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M P Hill Aug 2012
Is it considered a drought, if I'm thirsty for you?

Cascading angel who freely falls soft to rocks

Being that you are the only possible remedy for my parched lips...

Mother of all waters,
I keep praying for you, safety through the devils mountain.
purest and clairsentiant like crystals one scrys into for answers.
playing and bending light several which ways to entertain me.

Famine and debris am I,
to savor your dew would bring me rapture

Cascading goddess who falls with little to no fear

Not even a stream was I,
but I drew in your mist, hoarding it till I became prosperous

Oasis that you are,
much like a water sage to the mirage of my soul

You erode me and shape me like mud and clay.
you're limitless as a moist well, peaking on infinity.
oh, my tongue swells for your never ending glory.

Cast out of Heaven, you are all for me.
For my fiance'

Based Loosely on angel falls, mythology. What fascinating things I find.
Nesma Aug 2018
Dear me,

I hope this letter finds you kind, I hope it finds you at ease,
I hope it finds you as you were born.. a soft spring breeze.

I am writing this letter to inform you that your time is not up, that you still have space to unfold, that you are a continuum that doesn’t have to settle for the broken uni-verse where you were unraveled.

You, love, are not limited to your synonyms.

You, love, can develop into a hurricane that doesn’t dwell in a farmer’s cabin.
You, love, can develop into a hurricane that travels between the back of your mind and its front.
You, love, can develop into a hurricane with a FedEx envelop for a title.
You, my love, can develop into a hurricane that transports your memories from the backyard of your colon to the backside of this letter.

You, love, can develop into a sandstorm speaking the names of the Saharas to your left and to your right.
You, love can develop into a sandstorm that does not blind the sufi midnight traveler.
You, love, can develop into a sandstorm that travels beyond the desert.
You, my love can develop into a sandstorm carrying a water-well for the thirsty.

You, love, can develop into an ocean that doesn’t stand in arrogance where there is land.
You, love, can develop into an ocean that waxes and wanes to the rhythm of the moonlight caressing you.
You, my love, can develop into an ocean that doesn’t erode the rocks standing on its shore.

You, love, can develop into a soft spring breeze that makes a home of all the other seasons.
You, love, can develop into a soft spring breeze that gently ****** through a baobab tree trunk.
You, love, can develop into a soft spring breeze that playfully tickles the arms of a refugee on her bus to camp.
You, my love can develop into the synonyms you are not limited to.

Kindly find attached to this letter the love your father has tucked in bed a long time ago and never double checked on it.
Kindly find attached to this letter the understanding your mother stored in the kitchen cabinet she is too short to reach.
Kindly find attached to this letter the forgiveness you have tried to grow out of sunflowers seed every winter.


Maggie Emmett Nov 2014
Fear makes our rational minds corrode
Empty, paralysed and in shock
Our sense of hope starts to erode

Plane-bombed towers stretch and implode
Bone dust smothers a city block
Fear makes our rational minds corrode

Suicide bombs start to explode
None live to stand in courtroom dock
Our sense of hope starts to erode

Buses are blown up in the road
Red heart of a city they mock
Fear makes our rational minds corrode

Another gruesome episode
We’re held in a violent deadlock
Our sense of hope starts to erode

Where is the truth that we are owed?
Death’s time is set on Terror’s clock
Fear makes our rational minds corrode
Our sense of hope starts to erode
Villanelle form. Written first 24th October 2005 & edited several times since.
SabreLi Dec 2016
Tears fall down like acid rain on sun dried cheeks
No longer burning with passion
Once beautiful memories now are each
No more than a lost reaction

And as they fall these tears erode the last of my conviction
They blaze a trail along the road of my heart’s affliction

Discontent to pass me by from the sky it flows
(acid rain) Acid rain (acid rain)
It leaves me high and dry, and as I cry it deals its heavy blows
(acid rain) Acid rain (acid rain)

The space by my side used to be taken
But these days I keep no company
Since the day you left my life’s been vacant
Like my heart and soul – incomplete

And as I walk these steps erode the path of certainty
They blaze a trail along the road I wander aimlessly

Discontent to pass me by it just keeps pouring down
(acid rain) Acid rain (acid rain)
It leaves me high and dry, and as I cry it I feel like I could drown
(acid rain) Acid rain (acid rain)

Years pass by like stale air in the cold night breeze
No longer filled with emotion
It’s becoming so hard now even to breathe
Consumed by my own devotion

And as they fall these tears erode the last of my conviction
They blaze a trail along the road of my heart’s affliction

Discontent to pass me by time and time again
(acid rain) Acid rain (acid rain)
It leaves me high and dry, but still I try to move on from this pain
(acid rain) Acid rain (acid rain)
Written about drowning in the feelings of despair left behind when you suffer bereavement through loss or abandonment.
Andrew T Hannah Jun 2013
A Surreal Epic of Existence

Prelude to the Journey…

I smiled yesterday when I beheld the morning’s brilliant colors,
Etched with gold, across the canvas of the heavens, hanging…
High above all those mountains of the world, gigantic brothers,
A wilderness of clouds, where there can be no human taming.
I did not always smile when I looked up to that noble height…
For I have seen how terrible goodness can be, when untamed.
Once I thought my sojourn in this flesh was from a divine spite,
But now I know it was a gift, and for it I need not be ashamed.
God once walked as I do now, and suffered the same stress…
Betrayal, love, and passions too, though no Church shall admit,
The true nature of divinity, lest all their secret sins they confess!
You are told you are alone in the universe, by leaders so unfit,
That they themselves are fed a diet of lies and stories invented.
But we walked amongst you since the very dawn reincarnated,
Having lost our first flesh in conflicts long past and unlamented.
We guided the steps of ancients, as monuments demonstrated!
And yet we are born as children: your own, and live our span,
The better to remain hid, in plain sight, our faces clever masks.
I am the eldest, and I remember still my kindred’s lofty plan…
And though I wear the human face, I am beset with alien tasks.
Helping they who lack the knowledge to see what lies outside,
You have seen me in the darkness, blazing upon my own pyre.
Where I am waiting to lead the way, where the angels glide…
Anyone can follow, if they are dedicated enough never to tire.
Ironic, since I myself have known helplessness and still oft do,
It is only human after all, and in your form I was so re-forged!
The image of God, whose own blood is in all of us hither unto,
From the first to the last, alpha to omega, like a sharp sword.

Prologue: (My Mask is Slipping)

As a child: I was a servant at the altars of the heart so sacred,
Singing hymns of the immaculate: without seeing the depravity.
It was only when I myself wore the crown of thons, naked…
My spirit exposed through my pain, that I realized the gravity.
What man believes is sacred, is profanity disguised as graces,
And those who lead the sheep to slaughter are mere butchers!
Forcing innocents to wear porcelain masks to hide their faces,
They rob children of their childhood, bound with crude fetters.
As a teenager: I walked in nature, disgusted with all humanity,
My exodus was from those who had defiled all I cared about.
Finding faith in an angel fallen, I discovered my own sanctity,
And in her name I found the means to cleanse my feral doubt.
Then came marriage, and betrayal by a wife I gave up all for,
The dissolution of our union then loneliness without cessation!
A mortal had pierced my flesh, leaving me to bleed on a floor,
My heart was torn from its’ moorings without any elaboration.
But the angel remained to calm my anger and ease my agony,
My only light in the blackness that has overcome my waking!
Reminding me, that I was more than this flesh and mortality…
The angel tries to keep me from harsh trembling and quaking.
And then I see: I am more than my tears and life’s traumas…
I let slip, the mask behind which the scars of my tears etched.
Then I sense the heat of the night more intense than saunas…
As I long to dance with abandon, until time itself is stretched!
Mortals may betray one another with impunity, but never I…
I do not betray; rather I pour my heart and spirit forth whole.
Creating a phylactery, of all I am, and with an innocent eye…
I demand to be loved as I am: pearl white and black as coal!

