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Julian Oct 2016
Afflatus screams in mellifluous moonlight by a placid pond
Disturbed slightly by a miracle on ice deloused at a heavy price
Pantechnicons swarm as ghosts maraud around the outskirts of the forest
Suddenly the resurrected memories of renegades become conscientious
Angels swarm with fluttered wings invisible to the albatross of opprobrium
They concert themselves with chirpy dreams, itinerant crumples of amnesia creams
Marigolds are miracles at the most opportune time to be called a hysteria
Asserting the divinity of trinkets applauded that litter history with euphoria
Flinch my core, drunk on the travesty of stodgy moralism unfurled zero kelvin cold
But Salt Lake City towers above my contemplations and UFOs make themselves known
Every city this big is well in eternity and maternity very well known
Shelter not from husbandry, for Babylon is no longer idolatry
Stemwinders and poltroons with prisons crooned
Tyrannosaurus Rex still terrorizes aliens and humans alike on a stranded Dark Side of the Moon
Pink is the ****** of Mayweather and Mayflower, so rigid in rock-a-by-baby tunes
Now is "Never" but TV time "When The Music’s Over" is Bang Bane rather than Boom
Hostage tickets of English hecklers proclaiming my royalty serenade the forest green
I hear their laments of the rumors ballyhoo obscene
Imagine a forest bright, trepidation of unlikely marauders of Viking spite
Spates of jinx own the tanks, sharks (jaws of these aliens in time "Thriller") evanesce as fluttered cameras blink
Marigolds are really miracles as euphoria that plangent has never been so bold
It owned the night and owed nothing of fright to hear aliens chirp ******* penetrated so tight
To hear the orchestra of God’s minions applaud my albatross receding in plight
The swiftest musketeer aims his gun at an AIMed pun
The renegade blackmail is the rut of a guttural wedding of a none and a nun
How sad that she waits, as a ragamuffin of eternal wraiths
That speak to her dreams specifically as a barnacle waif
Genius eludes the moment of sinking eternity and Van Gogh alpenglow
Cracked screens reap grime and grim preachers that reap what they sow
Accentuated stature of imposture clutters legends urbane with glowing silt
Rigmarole of laughingstock circus with the strangest 25-year old days of a dead man Wilt
It was the steward of a day too strange to forget
It was the Newark of a Jersey of Gretzky #99, a hard-won bet
Histrionic of history, an underappreciated music is a well-worn divinity
The best music ever is the best music of time-traveled complicity
Sadly lost on inferior ears is the plangent flow of sonorous pantheons
Lost on an island of good taste in a world that prizes prosaic mellow eons
Rather than delicate paeans with hummingbird simplicity
I resent how rare my taste is in an olfactory of waste
How rare a smell is that yegg harder to lambaste
Don’t gibber the jibe of jive-talking stalk
The scarecrow in Back to the Future is a ******* heckler hawk
Rarefied abduction of stolen keys of NYPD sprees
To drivel the wharf of piedmont rifts in Heaven’s eternal leaves
Time to step back from the sidewinder missive
Time to crack the gravy epistle so dismissive
Non-linear experiments in time and memory crave recognition
Finally I learn that house arrest is a Home Alone good enough for a virtual reality prison
Timur Shamatov Aug 2018
Your green eyes
How I miss them so
How gentle they seemed
Oceans of deep
How soft
How sweet

Hazel rays of rising flames
Necessitating into me
Succumbing to their warmth
Impelling darkness from my soul
So safe
So true

Embers of a fading light
Forever, I’m lost to your sight
Like a fallen star
Doomed to evanesce in a dark
How tragic
So obscure
―Go Forth
Flourish in The Light
Of The
Estival Sol,
Elysium of the Soul,
Once you have vanquished
The Stygian,
Your Soul
Awaits You―


~I bid you
Immortal Heartsease
And
Armistice of Ataraxia:
The Reverberation of our Souls
In the Key of Elysium~.





I. Archean Prelude

The echoes
of your
Memories of
The Light & Airwaves
Pine to
Bloom in Reminiscence
Over the
Days of Yore.


II. The Echoes of Existentiality

We are all atomic particles;
Molecular Particles,
Of an aromatic
Omniscient,
Omnipotent,
Omnipresent Mist:
The Cosmo-Plexus of Empyreal Love

―Echo forth comrades―

~Evanesce,
Into the Empyrean,
Etherealized Lightscape
Until the
Visage of Creation
Enskies us
To the exalted
El Dorado~



II. Tempus Fugit

The Promise
Of the
Morrow
Is nigh:

The Yesteryears
Wax
Distant Ages,
Wax
Archean Aeons;

(Eventuality of Existence)

Our Bygone Days
Of Lovelit, Loveless Life,
Antiquate and
Our Soulwaves
Wax
The Spirit of
The Ancient of Days.


III. Nova Cosmogony

Betwixt the Realms
Of the
Beneficent Matriarch Mirror,
Beyond
Terraqueous Gaia
Unfurls the Vista,
Your Fulgurant Dreamscape:

Only the Sapient of Sages
Doth denude:

The Incorporeal Incarnation
Of
Virtue, it’s vesture,
Na’phesh

The Decrepitude of Withering
Dovens the Divine
In the
Vestibule of Vanity,
Sanctimony & Superciliousness
Thence deliquesce;
Bearing womb of Light.

IV. Celestial Morphology

Unveiling the Substance
Of Space and Time;
Spirit and Soul;
Euphony, Harmony;
Atrophy, Intrepidity
All are Entity

Once
Pristine yet vacuous,
Flourishing into
Mystical and shimmering
Nothingness, gropes
For Meta-Astral ―form;

Ventus Divinitas,
The Cosmogonist’s Agenda
Resonates
Through the
Inchoative Universe.

V. The Temporal Hither:

Her Genesis
Waxeth
Vestal Vicissitudes:

She is
The Twilit Quiver
Uprising in
Darts of the Dawn,

Until
Arrows of Antemeridian
Light Cascade
Our epidermis
With the incendiary
Sovereignty of Sol.

Dusk:
Chars the Canvas
Of Ethereal Skies,
Garnetiferous,
Moonlit, Martyred Mind’s Sky;
The Eve’s Imperator
And
Inquisitive Spirit Eyes.

By Luminaries
We’re ensorcelled
Corpulent with thought.

