ap
art that we r
ulled with p
aper hats an
d painted na
ils knows tha
t our love wa
sn't really me
ant to be.

— The End —