Canto 1: Sacrifice of the Doll

Part the First: (The Bleeding Shores)

Do not call me, doll, for I have departed your ancient cavern,
You are lifeless, a mere toy, and not a real child in any form!
A boy’s red ruby lips I spy drinking in the dreariest tavern…
Whilst true children singing, frolic in the fields filled with corn.
I am going home, upon the wings of the great silver griffon…
Far from the shores now bleeding red from defiled memories.
There is no return, for me, to the glories of the first ignition…
When the mind eternal, was ignited all with pleasing ecstasies.
In the stars, there are words unheard that I do want to recall,
For I came down so very long ago, among the first to so fall!
Eldritch nightmares born of the stuff of the pure chaos of old,
Are waiting for signs at the threshold to be released by magic.
The forbidden incantations return to my spirit, aflame so bold,
That my spirit nearly forgets: the origins of this time, so tragic.
When children drink, and true children hide themselves apart,
Whilst the waters bleed and the corn withers upon the stalks!
That is a sign that change must come, and so I work my mind.
The face in the moon is a grimace of tormented fear, horror…
Whilst I stand upon the precipice with my hand over my heart,
And amongst the long rows of corn, my black shadow walk!
Watching over the innocents whose souls are of my own kind.
The summer heat turns orange, the moon: in celestial corridors.
My mournful cry can be heard in the sound of the lonely wolf,
And in the wild abandon of the lion when he is on the prowl…
I feel the pain of nature, I long to bring back paradise craved.
I have seen the terror of the land, as the blood ran in the gulf,
Black blood of the earth: which causes living things to howl…
As man has the foolishness, to say what is or is not depraved!

Part the Second: (The Crucified Souls)

The doll is laid lifeless atop the altar, prepared for a sacrifice,
In the cavern where the limestone shapes the wettest arches!
A thing un-living, but with living souls trapped still, as if in ice,
Within the cold porcelain shell that so never with feet marches.
Serpentine blade held high, it drops precise into a doll’s neck,
And it cannot call out, because a doll has not any voice to cry.
A boy walked out of a tavern then, looking like a vile wreck…
Whilst as a man I attend to higher things, my body full purified.
In the voids beneath the spaces, witnessed in the rugged rock,
Voices echo loud in the darkness, calling up names unspoken.
The ferryman brings the souls delivered to him, to a far dock,
Where each must pay the copper coin, the old desired token.
So they come to drink those waters that cure all of life’s ills…
Freed from their porcelain prison to feel death’s darker chills!
Whence came those souls into captivity, no mortal may speak,
But I freed them in an instant, removing the nails that pierce…
Every man is he that was put up on the cross of old Golgotha.
And every woman too, as all were made to feel such torture!
I was there when the primal sacrifice was implanted so weak,
And yet so strong that it endured in the psyche all these years.
That doom was sealed behind a wall of fire long ago in Terra,
So that the stigmata of it might endure, even in the vast future!
Mine was the hand that signaled that doom, mine to release…
Yet, still old illusions persist, and I cannot awaken a multitude.
I, who devised the iron web that enfolds much of what is real,
Cloaking it in unending trickery am, myself, longing for peace.
For I too was entrapped, until my liberation rough and crude!
An angel freed me, and now I strive to break each cruel seal.

Part the Third: (The Return of Light)

Risen from the slumber where colder, electric dreams reside,
The forgotten intelligence is invoked, the arcane spells cast…
The eldritch nightmares return to thence amongst man abide,
Reminding us of the things banished to Hell in some age past.
Mine the hand that raised them up, light in the dagger’s glow,
The stuff of my power left to flow, like blood run swiftly free.
Out of the abyss, rises the girl-child of a lost millennial flame,
She who is the angel reborn lets her illumination clearly show.
And all are blinded who have not the innermost eyes to see!
The unbelievers are, in a single instant put unto lasting shame.
From the star of six points, a goddess works her sacred will,
And as she crosses the scarlet threshold, she brings the light.
For a single instant, all in Heaven and all upon Earth are still,
As the long day ends, bowing before the coming eternal night.
In the darkness, radiance far fairer and so perfect descends,
Whilst those who gather in my name: have lost my true path.
The wrath of angels descend upon their minds, closed shut…
Entrapped in the iron web, they cannot flee of such a prison!
The light blinds them for they never truly saw it, and it rends,
Tearing away the churches built for naught but mortal wrath.
There, the unfaithful ******* themselves: like a wanton ****,
Inventing dogma to pass on, forgetful of logic and of reason!
Faith need not be a fearful thing, yet some have made it thus,
And look for an end to come before they seek their reward.
Whilst they should be creating the paradise they left behind…
But in an image of freedom: rather than of servitude and fuss.
Too much time had been wasted in converting by the sword!
Mankind looks to the light for salvation, their eyes long blind.

Interlude Alpha:
This age is one of barbarism cloaked as gentility to sell lies…
Did you purchase some today by design or mayhap chance?
You should know this era to be neither intelligent nor wise…
Else you would not march, when you would prefer to dance!
My nights are filled with nightmares; my days are too much…
I used to dance with one I loved, and bask in purple sunsets.
Now I am haunted, by so many memories I can never touch,
That it fills me with ****** anger, and countless cold regrets.
I recall how once in desperation, my wrist rode a razor edge,
If it were not for my family I’d not thence have lived beyond.
A man abused as I was, and used like cutters upon a hedge,
Must rise higher than it all in order to survive it all, my friend!
I survived, I transformed, I ascended and in the end became,
So much more than I was, until no more did my spirit erode.
But still I wait in loneliness for a maid to awaken my flame…
And I burn, oh gods I burn until I think that I might explode!
The skies darken more and more, and bright forks crashing,
I hear the drums of fury in the heavens, giants of old winters.
The gods grow angry and I behold trees uprooted smashing!
Angels are trampling the grapes of man; they, the vintners…
I am reminded of when the battleship that sailed all galaxies,
Descended one day amidst clouds boiling with its’ steam…
To lay waste to *****, and Gomorrah, for their indignities!
I was there, when the wicked did perish with a final scream.
And as people mock me, wishing me ill because I am good,
I ask God how long I must be forced to bear such suffering.
But I am not alone, and to many I am in fact misunderstood,
So God forgives, for now; but I have not, his understanding!

Canto 2: Sacrifice of the Spider

Part the First: (The First Smile)

Black skies boil with rage unrepentant, and in righteous fury!
A being made flesh I am, though not of mortal understanding.
In cavernous places I have walked, where demons oft scurry,
And worse places still: in search of a love not too demanding.
In the stucco halls wherein my unmoving throne was raised…
Upon a hill of sorrows where lost souls labor in mundane toil,
I wait and plan to transcend the bonds the faithful so praised.
To my right hand is the altar where fire and sulfur always boil!
I force a smile upon my face, for one will not come as willing,
As in the hours when I was a golden youth filled with ideals…
Which I have paid for dearly, beyond the price of any shilling!
Now I long to pay back those who know not how this feels…
The madness born of solitude, the anger born out of contempt,
For you who despise me without cause, provoking my wrath.
What impunity has man, to think that he might ever be exempt!
When wiser civilizations than yours did sink: in the fiery bath.
Do I speak of Hell, which the faithless do not realize is come?
Nay, for their eyes have been gouged out by their own nails…
I speak of torments, far beyond that which devils have done.
The first smile shall me mine, when every cruel wish so fails…
To save the flesh of those who spit upon me as I walked on,
Never realizing that my face was just a mask, hiding another.
Only the fool pays no any attention to the piper’s lonely song,
Thinking it only a melody passed from a sister unto a brother.
But in what celestial ****** has been born the thing alchemical?
It dwells within me, the secret sin of a bonding long forgotten.
Would that I could force the world to hear music whimsical…
Like unto that which guides my spirit in all that was begotten.