~Wondering upon,
Vacuous a fathomed
Cosmogenesis. ~



VI. Tempus et Spatium:


~There are
Edicts unseen
The Esoteric of the Macrocosm

Only the
Transcendent of Tellurians
May tell of
The Life-Rending,
Sunder forth:

Semantics in Constellations;
Gaian Whispers of Sylvan Tale
The Arboreal Wisdom,
Musicality in Zephyrs ruffling Trees of Vale
Hearken unto further
The Winged-Symphonic Bees
(The Bombinating Orchestra)
Soul Untethered = [ Meta-Consciousness ^ Spiritus de Liberty]

Einstein’s General Relativity= [Spatium ^ Matter ↔ Energy ^ Motion]

~

(Time & Space
The height,
The width,
The depth,
And
The breadth)
The Empyrean One
Enshrined in Pantheon
Our Virginal, Vestal Souls
Efflorescent Eternity
In our hearts?
(Ecclesiastes 3:11)

Time is fickle
A
Hydrean Leviathan:

Whilst ye
Voyage her
Seven Seas,
Moor naught
In her
Elapsed chronology;
Her caprice
And ire
Shalt not
Be quelled.

Be roused
From
Somnus,
Unto her
Perpetuity of
Aqueous Abyssal, Dream Deep Sea;
Tenuous,
Diaphanous,
Rare,
Tender,
Instinctive,

∞ Her Moments ∞
∞ Extinguished ∞
∞ At Birth. ∞

∞ Eternally, ∞
∞ Reincarnated; ∞
∞Anew.∞

∞The Cosmic Spectrum∞
∞Is Infinite∞

∞Excelsior, Godspeed∞

∞ Elo’him ∞





VII. Ultima Thule:

We
Empyrean souls,
Doth abide
In
Pearlescent raiment.

The Cosmogenesis is our Dreamscape:
.
We are all a cosmos,
Expanding, contracting;
Ebbing, flowing;
Hitherto and thitherto;
Red-Shift and Blue-Shift.

Until the Mellifluous Morn,
Whence the
Zephyr of Life
Reverberates the Musicality
Of The
Arboreal Sages.

Terraqueous Gaia
Whispers
The Hope of the Ages.
Spirits betwixt
Greater Eden and She’ol.

Count the stars,
Enumerate every
Constellation in The Cosmos
Of your Soulscape scintillating
Upon thine Mind’s Sky.

Whence Luna and Sol
By the Wisdom
Of your starlight.
Are benighted, beseech
The Ancient of Days

For within The Supernal Wavelength
Of the Hallowed Dove.
We glean refuge
Our Aegis,
Providence.

Awaiting the
Golden, incendiary pinions
Of the
Revenant Phoenix to resurrect us.
Allow the Holy Spirit
to be your Polaris,
― to Elysium.

~By Agape’s Armistice:
Ascend,
The Peaks of Heartsease.
Commune with the Cosmos,
Wax
Salvera y Jiustizia
Brethren,
I plead.~”


~This Sacred Lotus seed
Was sown
Into the
Into the Soil of your Souls
, ―By the Astral.

You are a melody,
Sung by
A coloratura,
Burst into a
Tapestry of Fioritura:

Of Hope,
Faith,
And
Love



(May you
Reap
The Virtues of the Lord)

Betwixt

Na’phesh,
(The [Your] Living Soul)

&

Kos’Mos’
(The World)

The Apotheosis of the Astral Flame
Awaits
You
Starry-Eyed
Phantasmagoreans~
Celestial Morphology © is the multi-epistled poem which I sired during the Estival vicissitude. Twas an ineffable cadenza that exhales of the incorporeal essence of mine entity. I had been toiling in sweat, blood, and tears over a written project at the time; consequently, this is the thematic poem begotten.
     It transmutes the zeitgeist of my summer into the Golden Raiment of Polymathy. The oppressed coals of my woe erupted from the igneous core of my heart as these adamantine words. This starry soundscape is the astral crux of my work during 2018.
      I think that there was a vast expanse of my understanding of the world that had been repressed. It had almost been veiled from the heightened sight of my Over-Soul. This was in my sheltered, infantile longing to elude heartache. To keep the flesh- sundering maladies of the world outside my apartment walls: love, passion, iniquity, penitence, forgiveness, piety, cultural fission, intolerance, injustice, indignation, divinity, melody, mysticism, schism, mania, trepidation, faith, wisdom, darkness, and temporally transcendent pain.
          This was my transcribed anarchy against a Fascist Regime. A country exalting body that calls its denizens creationists whilst they slaughter every creation under the sun. The sociological edicts that dictate how art should be produced, the pace, that tell us not to speak of discrimination and mold us to turn a blind eye to the harsh realities of 21st-century postmodern society heavied the air. I just needed to vent and let every bit of internalized asperity or self-directed hatred out in a beautifying paradigm.
      I'm realizing more and more that life is tough and quite frankly, short. I'd rather write for an infinitude on one poem, for the sake of saving myself, rather than compromising my own integrity (and creative latitude). The writing was becoming a drag: less about quality, and more about quantity. Thus, after months of phantasmagorical drought, I bestow a glistening glade of sterling words.
I hope this poem reverberates upon thine soul waves. Please comment as I am open to any feedback; moreover, I beseech it of thee. My deepest gratitude comrades.

Excelsior Forevermore,

Sanders Maurice Foulke III
E Townsend Sep 2015
Nothing works out in the end.
All of us will be gone.
Our name will not be remembered.

The signs and lights will fade to black.
The Hollywood sign will collapse of old age, like us.
Poppies shrivel up, their red coats falling onto the scorched earth.
Grapes transcend into wrinkly sacs of bitter wine.

The way your hand slipped in mine,
the fingerprints will rub away.
Our heart beats slow,
diminish.
Our laughter evanesce,
wanes
as our voices descend past the Pacific ocean.
Dreams
Are euphony
Of thought,
Of heart,
Of body,
Of the splendid,
Of the soul,

(Unbinding our once
Spectral Fates
          That spiraled down
The Keys of Life
Tainted by
The Greatest of Dissonance)

My Redolent Reverie,
Sweetened by
Mellifluous Nectar Tides
Of cherished moments
Steeped for eons
In our
Carnal yearnings
Are made anew
By the Cosmogonist’s Hands
Of Eternity

(O, for I
Doth doven the skies,
That the Incendiary Wings
Of the Auburn Pheonix
Imbue me
With the Souls Acquisition
Of Golden Pinions
                      Of the Thew of Vitality).