Part the Second: (Cold Revenge)

The blood roses bloom in gardens where desire plants seeds,
I, the hand that waters those hungry beasts whose thirst rises!
In my search for love, I have fed the beasts of desire’s needs,
And what would cause you to blush has, for me, no surprises.
Oh human, with what impunity did you dare to exclaim aloud,
That you believe love to be beyond my reach; and you smile!
Like a coward, you degrade me and run to hide in the crowd,
In your feigned superiority, you make yourself an animal vile.
Conjoining your words to your tongue, like a web to a ceiling,
You become a spider; then flee on eight legs to a filthy nest…
Having already become unworthy of any warm human feeling,
In thinking yourself better, you sink lower than all of the rest!
That means my life is worth, a thousand times, your very own.
I become a creature of the night, and wait for you, oh spider!
Think not that I cannot hear. the creaking of each leg bone…
Your odiousness goes before you, the horse before its’ rider.
And in your own web I catch you, my sharper claws immune,
To your toxic poisons, as cannot ever save your eight eyes…
Which I dash from their sockets, without a fear, and so soon,
That your own pain consumes you, like fire lighting the skies!
Forcing you to recant all that you say, lest pain overcome all,
The powers you thought did not exist do manifest ever visibly.
And I ascended still higher, all the more to relish of your fall…
You should never have resulted to any such childish mockery.
The clocks of your house all melted, for time is not your ally!
In abandonment of the chaos that is joy, your order is ended.
A new order rises in its’ place born of chaos none may deny,
Whilst you sink lower into perdition, for all that you offended.

Part the Third: (The Last Laugh)

An angel appears before me and so thinks herself a goddess,
But to call her an angel is to imply that she holds any beauties.
Those whose ego is larger than their grasp are oft the oddest,
For they fancy themselves perfect, ignorant of their cruelties!
You think love a prize and I a beggar for mere crusts so stale,
That lesser men than I have eaten heartier meals than yours…
But your kitchen is so bare: as your oven goes cold and pale,
Making you prize yourself beyond the worth of your chores!
Like a harlot who charges a fortune for her meager charms…
If you think love a prize, and I a beggar, you are so mistaken.
What you call love is a disease that shames one and harms…
Both mind and soul alike, making the body at last to weaken.
You saw only my mask, and would not dare look beneath…
Making me a phantom in the darkness, lurking in the shades.
Round your neck, your false esteem hangs as a dead wreath,
As I leave you to your barren world, awaiting my handmaids.
They rise from the ashes you leave in your wake, my kindred,
Their hands take me far from where your feet stumble about!
Lie in the cemetery that awaits those who live as though dead,
I cannot raise you incorruptible; you have far too much doubt.
Carried hither by the silent maidens who weep ****** tears…
To my castle, where I shall brood again upon mankind’s way!
I cannot feel regret for those who give in to their foolish fears,
Any more than I can transform a leaden night into golden day!
Such is the power of the alchemist who knows his true limit…
And in the dark arts I was schooled by beings from the abyss.
Thusly, am I set about to transform my creation as I see fit…
We are the demiurges of our realities wanton for any hot kiss!

Interlude Omega:
I found this one in my basement. Seems I wrote it a year or two ago but lost it.
ryn Oct 2014
Elated to see you aloft in the night sky
To what do I owe this enchanted boon.
In the merry company of winking stars,
Enthralled by this sight as I admire my moon.

Bathe me in your streaks of translucent silver.
Accompany me through my sleepless nights.
Watching over me with unwavering vigil.
Swathe me in whispers of peaceful respite.

Oh how you govern the raging tides of my soul.
Rest your gaze as the waters break upon my shore...
Erode and weaken the load strewn over my burning shoals,
Sands drowned breathless but craving for more.

Few nights now... Smitten as you coyly turn away.
Thick strands of shadow clad hair in gentle cascades,
Alluringly obscuring a slight fraction of your face.
A tiny crescent blanketed away; into the blackness it fades.

More nights pass... Now I see only a lesser moon
Leaving me with only half; darkness so had claimed.
Please make yourself last; you mustn't leave too soon,
I'm not ready to be left crippled and maimed.

I silently look up as more nights go by.
I watched my lunar love dissolving into space.
My heart too, torn away a morsel at a time...
Finally she had gone; without a sliver or a trace.

Every nightfall since is rife with emptiness and despair.
I asked the stars if they could soothe my gaping void...
But they'd only twinkle in indifference...
Regardless of the pleas I've employed.

Unsure of how many rises it has thus been.
Nights only brought the onslaught of mocking stars above.
Still I toy with the promises made overhead,
For the awaited return of my crazed elusive love.

I know it's frivolous to think I'm the only one...
There are others who pine just as I do.
But I yearn the most for your sought after attention,
For our hearts have sung in every colour and every hue.

Anxiety at peak, dismayed almost broken,
Then I hear a sweet song sung; distant and far.
A song that shared the words we once had spoken,
Again enveloped in translucent silver, with relief I sighed...,
                          *"There you are..."
Inspired by the lunar cycle...
Jordan Rowan Dec 2015
It's like a diamond stake pushed through the silence of my brain
It's like a thunder of voices coming down like a hurricane
It's like a forest of gunfire blowing past my bedroom door
It's like the force of a god pushing down on my floor

Whip smart, by all accounts, but lost beneath the sheets
Forced out of a comfort zone and pushed out to the streets
Spastic changing voices like a record out of line
Just speak like you always do and don't **** with my mind

I'm like a tidal wave that only gets halfway there
No shore to erode with no Taiwan to even care
I'm like a promise left on the kitchen table after dawn
Someone will find it but it will be thrown out on the lawn

Born without a spoon but there is silver in my teeth
I'm made out of as much spirit as a plastic, clearance wreath
Dust beneath the stars cancels out the dawning sun
Shine on the bums, the prophets, everyone
Nat Lipstadt Sep 2018
“leave at your own chosen speed”

Dylan inserts a phrase that haunts,
indestructible permafrost,
played in slow and ever slower reverb all life long,
for it’s intuitive and you recognize it too well
as the best companion to the sour ending of another love affair

(but! this one differs; called love yourself)

the sad of a dying love, remembering the steady drift away,
capped by a casual remark that doesn’t sting but
cuts a Y on your chest, a lover’s coroner courtesy,
the bad humours permitted to at long last healthy escape

you’re staggered but say nothing for
is a changeable elf, a mischievous devil,
requiring constant monitoring cause you moving,
but the speed limit alway a reflection of the road you’re on

speed is a tag along to show the overall fit still works,
though now far from the obvious and familiar
and the inspiration modifies,
so you retrofit untill the parts are incapable of
bending to new demands, contours unfamiliar, old plans no good

“leave at your own chosen speed”

for I am leaving you as I leave myself,
beaches erode,  lighthouses corrode, the salt cannot be refused,
the earth demands your return as the lease is deemed
non-renewable and the space where the date shall be inserted,
is parcel of the contract and though blank, certain to be fulfilled

the body erodes, the ***** parts corrode,
and this season of the new year^ comes with the usual disclaimer
recited on the tenth day from today

‘who will live, who will die,’^^

taught to you as a young-in, a child who can comprehend
even before manhood arrives, comprehend that life ends,
all good things and it ain’t no use, born compromised, but
“don’t think twice, it’s alright”

the slate you have written overdue for a prudent clean wet erasure,
so you begin to leave at your own chosen speed,
which is kind of nice, even cool, organizing your papers,
write with contented softness that so long eluded,
now come easy heady peasy

after a life of reciting poetry, good bad and always too long,
the pressure is on and off, side by side, even a dimming bulb
sheds some light, revealing what yet needs revealing

that Day of Atonement annual visitor,^^^ he/she of impish humors,
makes Pandora play a new station,
‘dimming of the day,’
reminder that it gave you a piece of an unowned heart to hold,
leased temporarily but the temp is roaring,
who, boo hoo, for you?