Captive visions,
Slumber in
My Azure Dreamer’s Chest
Engraved with
The Insignia of Archaic Fates
Upon it’s
Starry Epidermis
Till skies fall
To the Terrene
And
The Luminaries
Shall rest
Betwixt
The palms of my hands

(O, for then
This Juggernaut of a Man
That I am
Shall Effloresce
Ceasing to be
     That Loveless Sentinel,
The Guardian over
The Bastion Heart
He fathoms
Impregnable)

.Ensorcelled Butterflies
Radiate
Lovelit Lavender Light
Upon that
Astral Parcel,
Lulling my weary eyes
By the
Sovereignty of Monarchial Wings
Vanquishing the doubts
Once blurring
My Kaleidoscopic Dreams
(Life’s Iridescent Seal
Branded upon
My forehead
And etherealizing
My exhalations
                    Till crystalline)

My sullied heart
Pulses shadowed winds
(The Sweeping Gales of Solemnity)
Without the
Blissful Kiss of Cadence
Resonating an
Ebony surge
Deeper,
Than first octave tonality
Of abyssal timbre.

I beseech you,
Unfurl those forested eyes
My Desiderata Materialista,
That I may
Drinketh of your
Emerald Streams,
Ineffably Pristine.

(For then
I shall be
Spirited away
      To Eden,
My existence
     Shall become
Nirvanic Transcendence)

To pine is a pang,
To envisage
Is to breath.

Perhaps that
Is the only solace
My feeble soul
Can bear,
Without you.

By your alabaster skin
Vein my eyes
With luminescence.

With your tender caress
Saunter my
Voracious skin.

Weave my Chrysalis,
By your
Susurrant voice.

Cocoon me
In your
Flawless serenade,
That I metamorphose
Bearing the
Sacrosanct Wings of Phantasmagoria
And
The Melisma of Your Piety.

Pearlescent blood
Floweth within me,
Like baptismal rain,
As I muse
When you alight
Once more
In my Cosmos.

I am yours,
Floral Fallal.

~Our fears are the burdens
    Of the Vestige of the Past,
      A hollow cry
       That fights to exist
         In a zeitgeist
           That flowers
              Quicker than
                Our hearts know how to beat.
                          
                     Unfurl your Gates
                           To the Arbiter of Fates,
                              Unearth the Hallowed Crystals
                                 Of your Garnetiferous Passion
                                    That takes shape
                                        Because you…

                               O, Stalwart Knight,
                                    You were cosmic
                                         Like myriad raindrops,
                                           Mystic echoes
                                              Emancipating­ your spirit
                                                 From the trepidation
                                                     ­    Of the mortal kind.

                                                   Evolve,                                            
                                Evanesce,                       ­   
                                                  For to be Ephemeral                      
                                 ­                Means to conquer                                  
That Magisterial Oblivion.
                                                       ­     Se’lah.~
Hey guys! I've been doing a great deal of experimenting with my writing as of late. This piece is an embodiment of all the introspection, musings, tribulations, and heartbreaks I have experienced as of late. I hope you all can appreciate this piece despite the quasi-obscurant references that I present bereft of explicit detail.

The core of this piece lies in the fundamental nature of our dreams, yearnings, and aspirations (as well as the shadows born of the loveless blight). It effloresced it something much greater as I continued to refine it. Hope you guys like! God bless!
Quin Rosenheart Jan 2019
I'm faded
Like a shadow
On a winters day

Like a pencil mark
That has been
Whiped away

Like a tear
Running down
My cheek

Like my self-esteem
After they claim
They're strong and I'm weak

Like my voice
Trickling down
The well of society

Like my heart
With all of its
Constant anxiety

Like the words
Of my family
When they say I'm blessed

When they all know
I'm nothing but
Evanecse.
vircapio gale Jul 2012
exude the moment;
you are a transformative fulcrum

of intersubject's rent and awe:
anthropomythic ecolaw

the dream cascades into words,
birds fly little crisps of meaning
into morning light. last night's
snow leaves a crystalline spark
of you subdued, become a finer point
of tantric sight, gazing rose-blue pulsar
lashing through a cosmic garden,
delicious fruit of spacious letting be.
i'm grasping for that pleasure,
vermillion moan of lifestring vibrance,
but the wind carries on outside,
swirling pieces of the mind in
flux of upturned joy~
our heartbreeze summoned,
now whispersssoulsounds to come
and earthly darkness grips the future frost,
thaw, break and steam as it wills;
the churning ground sings to us
of bear-sleep and jackal-howl,
of seasons transpiring,
one lost sled of memories
leaves us empty, pressing crystal sky:
my aching ideality trounced in bliss-meanders
!stunning revelation! you! You! yOu!
bringing all to be a second time,
as it was.. in me.. now new,
sweet novelty of union,
this gathering of nervure self,
gliding insights, sudden soundsss.

like a node of forest-echo swirls
it dazzles: unseen colors for my inner eye;
ancient tones of fog ripple
off something you are,
creaking center easing of my sidling,
spirit drop and wavelet growth:
as if you were a branching greenery
of my own once lost other-self,
last gasping there as what i pictured 'you'~
swayingss.. sun-spikes speaking,
sky-gaze and soaking barky iris sssuck,
moulding into me the wisdom of our past leavings,
those raspy kites of sap-filled yearnings
shadow sunshower evening.
i would be a tree with you and
let you pierce our foundations
with roots of gaiasight slipping though
our primal urgings, concrete deference
under sun arch, spin of moon. let
ignorant insistence on fetishized divides~
slipping past my grounded darkness
still unknown, remain
my underself unleashed
my silent trunk-swilling soothed,
stable chaos-other, self regiven,
life renewed in leaf,
the touch of you imbued.

the whole vision lost
but for that glimmer~
it finds me writhing unknown spirals:
ringing wonderment in a seed,
or dormant sporocarpic lineage of life,
the vast hyphae-humming cups of death-born
nethergenesis of cycled hyle me.
a womb that never knew of pain
or being evertorn in dessicated spectre-sea.

the burning desert-storms helixify our rain,
a heaving hiss-like suncry
from that dark, sandy baobabic throat.
the earth consumes in shifts,
and blossoms toward the alterbliss of you, too,
an expanse of solar flare
its beautific reach engulfing terribly,
nepho-logos spanning all the air.

ssssunlit boughs of winds' remembrance
grow soft across this window,
then shift with forest breath,
their snowlace puffed before
an azure true expanse,
the burdened greens stirring a needlish depth
of metawinter, all-too-human
starfields constellate in hiding
far behind my starshine there a curtain blue,
whose prismatic humor lights more
than scenic treescape, frigid dust.
hair, nose, glass enframed by sapless wood
of window cut to square my void revision of the world.

the colors whirl into mindflow,
inter-material upsurge-undulate,
abyssal cauldron seething passions stilled by
comic symbols of a secular mystic;
dancing eddies convey my sense of sight
just thought, then lost into a wider dance
of tensions eased and drawn,
of geometric visions seemly here and gone,
inner, outer: conveyed by stroke of
spinal eidos, its rhythm set
before my time, its tone the vital,
draping earthverse
recited in my veins, the sinews of my
life in other lives,
the song of us expressive in my gaze~
one blink()a single point of beauty
fades into another haze,
lighted icedrift iridescing evanesce.
anthropos (religion, Gnosticism) Man. (From Ancient Greek) [cf. Anthropogenesis, (an thro po jen’ e sis) n. Study of the development and origin of man]

myth·os/'miTHos/ Noun: A myth or mythology. (in literature) A traditional or recurrent narrative theme or plot structure.

*derew(o)- Indo-European root meaning "tree" or "wood"

Tantra, "weave, loom, warp"; or "principle, system, doctrine", from the two root words tanoti "stretch, extend, expand", and trayati "liberation"

Sporocarp (in fungi, known as fruiting body or fruit body): a multicellular structure in certain algae, lichens, and fungi on which spore-producing structures are borne.

Hypha · (plural hyphae). (mycology) Any of the long, threadlike filaments that form the mycelium of a fungus. The hyphae are used for reproduction and nutrient gathering.

hyle, In philosophy, refers to matter or stuff [fr. Gk "ulh" (üleh, where the ü is as in German or "lune"]

baobab, A short tree with an enormously thick trunk and large edible fruit. Other common names include boab, boaboa, bottle tree, upside-down tree, and monkey bread tree.

ne·phol·o·gy. n. The branch of meteorology that deals with clouds. [Greek nephos, cloud; see nebh- in Indo-European roots + -logy.]

logos, multivalent term fr. the Gk verb legein (soft g - modern greek lego ) "to say, speak" and also "to gather and lay down" ;  traditionally meaning "word, thought, principle, or speech"; also ratio (latin for reason), pre-linguistic language (phil.), the principle governing the cosmos, the source of this principle, or human reasoning about the cosmos. origin of  "(o)-logy." the active, material, rational principle of the cosmos; nous.  logos is marked by two main distinctions - the first dealing with human reason (the rationality in the human mind which seeks to attain universal understanding and harmony), the second with universal intelligence (the universal ruling force governing and revealing through the cosmos to humankind)

eidos, a term used by Plato for the abstract forms or ideas. fr. the Indo-European root *weid-, "see" is determinative of a substance; it is the key aspect expressed in the thing's definition as the essence or whatness of the thing. also (anthropology) the distinctive expression of the cognitive or intellectual character of a culture or a social group.
1338

What tenements of clover
Are fitting for the bee,
What edifices azure
For butterflies and me—
What residences nimble
Arise and evanesce
Without a rhythmic rumor
Or an assaulting guess.
Valerie Feb 2015
I hope you don't forget me,
and our late night conversations that lasted till  3 am.

I hope you don't forget the time
when we spent hours
laughing over the dumb jokes
that we cracked.

And I really hoped you haven't forgotten
the time when you came to me
lovelorn and heartbroken
because the girl you liked didn't like you back.
That evening we spent,
in silence on the bench
because I couldn't find the words to comfort you.

But, to love is to let go.

So now that you're happily off with her,
I really hope you don't forget me.
Just a blade of grass in a flower garden
Artemis Dec 2013
Two Souls Apart (Part I)
Two souls met
They fell in love
At the wrong time
The right people
In the wrong place
She was beautiful
Hair gold as the sun
Flaring like wildfire
He was simple enough
An artist with sound
With a wanderers heart
She was never who
She told him she was
Maybe he was never
Completely honest
With her either
They always meant well
And they were so happy
Plans of running away
Far from everyone else
Isolation on an island
Separated by miles of water
Away from judging eyes
But how long could it last
These fairy-tale romances
Just never seem to survive
The cold winters of distance
So they parted ways
Hearts torn into pieces
Plagued by memories
The taste of her lips
Her skin warm and soft
She tried to drown him out
With another in her bed
He screamed his songs
Desperate to be rid of her
She was slowly overwhelmed
So far away from home
He threw himself into the divine
Turning from the sin he held
Becoming a saint of high regard
He found someone new
On the Saint Who Fell for the Sinner (Part II)
He didn't go looking for her
Truth be told she just fell into his life
He was held captive
At the beauty she possessed
Her eyes as spacious as the sky
Deeper than any well of knowledge
So he chased her
She led him through the woods
A deep dark and twisted path
More than once he nearly gave up
But she played him well
She held his attention until he was hopelessly lost
When she felt safe she stopped
The saint wondered at her
Such a fair and beautiful creature
She showed him her scars
Her sins and filthy addictions
Somehow he was not repelled by this
Instead he found himself drawn even more
So he sheltered her fragile soul
Until the day she forgot to maintain her lies
The saint was destroyed at the deception of the sinner
He was driven to madness
The saint searched for comfort
Something to help find the pieces of his shattered heart
To stitch it together again
But he found no cure
No method of healing that would bring him back
In this way the sinner destroyed the saint
Integration (Part III)
He wondered hopelessly for months on end
Searching for peace
All he could find was distractions
Nothing permanent to occupy his time
Functioning was near impossible
Nothing held his interest anymore
He played his songs but was discouraged
Wrote his words but they seemed empty
He could not bring himself back into civilization
He separated himself from all others
As much as he could
He couldn't merge back
Made no connections with any meaning
He was so disconnected
And old memories resurfaced
He found himself longing for her again
For her kiss and her touch
To feel the warmth of her skin again
Her hand holding his so tight
He wondered if she felt the same
The second half of his soul
Evanesce the Island (Part IV)*
Maybe all their plans
Weren't so foolish after all
What if they had known exactly
What they needed to survive
Shouldn't they run away from the world
To set themselves apart
From a cruel and cold world
That they aren't fit for
Let it be just them so far away
From all the rest of the world
Let them do as they please away
From all eyes
Let them love like they were made
On a beach under the sun
Away from these rainy days
That never end
~W.C.
Darcy Lynn Jan 2023
There in the field she came to me,
The last of the silver honeybees.
I could see the years worn in her face,
Lost in the dark, one foot in the grave.