life and love is all about leaving,
the pen in penitent gone dry, no refills in this new world,
wish that **** rooster would stop crowing at
the break of sundown,^^^^  when I'll be gone
I'll be travelling on, for when the new day begins,
that’s my own signature personal gravestone marker,
the sundown poet

~the first day of the new year on the Jewish calendar
  Mon, 10 September 2018 =  1st of Tishrei, 5779

  Rosh Hashana 5779
^ see

^^ see poem

^^^ see poem

^^^^ jewish law says the day begins at sunset till the next sundown
Poetic T Sep 2014
I crawl from the ground
Black roots release me
From my grave,
Torn from
The underground
I walk as my roots of black
Spread  across the land,
Like vines they spread
All other life around.
leave,s its touch on this land.
   I walk the land from the grave.
The roots released me
From my rest
Now I poison the land
With each step
My roots saturates the ground
I am dead but my legacy,
Will be death as my roots suffocate the land,
All life is drained
There will only be
Where ever my roots take ground
As I fear no other
What can the dead fear
As all that surrounds, is death all around.
Shaine Fraz Aug 2016
This isn't Rome
I'm standing still because of statutes

Stone grill-- l a carved marble statue not a muscle dares,
near frozen by the fear let it go I hear
over shoulder
(Dilfer dime-- if I get shot over a penalty)

Is it clear
my arms are arms a load chopper in his shades,
do those aviators make me even darker
(if I studied aviation I could take off I can hover, I can--)
WAIT he's moving closer,
every hair strand an antenna,
I can feel him,

The smell of disdain on his glare
stained blood on his hands
another brother, my brother

Guiltier with every pace so..
--show your hands,
foot mixed with concrete I take this order serious,
my motions are motive and mistaken for resist,

Is it his stare or am I ******,
(Why did I decide to go my friends wouldn't believe this limitations to the thoughts)

am I arrested or caught,

I'm cold on the surface
Erode so slow is my sediment evidence,
A blue god so I'm pacified,
I'm hesitant,
he calls and I say that I'm innocent,
I'm witnessing
the transitioning from eruption to ocean-- volcanic,

Blue Medusa
can you only sculpt destruction,
(I'm not 3 dimensional, I'm real and I matter, I'm real and I matter)
I'm real But I shatter,

Gravel if determined that I'm rude so I cant breath,
Gravel if My license plate removed I don't leave,
I don't speak,
I don't flee,
I'm not free,
I believe,
That this happen to mothers mother
mothers brother,

Brother from another was granite
and granted hes valuable but only in a home, of course,

I'm quartz in the making
A corpse still shaking--
Cause a wallet was mistaken
Or i.d. was misplaced

So I'm on the rocks
since the bar says that I'm a criminal,
velvet rope divider marks my life and a visual,
a wake,
or a hashtag,
you choose,
glass house,
cold stones,
rocky road,
medusa licks his finger tips same finger which petrified me in the first place,

Reminded I'm in Rome as im standing there motionless
a statue for display or a trophy for the kitchen,
this art is not for sale there will be no shipping,

With solidarity through our solidification,
It won't matter if we look back,
We Matter and We Black.
© 2016 by S Fraz All rights reserved. No part of this document may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission of S Fraz
Bellie-boo Nov 2013
Once what was pure now tarnished by demonic hands,
What ties you back are rope bands.

Dark dew drop form at the end of petals,
Light souls turn hard and cold as metals.

Crimson aborts its host and all color fades,
Then the black invades.

Its black satin petals stained cherry,
To see such a thing only Lusifer would be merry.

Its elegance gleams for quite some time,
But even  it gives way to ryhme,
As it does it loses its shine.

Soiled by sin's wit,
I must omit.

That Romanian  rose,
Like every other possesed thing, erode

What once was simply lovely is now chaotic elogence.
Arlo Disarray Sep 2016
We can't always be strong

even the toughest
and largest things
on this earth
get worn down a little
here and there

I have strength
and courage inside me

it yearns to come out
while the tears fall down my cheeks
and erode the skin
on my face

I'm not gone, yet

only small pieces
have been chipped away

I'll be okay

here I am,
I'm still standing

I may not be what I used to be
but maybe there is a new beauty
to be found
from what I have become
There's a picture that goes with this:
ERR Apr 2012
The pressure rises high, my dear
To force our paths apart
Beckon you from afar I do, for current she be ******
Twas for time we children planned, we are rocks and never raft

We were static to the standard when embedded in the bottom
They said the river widens but we stayed and kept our view
Being satisfied to share a partnered spot along the bends
Some rocks require quarry, settled still we need but two

Water rises, water falls, rain retreats and drops again
Yet the levels cannot meddle in a bond so strong as stone
Our pebbles growing from our fusion will meet their river own
They will step across our backs for founding guidance in their path

Even the rocks will fade, my dear
To the lapping of the rapids
We will crumble into silt, I fear
But I want to erode with you
Turn to dust and flow along the way
From permanence to naught
Embracing nothingness until
Our sediment compressed is one
elizabeth Jul 2013
we are all rocks. we are built up over many years, influenced by our surroundings as we weather and erode as part of the conditions we are subjected to - the trials that we are put through. we are compressed by the weight of heavy loads. we will be weighed down by our heavy hearts, and crushed by forces of the universe that are bigger than us. we are made up of many sediments, fragments of other rocks. the influence of others. we are the composition of everyone whom we've met, and their impact on our lives. some people leave larger pieces of sediment, while some are smaller than a tiny grain of sand. but they make us who we are today. and we never die. we live on for millions of years, you and me - these rocks are the physical imprints of our spiritual souls on the earth, because everyone affects something in one way or the other. we may not believe it, but believe this: we have the power to change the world - just by being here. we are a part of the bigger picture, a series of rocks that make up part of human history. wherever you go, you will have made your mark. be it just a tiny dent in the soil, or a boulder that fell from a mountain - realise that things would be different if you had not been what you are and gone where you've been.
Michael Humbert Dec 2014
I trawl the beaches of my mind,
Sifting through detritus for memories,
A single shiny bauble to add to my closet,
Overflowing with skeletons

These sands can never bury things forever,
The waves will come,
They will erode,
Nothing can stay hidden indefinitely
Akemi Apr 2015
Lily erode
Eros rapture
To dust
To dust
To dust
12:28am, April 26th 2015

Biological life exists solely to reproduce.
How many of us will die, leaving nothing behind?
Death is a slow, subtle process.
It begins with the body, and ends with the self.
After you die, you disconnect from the world.
Your ego cannot reinforce itself in the minds of others, anymore.
The complexities of your self fade. Distort.
You are reduced from human, to figure, to caricature.
Events along a timeline, to be summed as virtue, or vice.
What is the purpose of legacy, then?
Why does anyone even care?
Indian Phoenix Oct 2012
I hated Dawkins a little less when his words came from your mouth.

Your unabashed sincerity endeared me to you from the moment you showed me your vintage Atari. I don't recall if that was before or after you bragged about your Star Trek DVDs. Not that it matters, but I hope you've found a place to store all of those wires protruding out of your gadgets like Medusa's head of snakes.

My family liked you, especially my mother. It was probably your staunch advocacy of 4th amendment rights.