She held the ache behind her eyes,
So young to have her throat closed tight.
Poor girl, an orphan, with ribs of steel
Bone cage laced too tight to feel.

Then came the lonesome cosmonaut,
Betwixt the stars, those years he lost;
A nomad’s tale, nor here nor there
Too high up to come down for air.

Celestial darlings, they go round and round,
Dysphoric we hasten the final burnout:
From birth to evanesce, the hedons expire
Would love rot my teeth for afflictions less dire?

Last came the poet, out from the gloam
******* on pennies, and ink soaked through bones.
She gathered her strength and fell from the sky
While friends in high places twinkled goodbye.
nia fox Jan 2015
the water fills her lungs
her lips are now blue
her life is slowly coming to an end
the white lights are coming into view
it's hard to hold on
though hard to let go
when the angel will kiss you
soon you will know
tell me if this is real
tell me if this fake
I knew this day would come
surely this was no mistake
never knew my skin could be so pale
never knew a heart could stop
never thought I'd stop breathing
never thought I'd see my carcass from atop
all life must come to an end
nothing lasts forever
this is now, that was then
who knew death could be so clever?
Scarlet M Jan 2018
I used to look at him, the way I looked at the moon
In trance, and in admiration,
a mere thought of him was intoxicating.

To savor this remaining love left in me;
I wished to be caught in this dream forever,
but reality was too cruel.

When I awoke, I felt nothing.
It has been months since,
I have not caught a single glimpse of him.
The truth was, it was fading.

Yet I tried my hardest to keep it with me.
I held our love in my hands
like a pile of sand, slowly,
watching it slip out of my grasp.
Best poems are lost in the morn's toothbrush
wash away with rinse fade like first crush
run away with the trail of the bus you miss
fly with summer clouds melt like first kiss!

Best poems are lost with the winds' dusty blow
half seen half known through half shut window
burn away like fire on a long winter night
lure with contour eluding full sight!

Best poems are lost in the crescent moon's glow
when your mind is too weary head hits pillow
evanesce like youthful time smoothness of face
undecoded hieroglyph untraced address!

Best poems are lost like petals in the rain
in the race for vain pride rush for self gain
seen through smoked glass pages unread
crumbling with time wasted like ****!
Primrose Clare Dec 2013
In the midst of old ravines and paintings, a succulent soldier dreams.
As dawn starts to paint, as the secondhand piano plays,
his azure iris will gaze
to the sun- the faraway maiden.
In hope that one day, he'd sunbathe and chase dreams
with spring nymphs in holy fields of bonnets and poppies.

Into the poetic imaginations he submerged,
eating dainty buns,saccharine berries and milk by a spiral pond;
and pirouette like butterflies on feathery grass with florets and mist.

Far across the sullen lakes, He'd run with the spring squirrels and foxes;
through the honeyed prairie, the crooned secrets echo faintly like a damsel's song.
In between His spellbinding tales, plants they giggle in harmonious blithe—
that even the gale who gush by in haste, would stop and peer with serene awe.

Abundance of miraculous faith He ignited to his vein,
for the black dots of his crest and spine to someday evanesce.
And in ease, realms of woodlands and lone moors abound upon his eyelids,
that mother nature awaits him.

tick tock, two steps away from the holy born of Christ,
He died of collapsed dream, like muddy landslide of wet monsoon.
His soul— a soul of a fey,beatific and mesmeric dreamer, perish away in stardust.
a shriveled lilac body, graven into a treasure box, a seraphic smile carved.

With waterfalls and chrysanthemums,
moonbeam and fog, an elegy,
and a handful of brimmed ash—the box sealed like a secret letter.

that dusted night
ashes charily scattered to the wide empyrean
along with a brush of vain agony.

Rest in peace, Floyd the cactus.
may our camaraderie be immortal.

This is a poem I wrote for my succulent cactus Floyd who died on Christmas Eve.
Alexander S Mar 2010
I have been one acquainted with the night
Moving quickly with unencumbered ease
Through a cooling darkened breeze
Drawing drapes, eluding light
I am one acquainted with the night

I have been one acquainted with the chill
That an October morning brings
With whispered imaginings
Of wine, a blanket and a hill
I am one acquainted with the chill

Barren days and shadowed hours
Make the masses evanesce
Yet no less shared nor picturesque
For they shall remain forever ours
We shall be ones acquainted with the night
The last line is borrowed from a poem by Robert Frost entitled "Acquainted with the Night."
Bei Aguilar May 2016
What should I do
Without you?
I can't focus
Nor blow a kiss

I can't cheer
I can't bear
I can't hear
I don't know how to fake

I love how you laugh
And I'm missing it now
I don't want you to
Evanesce

Evanesce
No I don't want you to
Evanesce
Unless,  I'm coming with you

What should I do now
Without you?
I can't make a move
Nor breathe

I feel like dying
I feel like sinking
Into a hole
That I know I can't escape
Robin Carretti Aug 2021
Dwindle-Melt-Dissolve
Lips of the world lost
        Unsolved
Evanesce bring to life
Live-Love- Dance

 Prayers>> of >the> Providence
        
Lips deep--- tears-seeded
    Life unfolds
Loved ones need to be hold
World spins High flower
       Chin

Are we all connected within?