Remember those nights we sat in bed and traded secrets on small scraps of paper? We were lovers  for... five weeks by then? It struck me by the third slip that it didn't matter what it would say--I knew I'd still love you anyway. But I knew that from the moment you removed my knee-high boots and kissed my feet when I rode up on my Harley. You unstrapped my helmet and poured me wine. Though we promised to never tell anyone, I just wanted to say: I still smile when I think of your 15-year-old self trying to pick up a ******* on a desolate dusty road. Do you still have those hastily-written pieces of paper? They're yours to keep; I hope they're safe.

Nothing of my new world reminds me of you. There's no Jeopardy to watch, no NPR to hear in your white Saturn, and no desert mountains to hike. Not in India. Maybe it's because nothing is similar that my memories of us stay so firmly imprinted in my mind. Similarities would only erode my recollections. Maybe that's why I almost forgot about the chai tea I'd serve you in bed, coupled with almonds and apricots on the saucer.

But you, you're a walking encyclopedia of my home town. You knew every cactus-lined freeway, the name of the state attorney general, and the best place to grab a Four Peaks beer. Because of this, I could never extricate my love of home and my love for you. To me, you'll always be home.

For better or for worse, I remember it all. Including the soft piano rift of the chess game we'd play on your XBox. I'm guessing you'd beat me, should we play again today. I still have the wooden chess set I got you for your birthday... but we both know I can't give it to you. I'm sorry.

I never believed in saving people before I met you. Before, damaged was a weakness; now I think you just needed a polish. I never told you, but I read your psych evaluation--I found it when I was cleaning your room (with your permission, I add). The therapist was right: you're not aloof, just too smart for the room. I thank God that you never bought that container of nitric oxide.

I know we said we'd marry if I ever came back home. A no-frills city hall marriage suited us just fine. I have no doubt we would have had a simple, sweet life. You would've relented to letting me get a dog to keep your arrogant cat company. Our biggest fight would be over which castle door the RPG character should open, and you would've helped me improve my golf swing on the inexpensive dilapidated course near my old junior high school.

But likewise... our biggest adventure would've been only a roadtrip to the neighboring county. And I wanted to explore. I needed to explore. You, who never wanted to stray outside of a 100-mile radius could never satiate that curiosity. But I know we could have made it work. I know we would've been happy.

Sometimes I wish we could be the best of friends. I know we can't; not when I started dating my now-husband so close after we ended things in tear-stained emails when I went overseas. He swore off her; I swore off you. That's the way things go, I guess, when you get older.

I know it might seem like I've moved on and forgotten you.

Moved on, yes. Forgotten? Never.

It probably wouldn't be the same if we met again. I have too much love for you that could never be conveyed. My love for you has changed; it's not romantic. But it's still this throbbing appreciation for everything you are. I couldn't bear guarded chit chat. Not with you.

And I hope you are happy. Have you realized your worth yet, or are you still wasting your time with broken high school grads who listen to Ke$ha? I can't tell you who to love... but I hope she's an astrophysicist, someone who loves Carl Sagan even half as much as you. I want her to read Noam Chomsky to you late at night, and wake you in the mornings with a glass of milk and cookies. She'll prefer simple mashed potatoes to dim sum, and have a weakness for microbreweries. She'd be gorgeous in that bookish sort of way. Yes. That's the girl for you.

....I'm sorry it's not me, my dear atheist.
RAJ NANDY Aug 2015
Dear Readers, President Theodore Roosevelt wanted
to save this marvelous Natural Wonder for posterity! So
the Grand Canyon National Park was set up in 1919. In
1979 it was declared as World Heritage Site! With the
portion “Sun rises and sets over the Grand Canyon”, -
I have concluded this poem. Kindly take your time to read,
no need to comment in a hurry please ! Thanks, -Raj


Literature about great natural features include
two personal types of writing;
Description of things observed, and impressions
of what is known and seen!
The story of the Grand Canyon takes us back
to the Pre-Cambrian Age,
When violent forces were unleashed from within
the Earth, during its formative stage;
When mighty forces of erosion began to sculpture
her undulating landscapes!
Therefore, I begin with a quote about Erosion,
From the great poet Alfred Lord Tennyson; -
“The hills are shadows and they flow,
From form to form, and nothing stands.
They pass like clouds, the solid lands.
Like clouds they shape themselves and go!”

In Part One we have seen, how movement of
earth’s tectonic plates unleashed violent forces
from within!
It formed mountains and lakes, shaping our
landscapes, which now appear so peaceful,
grand, and serene!
Over millions of years the forces of erosion in
the form of wind, rain, sun and snow,
Sculptured earth’s evolving features creating
majestic, panoramic vistas as we know!
Geologists now opine, that the Grand Canyon
was carved out by the Colorado River, -
cutting through ‘layers of Geological time’!

In the state of Colorado, from the high country,
Where snow and ice lasts well beyond the dawning
days of Spring;
There the majestic peaks of the Rockies form the
perennial fountain head from which springs, -
One of the great rivers of the world the Colorado;
Which travels 1400 miles through seven States
reaching the Californian Gulf west of Mexico!
Now during prehistoric days, the pristine Colorado
had flowed almost along the same path as today!
But after the magical rise of the Colorado Plateau
some five million years ago, (Refer Part One)
It had blocked the river’s path making it flow
south-east into the Gulf of Mexico!
Few Geologists now opine, that this diverted river
had formed the pre-historic Lake Bidahochi,
Which later drained out to form the Little Colorado
River, which today we get see!
But the cut-off western portion of the river (named
Hualapai Drainage) continued to eat away through
the Plateau’s southern portion,
Through a gradual process known as ’Headwater
For the river flowing at a steeper gradient along
the ‘Grand Staircase’ of the Plateau, carried
stones, rocks and debris,
Which formed the cutting tools, deepening the
Canyon over countless centuries!
When the softer sedimentary layers of the Plateau
below the top rocky layers gave away, - it resulted
in several rock falls!
While flash floods and erosion continued to breach
the sides of the canyon walls!
Thus over millions of years the width of the Canyon
gradually increased;
While the gushing and untamed Colorado River
chiseled through the depths of those Cyclopean walls, -
running deep!
Now the ancient Lake Bidahochi which had breached its
banks, had captured our pristine Colorado;
And their combined power increased the volume of
water and river’s chiseling power, with its rapid flow!

It is unfortunate that today, the Colorado no longer
reach the mighty Pacific as in the olden days!
With the progress of civilization and the spawning
of big cities,
Like Denver, Las Vegas, Phoenix and Los Angeles;
And to cater for the agricultural farmlands and the
Many dams got built to divert its water and to
generate electricity!
Thus over a century of overuse and abuse of this
precious natural resource,
Gradually choked up the great Colorado, as it
became a mere trickle at the end of its course!
Ecologists now debate, while USA has launched
‘Save the Colorado River Project’!
Let us now cheer up by getting back to our
Grand Canyon’s scenic beauty,
Before concluding this wondrous Canyon Story!

To see the sunrise from Mather, Yaki, or the
Hopi Point, - located on the Southern Rim,
Becomes a life time experience, better than any
surreal dream!
First a glimmer then a glow, when a faint blue-white
sheen begins to show!
As the sun gradually sprinkles its light, streaks of
crimson red spreads across the eastern sky!
Soon orange and yellow shafts of light, light up the
Canyon walls up high!
Squirrels scurry out of sight, and birds twitter in
the sky!
The Hummingbird hovers like a helicopter, and
Big Horn sheep are also seen;
The Hummingbird which can even fly backwards,
enlivens this early morning scene!
The sun now rising in its resplendent glory,
showers the canyon with its kaleidoscopic beams;
With streaks of yellow, gold and red, it chases out
lurking shadows from within!
Like a curtain lifting before their eyes, the tourists
view this panoramic sight!
As the Grand Canyon awakens to greet the day,
With cameras madly clicking away!
The great ancestors of the Hopi tribe, Hopi
meaning both peaceful and wise;
Had inhabited these areas some eight thousand
years hence!
Their scooped out granaries and tools found inside
Canyon walls, - have an ancient story to tell !
The Spaniards were the first Europeans to reach,
in search for gold which they never found!
But for the Hopis the Canyon remains, as their
sacred Holy ground!
When those Spaniards saw the Colorado way
down below, from the Canyon’s upper rim’s side;
They said that this thin blue streaked River, was
barely five feet wide! (In mid-16th century)
The average width of the Canyon is around 10 miles;
While the River at its narrowest point is 600 yards
The Condor the largest American bird, catching an
upward draft circles up high;
Like an uncrowned monarch he surveys his kingdom
below, nothing escapes his watchful eyes!
Temperature at the Canyon’s floor is 20 degrees
higher, when compared to its outer rim;
Supports an ecosystem of plants and animals,
With the river as chief nourisher of all things!
Evergreen pines and furs grow along the cooler
areas of the Canyon’s outer rim;
While cactus species are found on its arid floor,
Their exotic flowers bloom during Summer and Spring!
The Northern Rim a thousand feet higher, offers many
spectacular sites!
But the Southern Rim remains open throughout the
year, while the Northern closes during Winter time.
From the Hopi Point west of the Canyon, the visitors
enjoy the beauty of the silent, sinking sun;
When the sky gets diffused with vermillion red, as
darkening shadows engulf those Canyon walls!
The mighty Canyon with its Cyclopean walls,
perhaps the playground of the Titans from eons past;
Shaped by some mythical Vulcan, shall remain till
this World continues to last!

I conclude my Grand Canyon Story by quoting a
poem I had once read;
Written by an Anonymous author, whose name
I had failed to get!
- Anonymous
THANKS, -Raj Nandy
George Anthony Jul 2016
they say a child can grow up conditioning themselves
to forget
all the trauma they've experienced;
they say they quite literally push it
to the back of their minds, as a way of coping,
a way to deal with the pain―without actually dealing with it.

it'll all come crashing back, eventually
everyone knows that a dam is a temporary structure,
that eventually the chemicals in the water
will erode the wood and
break it apart

it all comes rushing in
and escapes through blood-shot eyes,
drooling, sobbing coughs and panic-slick wheezes.

i never fully managed to forget my father
though i'm sure there are things i don't remember―
after all, that's an awful lot of hatred
and anger
for only several incidents, and a lifetime of an alcoholic's neglect...
isn't it?

but you―you i managed to block out completely
to the point where i knew the phrase "emotional abuse"
but couldn't quite be sure why i applied it to you;
it was just something i knew

how foolish it was for me to break the dam myself,
out of some morbid, masochistic curiosity:
"what did she do? what did she do to me? why?"
and then i remembered

all the sleepless nights spent reading to you,
lulling your insomniac mind (though not as bad as mind)
and soothing the supposed nightmares you had:
nightmares that you, conveniently, only suffered
when i was asleep―and i was hardly ever sleeping

all the memories you blurred between me
and your last boyfriend; all the ways
you made me feel like ****, comparing me
to a **** bag that cheated on you
and then lured you in again with falsities and
repeated apologies. you fell for it every time,
and i had to wonder: why am i not good enough
compared to that?

the way you asked me to watch you in the bath,
whilst you drew on your skin and told me:
"this is what i do to avoid cutting myself"
and i thought:
"i'm still cutting"
but i sacrificed my own stability to ensure your safety

******* martyr, i was
how disgusting to allow myself to be manipulated by you,
even after the hours you left me guessing out of spite
whether or not you'd burned your skin with that lighter
just because i didn't want to spoil your mood with my own

the holiday i spent in my dream city was spoiled
and stained and joyless, as you ****** the soul out of me
by burning images into my mind:
you and him, sharing a bath, looking after his family's kids.
why the **** would you do that to me?
more importantly, why the ****
did i let you? and still love you?

so many more incidents, so many more
broken promises and sick lies;
the way you hid me from your family
and only trusted me not to cheat because i'm demisexual;
you made sure i'd never emotionally connect with anybody else
and find attraction in them,
lest i move on from you and find another

one that wouldn't abuse me
like you did
Saudia R Mar 2016
I am an Inspiration.
By being,
I am paving a pathway.
For some to follow,
to duplicate,
to improve.
But overtime,
pathways erode.
The cracks slowly become noticeable.
And the path, not as even as it once was,
breaks away,
piece by piece.
What was reliability,
is now uncertainty.
Do I step,
unsure of sound ground?
Questioning, yet I continue down this path.
Because I learn,
I learn everyday.
A path is imperfect.
There are no two alike.
Similarities maybe,
but an individual path,
for a single walker.
What once was,
will never be again.
and learned inspiration
springs determination.
To not let an eroding path,
erode the soul that forged it.
Rhythm Jun 2014
just this time,
this last time,
i will stand in this rain,
my head towards the sky,
arms wide open, set to fly
i will let these drops impinge upon my soul,
gently stroke my skin as they fall
i will let the sound of this rain fill my ears,
until this rain is all i hear

just this time,
this last time,
i will let thee
erode me.
Jesse stillwater Apr 2018
Just disappearing
isn't possible
when it takes
so long for
a rock wall
to erode away

  The wind
is the only one
that sees you,
and its silence
grinds down
from the inside out
a mountain
too high to climb

  It's hard to forget
swelling words
spoken under the breath
of the voice of silence,
when your hands
are lined with all
that they ever have;

still bearing
every latent piece
that breaks off
tryin' to keep
from the sight
of another
tempest storm gale
moving worlds

  So I'm going
way outside
the edge of the inside;
crossing over
way outside the lines
covered by gathered
windblown life fractals
  Though I may not
get back in again,
way outside the lines,
or I might not
even want to ...
you can’t go back
the same way
you came,
everything changes
while you're gone
even if you DO notice

  Gravity pulls
with the strength
of a turning tide:
you can try
and fight it,
but you can't stop
its running downhill
looking behind
your eyes, trying
to take you back
the same way you
went way outside
  the lines ...

  04 April 2018
Michael Cassio Jul 2015
O’Silky smooth ballsac
Stuck to my leg
Ever-presence defines manhood
As tree defines fruit
And as fruit defines tree.

Ne'er such a sense
Overwhelmed my hot-spot
As this dangling (oval, skin and nerves of)
Oily pouch

I cream.

A line as destructive
As the San Andreas
Fault- O divine chafe
You reduce me
You erode me

As if we rented *******
Inspires by some none too pleasant chafage that I experienced on rental bikes in Berlin and Amsterdam.
I wake at five, the damp air kissing my cheeks, and my eyes slam open.
As I slither from my bed, I can hear distant screams. Mother.
I never smile.
But I feel something I suppose could be happiness.

The grounds start appearing out of the mist,
lumps of sullen stone that had meaning once.
Bon matin, grand-mère. Do you sleep well?
Pourrir en morceaux, grand-père. Maybe one day we'll find them all.

I am a spectre descending noiselessly down the stairs.
You would not hear me coming.
There is a shimmery delight to that knowledge;
I own you all, you basic peons asleep in your beds.