Anxiety on the rise
Weaken flower transforms to begin
Sun lips gladiolus
Melody of Mozart- Amadeus
Honeysuckle- Rose lips

Healing rain European trips
Winding minds of stairs
They lost the flowers
Bad politics and affairs
I saw the light

Candle-lips star
bright
Lips got healed God sent
Don't dwell on life the big rent
The world is very displeasing I thought I would put some bright colors and flowers to lift the spirit
vircapio gale Feb 2013
when that hopefully ecofriendly R.I.P becomes my final home
whether bios urn
or spirit seed
or any trendy tree from corpse to copse,
from dust to leaves
or better than
a crematorial commode --for fresher air and fuel for brighter flames
transplanted into other selves
redressed in mushroom spore-suit
seeded with the genes of generations hence and past,
piercing veils to fruit above again,
a mycophile to the last--
i will have lived with growth in mind,
that firm amorphous
ground opining green
to kindly live and die in kind
foment another view,
encompass monumental evanesce
supernal tablets branching neo-dolmen ethernexusnets beyond the r00ts
barking technoshaman psychic rings about a fiberoptic rosey,
perhaps a sappier refrain for finer silica domains
to sing along and echo Dryads doting long ago,
in threaded tones the make-remaking fold
of earthenborn rekindled kin of stars
decided to invent to cater otherworldly themes
Lilith Avenue May 2016
she became invisible to
his eyes because he was out
looking, for a light that shined
just as bright as the gem that
turned his somber nights into
a radiant daybreak that paints
his skies with royalty. he turned
moth to flame for a fair-haired girl
with cobalt spheres; a face that
was there when she wanted him.
she became nourishment for
his soul because on those somber
evenings, he always sought out
for her; a daydream of a damsel
with ebony abraded into her bones
because she hid from the limelight
when she had wildfires running in
her veins glowing; a face that
was there when he wanted her.
but she captured his heart because
it knew that even the sun can’t
wash the moon out against the blue
unless it decides to disappear
Got Guanxi Jan 2016
The level of betrayal
Hit me on multiple levels
Beyond the shadows,
Was it the Devils kiss
Those moonlit craters,
in the gallows,
That created those layers
In the mountains of the Himalayas,
Will they ever tell us,
The secrets lost within those meadows
Flourishing down at base camp.
Flying those false flags in eminence,
whilst were sentenced in the highlands.

Hidden haters,
Camouflaged in winter colours,
the mesa range
a inhabited massif,
A hint of frostbite,
That in hindsight could cost lives,
of those trapped beneath the icy nights.

The snowfall is just drop of ice,
Stinging the eyes of those blinded
by the shards of glass icicles in the avalanche.
A ridge away from the mountain range safety nets.
Disrespected tor of mother natures indignation.
Only the indigenous survive.

Yet in the flames of exasperation,
In the footsteps of evanesce,
A liquesce renders the snow storm useless,
as the sun melts the inundation of the snow slide.

An aubade ray takes over the landscape,
oxidating snowflakes one by one like a machine guns wake.

The temperate rise coincides with the rise of hope within the atmosphere.
The patterns clear and the same mistakes will be made over and over again
until the atmosphere is damaged so severe;

The sun itself will cry a tear.
vircapio gale Oct 2013
'literature has a way of owning you'--
(the author said, after the book-signing;
and taking me behind the shelves, showed me
what possession meant, riptide trough and swell)
---much as the sea lays claim to one adrift,
to drown or hold aloft, then pin to bed,
displacing breath; choke...release...toss free, choke;
lungs drenched: retching silt, pelagic darkness
spotted with the faint transmuted sun.
whether full to glint a myriad in sky,
or blind to evanesce in foam and spray...
an atlantean crush of symbols: lost--
my inner mythic fades to distant waves
revising how i write of self, sunk
crystallaiz May 2015
The one thing I want the most
is to un-love you
yet the one thing I'm terrified of
is that gingerly, in degrees
then all of a sudden

all of a sudden

everything will evanesce
like the slanting rain
the hearts i draw
on fogged-up glass
faint pencil lines
on whitewashed stairs
crushed paper stars
i used to fold, alone,
with you

and i will be left
with the frightful emptiness
and i will be left
to fight my dependency on you
and i will be left

(we're locking eyes today and I have something to tell you)

*Don't Leave Me
i can never express myself properly, but sometimes it just comes up to the front of my mind and then i become so afraid, of what will become of all of us
Sana Oct 2015
Against the gentlest ashen bones n’ flesh
I brush my skin and devour this gest
Driveling to stretch these moments last
For let me relish this spell afore;
My beloved becomes my precious past

On this illusory floor of lustrous dreams
I smash the glass of self-esteem
Tapping and whirling until I’m bereaved
For let me evanesce in pulse afore;
The hour is struck of my beloved’s leave

I pluck the leaves of my insanity n’ grief
And brew it well with my rusty belief
On this unsullied tongue I taste the wine
For let me drink before they lift;
Walls around my beloved’s shrine

Over the tormented waters;
I build a wharf and cast my woes
And I lay in peace as a sleeping child
Whilst averting noises n’ my cries
For let me rest in peace afore;
Veils are laid as my beloved dies
Every weekend I just rush back home to spend whatever moments I am left with my family (God knows). There is no greater blessing than love of our parents. So in the poem I just tell myself that its ok to be carefree at times, and its ok to run after your foolish desires at times as long as you can cherish those; for once you are deprived of the greatest love (for death is inevitable), none of it would ever be the same again; what pleased you once would never please you again as much. The music I listen to with my father; the taste of food I enjoy with my mother; the same food and the same music would always be accompanied with pain.
Paris Adamson Oct 2013
the sun also rises
with the smoke,
staling sweetly
while the coffee drinkers
scatter dewy dawns.
we're smoking your last cigarette
letting soreness seep into
concupiscent sluggish limbs,
as sleep-cornered bedroom eyes
melt their waxy redness
into the cruelty of morning light.
insipid tongues, chapped and swollen,
speak in strokes of satin whispers;
breathy simple silken strands
                                                         ­                                                                 ­                 "you're so soft"
scintillate resplendence
with moth-wing gentleness
to evanesce the daybreak chill.
how i yearn to remain
in between the days,
hazily hidden in the serenity
of our echo-quiet secret place.
Chris Aug 2015
~

Vibrations loosen
 the dust on my piano,
  releasing tiny particles
   into a rectangle sunbeam
    dancing about the glass,
     as I play compositions
      upon freeform keys,
       fingered imagination
        frantically moving
         levers in never before
          heard melodies
           with a locked
            sustain pedal
             holding each note
              to gradually
               evanesce
                into silence
                 as the dust
                  once
                        again
                                se­ttles
Chris Thomas Jan 2017
"Good morning," says 5:06
This is your gentle reminder to arise
Be forewarned that the sun is waking
On the brink of dawn or disaster

We all have failures to atone for
And this is your gentle reminder that
No matter how many times you climb
Your feet will never stand upon holy ground

"Good afternoon" says 1:15
This is your gentle reminder to venture forth
But this is a place that you have no claim to
So be off like the nosy brat you have become

We all come here to escape someone
And this is your gentle reminder that
The someone who pursues is quick
Running on cylinders that you don't yet possess

"Goodnight" says 11:49
And this is your gentle reminder to evanesce
This is a place that preys upon your weakness
So close your eyes and dissolve into dreamless sleep

We all survive our own mortality
And this is your gentle reminder that
To bring favor upon remaining days
You must release the grasp on the ones before
Ken Dimaranan Aug 2014
Serendipity took over the calendar’s date
radiance of the moonlight ever so vivid
wind sways ritzily around the grass land

Evinced se blissful beam with her every utter
I’m all ears, I heed her mellifluous voice
jests shared; laughter outpouring

As the night goes deeper, our hearts follow
abysmally sinking down…down…and down
mundane feelings evanesce

How we long not for the toll of parting
but, the sand of time has emptied
to close the curtains we must

As we walk to the path of the end
farewell words we speak; empty they are not
but filled with yearn to see each other once more

Her arms wrapped around me
passionately...intimately
I am in rupture

From the other world the white maiden is
her charm so endearing, so alluring
for us to had met, fate must have closed its eyes
I wrote this way back December 2012 after meeting a girl from med school. She didn't know about this because I don't really show my poems to the girls I date unless they write poetry too or even just fond of it.
A soul I used to know has left this earth
Left is a void
An empty spot in the universe, someone who was
Life, vivid energy, laughter and expression
All gone; with the dying of this soul

Life was hard, life was rough
It was filled with complication
But she was tough
I never knew her, it was just
A shock; death in close proximity

So let’s not let the memory evanesce
I will remember the shock of death
And I will simply keep in mind; the memory of her existence
Someone who used to be
I just feel the need, to not let it evanesce
So this goes out to you;
Ode to her
Alicia Dec 2015
one day
always dries the tongue
always tense
future tense
i’m twenty three
i’ve set out to find myself
at least four times
from here
                                                  you can’t see what’s up there
                                  though its walls are made of windows
                                         i was up there once, and looked down

i asked why misunderstanding perception
and learned most of them looked out for the cityscape the lights sometimes.


s was a dancer
stretches and
taps to silent rhythms
knotted in her throat        in thought
sometimes at night
under lover’s sheets
they could flow from her lips
sweet hyperboles
and desperate understatements
and her shoulders would release
too soon
she was dead asleep
      
                                         t   the perfect audience
he was multilingual
even with small phrases and s thought::
please please think bigger
than you and me

t::
i want
shelves full
(with all of your words)
and we’ll cover the living
      walls
with framed cyprus and stone
it’s ok it’s ok it’s ok
today we are twenty three
i can feel your breath on my face
i am not domestic
every place but home
inspires me
a time someday for us
they’ve flourished
snatched in november like everything
gone
tell me
the glory days
are not
over
flow


is it possible
to be blown by what i thought
could never happen     could never have
never be
and
remorse for decaying dreams
                                                          ­                  a bibliothèque   a bibliothek
                                                      ­           its towers pierce through foliage
                                                         ­                               the center caved in
                                                              ­  only the letters b  i  b  l  o remain
                                                          ­   above the threshold    and some
                                                            ­               pages grip tight to the walls
                                                          ­                  insects inhibit the rest

    

  we stretch softer legs like fossilized rock
and feel shame in the pride once taken
in one day   i will give up everything
dance on tuesday nights      worship the sanctity of table talk     early mornings envisioning the thousands of events this corner no doubt witnessed  trek øyangen and for the first time fall so in love with snow and tomorrow feel that same ecstasy for the aegean ultraviolet a




of course there is not   that would be too **** logical


we fill to the brim spill into the other
the first time::
walking conciliation there were at least 8 others  the nervous ha ha release of the shoulders a timid forte   something castle passageway and cruel majesty if i did..no memory of any other exists submerged in the cascade i could tell
                          what was happening it was your turn finally
                  adventure bestowed
                           when i shouted
                                                    ­      italian for
...i know what you mean


other times
it’s boiling      steam clenching the small throat of the
archways screaming
like the baby in the room
hardly air still
dare not breathe
at burned hands only
wanting to
help me   


    october times:
                                                      i wander off the page
                                                            ­      its warm here
                                                     homesick rising   not
                                        for a house or manmade landscape
                                                       ­       i sunk my teeth
                                                       into a chance to hold
                                                        a beloved memory
                                                          ­were you pouring
                                                                ­ into me or i
                                                                ­                 you




—suddenly
location was
absent
only caffeinated confusion
words were never difficult now used all wrong
forte timida
you casually drank your pour over
as i searched for a changed thing

s to t:: how is it that we love so many and need so much more and still have room for each other?


                                   t::            i’ve built you a sanctuary
west coast luxury
east coast 1920
where surrounding trees are ablaze
you will not burn
in a city whose lights have no power over stars
i’ve wrought an iron balcony
for kissing
overlooking
a cobbled courtyard
for mornings
music
go there in the meantime
when you can’t remember
i’ll visit when you want me





my thighs
carry everything
ice cracks cold sweat   ears ringing rejection   history    home moving   not moving defense precision par excellence capablebutyoucutmylegsfromunderme
flying contraption­
leaving that behind
fast evanesce
a pounding like cutting
but breathing
normally

s to t:: only you let me
bleed



the hard-
covers
come
falling
a fantastic mess
the balcony
magnifique on fire
Aaditya Feb 2019
Love
                        may be a remedy,
             but
                                                           I was hurt.

Wounds
                                 may heal,
                     but
                                                     scars remain.
Scars
                           may fade away though,
              but
                                                                            in time.
Terry O'Leary Aug 2014
On asphalt, wet with blood and sweat (down streets with no address),
there lay a man, snuffed by the Man and left to evanesce.
The Man then strode along the road and smiled at his success
and, cavalier, he bought a beer, sat down to decompress.