We do not rest on pretty, on phatic communion.
We do not bow, or bend, or erode.
We are Addams.
And this bleak morning is a glory to us.
I recall when
my breathing was based on your every move
and the epitome of joy
(for me)
was simply, watching you
there was not a thing
in the world
I wouldn't do
just so you would make room for two
now my walls bare witness
to me pulling teeth
(even just the memory of feeling hurts)
but it all subsides
as I greet the dusk
and then the day
I stare at traffic moving backwards
and I recall
your truth
you said "forever is just a myth"
then why does it feel like I'm taking forever to forget?
Edward Alan Feb 2014
Without the April wind to send their song,
The mourning doves of Middlesex are singing
And will be heard never again from long
Away, if graduation bells are ringing

And now November rains erode the nests
That mourning doves assembled in the gardens
From where their mild and wind-warm coos caressed
My ear, to quiet earth that cools and hardens
MST Feb 2014
Currently there are:
Thousands of cars zooming down the highway at breakneck speeds,
Millions of lights illuminating the dreary road,
With the power of a hundred valiant steeds,
Causing the cement to corrode and erode,
Thousands of fossil fuels burnt merely to transport other fossil fuels,
Pollutants filling the air and altering our environment,
But these are the worlds most precious jewels,
All to feel the capitalist tyrant.
But hey... At least I have air conditioning in my F150 while heading to set off Chinese fireworks while celebrating the 4th of July.
The American Dream.
Sequoia C Aug 2012
green and filmy algea
whispers by the lone
sea cucumber,
caressing it as it struggles
to suction itself
than the outgoing tide.
its movements, though minuscule,
move it towards the bottom of the tide pool
but not quite fast enough -
a rock could erode
faster than the sea cucumber
could crawl.
but still it moves
with the tenacity of something
that does not realize it is in danger.
and although it is fighting,
it knows not that it is fighting
but merely
goes on.
The amateur poet Nov 2012
I am writing this now, in some early morning hour, because sleep evades me.  I’ve been awake so many hours that time itself has little meaning anymore. I quit. There's no other way to put it. I just give up on trusting the human nature, on words, on promises, everything. Promises, once perceived as a sign of trust now erode away into hallow, empty lies that stab at my heart. I believed them. I was actually stupid enough to believe all those sugar coated words about caring, and guiding, and family. It’s all lies now. The soul of my being, everything I know can now be called into question. I can trust no one, everything’s a lie. I'm not sitting here writing some pretty little suicide note. I’m past that. I’ve grown up to see you can’t always take the easy road out and I’d sure feel sorry for the living soul that my black spirit would haunt.
For all you novice readers this can easily be taken as a story of heart-break; in an all-so cliché girl loves boy situation. But for those of you who can read into my words that I am spelling out so bluntly, I apologize; for I am once again telling my little sob story to anyone who willing to listen.
To begin this lovely tale you must know I've always been more comfortable when in the company of guys rather females such as myself. Whether it be the drama soaked lives or the shallow personalities all dressed up in makeup, I'm not sure. But I've always found guy’s emotions to be more reliable than girl’s. But hey, after recent events I'm beginning to question my own judgment; maybe I can really trust no one other than myself. Anyways back on track.
As in most situations of such heart-break and defeat, this tale begins with the typical boy likes girl story. Skipping over all the heart-warming details this relationship ends, like every other. The only difference this tale offers up is that their friendship remains in-tact. Not the awkward I’m-just-saying-this-to-make-breaking-up-easier friendship either. A real one. Time passes, they become best friends, and ah, another problem arises. The boy is unhappy being alone. With this knowledge in mind the girl searches for a mate for her best friend in an attempt to make him feel complete in ways she is unable to. Love. Through searching for a relationship for him, the relationship grows even more and the girl learned to feel safe and secure. Something she hasn’t felt in a long time. This brotherly love shown to her only drives her more to make him happy. Finally a girl is found. With a bit of help this boy and girl fall for each other and the friend, me, watches happily from a distance. The boy is happy. The girl is happy. I am pleased with my actions; I have successfully helped another friend. But hey, remember this is reality. Of course it cannot remain this way.
The boy starts acting different towards me, all obsessed with his love, but I ignore this knowing that all relationships have their puppy-love stages. He promised he wouldn’t abandon me, he promised he wouldn’t hurt me again on purpose. I believed him, but he lied.  Time passes and patterns don’t change. This boy, who I once thought was different in every way, is acting like the rest of society. Losing him. I'm losing another friend. Again, this time is different. I've put so much faith into him, my trust, secrets, dreams, fears…everything. I thought he genuinely cared. I start acting strange around him, he only grows more distant, so I put on a mask and hide my true emotions. He’s happy why ruin that. I don’t want to lose him, I don’t let him see. Time passes. He asks her out. They are happy. He tells me this gleefully and I feel my heart-sink, putting on a mask once more. I can’t do this anymore, he is gone.
I wrap my mind around this and once again taste the bitterness of karma working in reverse. What have I done wrong now? My thoughts expand. What have I ever done? Memories come flashing back, all the similar circumstances, the sting, the pain. I try to breathe but I feel the cold truths stabbing at my heart.
‘Everything is just peachy’.   I hate that phrase, but use in my messages to see if anyone can see I'm not acting myself, see past the mask. They cannot. I vent to two close friends. The first ignores my cries and tells me about her trivial problems and the second proceeds to show his immaturity, for he does not understand my strife. I cut myself off from the world and cry hot burning tears into my pillow, muffling my sounds in the plush.
People only care when they need you. They are kind in their time of need but when their own lives are running smoothly and they no longer need you they leave you. Does anyone ever check to see if you’re okay? Of course not, this is reality.  These revelations are not anyone’s fault. It’s not the boy’s, it’s not the friends’, it’s not the media, it’s not society, or even one definite cause. The only reason this story was told was to set the scene so you understand the premise of the initial spark for these thoughts. These events, that cause such pain, arise from a part of the human nature that I try my hardest to avoid, self-centeredness. Now I don’t mean the self-centered actions you’re thinking of. No. it’s far more complex than the shallow-thirst for popularity. It’s the tendency to worry about one’s own problems and not another’s. When you have all you want why worry about other people? This natural course of human emotions ceases to sicken me, as I now realize I am the victim of such actions. No, I am not some self-praising idiot; I admit that I have hurt others this way in the past. But from my point-of-view I have a pretty compelling case. Everyone just wants to be my friend right? Others call to me in times of need and then abandon me, calling it friendship. In the past I haven’t realized it more or less because there was little bond between myself of these people. After years of repeatedly getting my kind acts thrown back in my face, I choose to give in.
This last series of events has forever changed me, and now my eyes are open. Today I am done trying, and I am giving in to my human nature, becoming a self-centered person, free of everyone else’s burdens. I quit. Open up your eyes and see who you can call your true-friends. See past the illusion. Please, wake up, your dreaming again. But see, I don’t have the ability to dream, for I was always awake.
kaitlyn anderson Apr 2014
i'm jealous of the wind
always wild and unpredictable

i want to topple monuments
erode mountains
i want to be dangerous
and hard to control

*but i am a still day
Grace Sep 2016
I feel at home in the liminal        in the space inbetween,
between past, future, reality       fantasy, this, that.  
In the liminal, the past and         future lap around me,
demanding waves that climb      high and share their spray.
The salt water clings to my          hair, stiffens it like straw
and I stay, ungrowing in              the liminal.
I live between thresholds             on the threshold
and sometimes the tension          tugs and tears and rips
my fingernails, my hair                my skin.
Thresholds are supposed             to hurt, to push, to compel
but it’s where I rest and               make my home.

The liminal does not rip me apart as it should.

It’s hollow in the liminal             a void that digs my insides
out. It’s a cave in there                 walls of apathy and dread.
My mind grows in on                   itself and I live in it,
where it plays in the                    liminal.
It cannot survive                          beyond the threshold
so I stay in the house                   where the windows are
clear and the doors                      are unlocked. Nothing is
keeping me in but                        myself.
I feel at home in                            the liminal, where the tensions
hurt and erode                              but it’s safe here,
or safe enough                               in the space inbetween.