A life was gone, but day wore on, the sun awash in heat –
the riddled head no longer bled, concealed beneath a sheet,
and passers-by began to cry, were sobbing indiscreet’,
while holy bells in distant hells began to moan and bleat.

In heaven's eyes (no one denies) due process is decreed,
but down below, where burdens flow, it rarely can succeed
and certainly not for those distraught, benighted in their need,
so Men in blue (you know the crew) thought nothing of the deed.

Though just eighteen, a little green (was still his mama's son!),
adored by all, but left to sprawl in webs of hate, undone,
the youth was shot and left to rot, but never held a gun,
so people cried and wondered why'd the evil deed been done.

The sheriff said "forget the dead, his crime was black as slate"
and in the rush to hush and shush, he hissed "I'll tell you straight,
that boy, today, was on his way to rendezvous with fate,
so now you know – I gotta go, it's gettin' kinda late".

Not satisfied with those who'd lied, some took to fill the streets
with peaceful cries neath blackened skies, were paid with clubbed retreats,
cruel gas cascades and stun grenades, then days in jailhouse suites –
though curfew's on from dusk till dawn, each night this scene repeats.

With exits barred, in came the Guard to rumble and repress,
for people stray both night and day in search of some redress.
The city's scarred, the houses charred, the locals in distress –
with cut or bruise, they still refuse to kneel or acquiesce.

So choppers fly above the sky with whirling, twirling blades
and drones in flight within the night erase the renegades.
The tarot cards and crystal shards reveal the masquerades –
the beating parts of diamonds’ hearts forever club the spades.

Now puppet Pols are making calls and acting out charades
(like shouting loud within the crowd, and marching in parades),
while underneath, where lies a wreath, the hope for justice fades.
Yet, freedom waits behind the gates, beyond the barricades.
vircapio gale Sep 2012
mossy          semblances
of childhood softening

growth    a reverie

nervure crisps of windfall brown
scent          autumnal         stillness
in the gather-warmth, beading
      sweater gems of sweat--

thorns recur in green
as spiraled lusts evanesce;
bright        helix         rising
At times I feel I've lost my way,
I evanesce like dreams at wake.
The memories resonate with tears,
as I clash myself with all my fears.

Lost and gone; drifting away,
troubled waves crashing down on me.
The time, the pain, still I can't breathe.
Lost and gone; now lost at sea.

My anchor now, where have you gone?
You held me tight, you felt so strong.
The steadiness that I need now,
I see you're gone, nowhere found.

So I drift about, and I float my own,
trying my hardest to find my way home.
But the ocean gets so cold at night,
I need you here, I need your light.

Just as my hope began to fall,
I see it in the distance now, standing bright and tall.

The light is overbearing, but I finally found my shore.
You were always here to guide me by, I was never on my own.
Lighthouse lead me home.
Robyn Neymour Sep 2011
Count me to the rivers that cry in the moon lit nights,
That drowns in the solace of midnights terror.

Crave like the ravens that are driven by hunger,
Seek to take away my essentials that enables me to live.

Cry hunger to my wounded soul,
That is cursed by the terrors of thorny clouds.

Capture my thoughts by scornful bushes,
Drenched in anger, in rage.

Cast the spell of love,
To defeat me.

So that I may die,
In evanesce.

© Robyn G Neymour
© Robyn G Neymour
Alexander S Mar 2010
Winter and death
Are supposed to go hand in hand
Crumbling brown leaves
Scattered around barren trees
And the days evanesce
Colder, shorter, darker
But the snow brightens the night
Every vestige of light reflecting skyward

Winter is indicative of change
A monochrome contrast to fall
An ending of a year
But all that crosses my mind
Is me, you, a blanket and a fire

And what comforts me
Is the pillar of certainty
Amongst the chaos
It’s disturbing
How quickly things fade away
But what comforts me
Is that my Love for You never will

And every snow flake that falls
Reminds me of how I fell for You
And every darkened night
Your arms or Your voice will hold me tight
Every cold shudder
Will be met with Your warming touch

And what comforts me.
Is Your Pillar of Certainty
Vernell Allen Jul 2015
Take a picture it'll last longer.
It. The moment you loved me.
Capture the state of euphoria
before it fades.

Instill within me your remembrance
for you are like dust in the wind
that blinds and brings me to tears
when we are together.

You clasp and rip my broken heart.
I choke on your empty promises.
You will not give me life, but for the moment, I live in temporary bliss.

Soon the storm will return and reality
will steal everything I wish you gave me.
The moment will evanesce like vapor.
The picture will last always..
The room's misted, I can hear
voices I think; shrouded cries
and muffled screams. But the smog
consumes us all.

I hear my name in the distance,
disembodied and murky like they
try to reach me through their sick seances.
They all melt into one loud trill.

There's only moments left
but as I walk this invented distance,
I feel a pull; magnetic almost,
away from the oppressive subterranean smoke.

There! A light that shines, and
the ringing ever clearer now,
so loud and harsh like a sick child's
scream; perennial and pained.

The veil of mist billows out as
I step on the ledge; and the blackest
of skies invites me, along with the
winks of dying stars. The incessant

noises and chaos and distraction
evanesce, as the asphalt below
beckons; blinking lights and enticing winds
either predict or force my hand.

With one lapse in thought;
my foot slips and all there is
to think is calm. I let the stream
of air take me and consume me.
Paul Sands Jul 2015
I would not refuse to *******.
not on a mere ethical technicality
a cursed dialectic sheared and far less pretty
than the contents of your *******
smooth as oysters lips from where your barraged ocean
falls on salty fingertips

you shall bathe in this warm artifice of my adoration
and be my play waif,
my relief from the wristed finesse
that I have become so used to

and I shall take you away from this place
where the chill of a boneless glass sustains
the shadows and fog of a self-financed ******
and Eurydice might still be expected to rise
from beneath a carpet of stone blossom

but in the sober morning a killer may raise
the bones of dead eyebrows and watch the moping steam
evanesce from the wet heart bed
bled full of drowning lungs,
the mangled target of perspective reduced
to something so blessed
Yesterday morning I watched the dramatised documentary "The ****** Adventures of Anais Nin". This, with the exception of two previously used lines, is what has emerged during the course of this afternoon

— The End —