I fear the sea and the tides so I stay on the shore.
It hurts but not as much as it should.
I noted down the outline for this on the beach yesterday. Beaches always make me feel a little odd. The beach is one of my favourite places to be, yet as soon as I step on to one, I start dwelling on everything that I've got to give up and move on from.
The title is from Keats' poem 'When I have fears that I may cease to be'
Hyacinth Aug 2015
Delighted I am to be inspired at this moment—
The blissful ambient scenery that's taking my breath.
Flowers, at their finest hues, reflects beauty;
Leaves dance as the wind blows.
Everything seems so perfect but—
All of a sudden—
I don't know.
Fades away—
Sigh,  I hate it when this happens.
Gary L Oct 2015
solely engrossed, slow to emotions
prone to be a soul that is broken
lowly focus, frozen devotion
vocal notions erode when unspoken

doing fine, i lie with a smile
while i fight my own private trial
i clear my head, i'm alright for a while
a mind that is clear is a mind in denial

goal, avoidance of a throat opened
my vocal notions will go unspoken
choking on the voices stolen
prone to be a soul that is broken
working with long o and long i sounds
Jack Thompson Apr 2016
I went to sleep and woke up in a future,
Where I saw you for the first time,
Through eyes that adored you everyday,
I didn't have to consider if you'd be mine.

You stood there in the clear day,
Looking back at me to take your hand,
I reach out but I'm sinking as you rise,
Looking through eyes - you erode it all away

Anguish in the brevity of life,
and the divide of futures.

I'm impatient,
Give me Dreams,
Give me Touch, Sweat and Reality,
Give me One more Moment,

The Reunion.
© All Rights Reserved Jack Thompson 2016
Carsyn Smith May 2015
The line for the local convenience store
Stretched out to Market Avenue’s dirt curb,
Past makeshift street clowns juggling the poor
And the ***-stench of “Population Curb.”

We make like big balloons who self-implode:
Fires to fight fires, guns to fight guns,
Fighting for survival makes mores erode
When a dark illusion has fooled billions.

Little John waits in line with his mommy,
No more than a decade, he learns to shoot.
Life was quiet like a dark raging sea,
Now we shake from a screen and men in suits

Fear not, trembling people of the world,
There is a way to end the gun violence,
To stop making canyons of the knurled:
Guns for all! Shun to think of gun absence!

Automatics in the professor’s desk,
Two pistols strapped to Sally’s little thighs,
End common fear with something more grotesque:
Endless rivers of red and eyes for eyes.
An assignment for my English class satire unit :3
Valsa George May 2016
In the coffin lay your body silent and still
As with wax, sealed were your eyes
Bared of all passion, pain and strain
You were at rest, tranquil was your face

When your body was lowered into the grave
Tears trickled from our eyes like streams of blood
We stood orphaned beside the newly dug up pit
Knowing quite well that the days of glory have fled!

When you left, leaving in us a contused wound
We hoped time would heal the **** quite soon
But with every passing day you’re sorely missed
Especially when our life goes out of tune

At times when I feel lonesome with none to care
In weariness I search you among the stars of the sky
When my heart twitches with an unknown pain
To your comforting presence, my mind does fly

Sometimes I envision you coming into my room
Smiling that sweet smile in the dead of the night
But soon I realize it is only a fleeting vision
And from my sight, you vanish like an ethereal sprite

Rambling through the avenues of vanished years
We remember your sweet assurance, tender care n’ love
But never will we have the joy of having them again
For you flew into the horizon like a gentle dove

Mom, your presence my tiny world once filled
With that old bygone past how I was content
A treasure of sweet memories still I do hold
Now your eternal absence, how deeply I lament

Oh Mother, though you are dead and gone
Our love for you is inscribed deep in our hearts
Which nothing can erase or erode and will last
Until finally from our body, life silently departs!
Mom.... you are sorely missed, though many years have gone by !
Amber Dec 2013
I never thought I'd have to see her like this so soon. So young. So cold.
I should have listened to her. I should have talked to her more. Seen her more. She always asked me why I seemed so distant from her, I always got frustrated and denied it.

Now she's the distant one.

We would argue often. About communication. Our feelings. Her feelings. She had a very hard life. A violent alcoholic father. She grew up untainted by her surroundings, but scarred. Chronic Anxiety and Depression. She would cry often, and get mad and angry for sometimes no reason. She said she didn't know why it happened; it just did, and that I couldn't understand. That made me angry. Even though she was right; I really couldn't.

I haven't had an easy life in the past few years, but it doesn't compare to hers. I didn't know what is was like to be as depressed as she was. To be as anxious as she was. She would always check up on me, because she always worried about me. I myself, just took it and never did it for her.

What a mistake.

I remember my 17th birthday. She was more excited than I was, and couldn't wait for me to finally see what she had done for me. She was adorable when she talked about it. I spent the day with her and she made me a homemade card themed my favorite video game, and a Key Lime pie from scratch. I love Key Lime pie.
How I wish we could make it together, one last time.

A couple days after my birthday, a package she ordered came and she was ecstatic for me to finally have it. They were custom made genuine dog tags. They had my information on one tag, and a personalized message from her on the other. Her message read, "KNOWING YOU HAS MADE ALL THE DIFFERENCE, AND LOVING YOU HAS MADE MY WORLD." I wear them everywhere, even to today.

But when her birthday came around, I didn't get her anything. Not even a card. She was really upset, and I felt guilty when she mentioned it, so I never did get her anything; I felt it was too late.

Whenever she was happy, she shined brighter than the sun. She smiled and laughed and was goofy. She would make up little songs about how much she loved me, and she would do anything for me. Now, I can only imagine how she felt when I left for the night, not doing anything for her.
I knew she had problems even before she met me. I knew she was chronically sad. I knew she had always been a rock, but had slowly started to erode and needed someone.

Why was I so selfish!?

I notice her mother is crying. Hysterically. They were so close. Her mom was so nice, always inviting me over and cooking for me even when they didn't have much food. Now, she looks like an empty husk of what she used to be. Crumpled on the floor, covered in her own tears, mourning the loss of her world.

My world.

Her younger brother sits with their dad, hugging and crying on each other, as well as the rest of her family. You can almost smell the saltiness in the air from all of the tears.

I've cried as much as I can. When I heard the news, I was in shock. I didn't want to believe she was gone. But eventually I screamed, bawled and raged at my loss. She was the only thing that mattered to me.

Now I stand here, silent and empty. My mind is numb, and all I can do is stare at her. Eyes closed, chest still, but still so beautiful. I had to battle with myself to even come and deal with seeing her like this. I finally move my stiff hand towards her curly hair and stroke it, and slowly move my hand to her shoulder. I imagine her opening her eyes and smiling at me with one of her beaming smiles. But I know it won't happen, and that's when the tears come.

I'll never see her smile, feel her lips against mine, hug her small body again. I can never hear her sweet voice again, telling me, "I love you" with a glow in her eyes.

Why didn't I show her how much she meant to me? Why couldn't I swallow my pride and be a little more caring and thoughtful for her the way she never failed to be for me? Why? I'm sobbing now. I collapse to my knees and rest my hand over hers. She's freezing. I rub her hands instinctively as if it will warm them up, but it doesn't.
I just want her to wake up. I feel as if it's my fault she's in eternal silence now. Apart of the world beyond, when I want her so desperately to be back here with me. I don't want her to leave me. I feel as if I can't live without her, she was the only one I'd ever truly loved, but in the end I failed her. I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her, I should have shown her more instead of using only my words!

I slowly stand up still covered in my tears, and stare at her sleeping body. I watch as one drips down onto her expressionless face. I use my thumb to gently wipe my tear away, just as I used to wipe hers. Now all I can do is think about what could have been, what I could have done, and what will never be.

"I'll miss you." I whisper through my sore choked throat, and kiss her cold forehead.

"I love you."
This is a very touchy short story for me. I did write it myself. I'm not sure exactly what to say about it, other than it's fiction and in the POF of a grieving boyfriend.

— The End —