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Empire Jun 6
See, I don’t want to be loved, do I?
Because if I am loved
There are expectations on me
I have to at least try to be worthy of it
But the darkness is calling my name
And it calls so sweetly
It’s made me promises
Of which I’m sure it can’t fulfill
But it’s so exciting
New and thrilling
To try
However,
As long as I’m loved
I have to show restraint
So watch me push you all away
So you’ll just let me drown myself
In my own blissful irresponsibility
Surrender looks so easy and I’m so tired of fighting...
Terry O'Leary Dec 2016
My chamber teems with tensions, taut, that logic can’t withstand,
fragmenting mental masonry with memories unplanned,
as bitter tears from hazel eyes reduce the stone to sand.

Dim shadows cast by candles flit across the haunted room,
beleaguer apparitions, pale, that stalk me through the gloom,
usurping purloined purple forms forgotten ghosts assume.

The tick-tock clock of time rewinds within the mirrored hall
and pendula suspended, pause, while creatures creep and crawl
on images of effigies, through memories that maul.

The madness of the midnight mass! Perchance it interferes
with spiders spinning spiral threads which bridge the chandeliers
when weaving minds' discarded coils to silken souvenirs.

Reflections graced the vacant gaze of idols as they fled!
Their futile, feigned, far-flung farewells now hammer in my head,
marooned like frozen silhouettes in footprints of the dead.

My lovers smile through marbled masks before they turn their backs
(like furnace flames deserting ash or phantoms fleeing cracks)
with faded, painted, wrinkled faces nightmares carve in wax.

Sometimes a gust disturbs the dust and secrets reappear,
which dance in silver slippers through the dusk of yesteryear -
it's not the screams that drown my dreams, but whispers which I fear.

The hangman posts a letter home, his message indiscreet
about the vestal ****** in the café (where we meet
to savour tea and crumpets) down a one-way dead-end street.

The rapping and the tapping at my tattered, time-worn door
repeat reports of migrant myths, of tales of nevermore,
strung far across a sullen sea, most shipwrecked near the shore.

Forget-me-nots, enwrapped in rain the while a wan wind blows,
recall the faintly fickle fates this drifter undergoes –
alone, unknown with tracks interred in teardrop undertows.

My feet, no longer tied or tethered, traipse within a squall
pursuing profiles long forsaken, buried in the sprawl
of spectres spread amongst the dead, some tattooed to the wall.

At times, the belfry towers toll of anarchy and gin,
of smoke and mirrors, rolling dice and other things akin,
impaled on forks down byway roads, and things that might-have-been.

The skies outside, beyond the night with shutters shut and drawn,
begin to glow on shattered shapes escaping ’fore the dawn
as clouds undone beneath the sun release this captive pawn.
Jordan Rowan Dec 2015
I was moving
Just like everyone around me
I was losing
It was you who really found me
I'm too late
You say you're not available
I will wait
Another day

I believe in
All these things you say are wrong now
I'm not grieving
All the best things take too long now
I'm alright
I'll be better when you're near me
If not tonight
Another day

I was fleeing
The scene of my last lover
I was bleeding
But it was cleaned by another
You're a hero
Sent by years of wishing
I would say no
But I can't say no
Another day
Em Sep 2018
Excuse me while I scream
your name
Swallowing syllables the wrong way.
Choking.

Excuse me while I bite my lip and
bruise ******.
Nip my tongue.
Break my wrist.
Fighting with soft fists,
fleeing.

Excuse me while I stop, drop,
sit and wait.
Lie low. Ladylike.

The fire's lost sometimes,
deep within my ribs.
Excuse me, it's difficult to dig there.
Abigail Apr 2016
Disappearing like the sun
with captivating grandeur
Igniting the atmosphere
and gilding silhouettes

Gradually, then suddenly
(everything goes cold)
Fleeing from my life to leave
the bittersweet aftertaste

My soul did not burn with
The passion of anger or grief,
It stifled like a flickering flame
in the stir of his very existence
Andrew Rueter Aug 2017
Freedom flings
Tyrant kings
Into their rightful place
A head on a plate
Democracy inflates
The morale of the people
Oligarchy deflates
The idea that we're equal

Spiteful dictators make their way through the system
And dominate the world while nobody listens
Distracting people with things that glisten
Disseminating hatred as their vision
Engendering fear is their mission
To buy or sell weapons
For more money or more power
Dropping bombs from their ivory tower
From extreme explosions we cower
Explosions of hatred then violence
Explosions hastened by silence
Explosions of fire we ferment
To burn the faces off our enemy
To avoid exercising our empathy
Creating a world filled by entropy
People say ******* like freedom isn't free
When the currency we pay for freedom
Is restriction
We dampen our fiery feelings
With prescriptions

Freedom is free
It's inherent
It can only be taken or given away
It is not a proper excuse to slay
Those that rightly disagree
With what you're imposing

Freedom is fleeing far far away
When people are molded by clay
Of those with the power to shape civilians
Of those with the power to bring billions
Of people to their knees
When freedom is our fee
To live in timid apathy
Chrissy Feb 5
Would you please tell me when your heart is trembling , ready to erupt in a volcano of emotions
so instead of fleeing for my life
I can stay and try to mend the damage ?
All I want you to do is talk to me
Felix Sipido Oct 2018
Eros,
Or the limerence I feel.
Is it a sin to adore you?
Eros,
Or the way you drive me crazy.
Is it a sin to worship you?

Through time and space,
Through love and pain,
Eros, you paved the way.
For I was lost in the maze of live,
Fleeing for the shadow of Fear.
Eros, you rescued me
And like a green Pan
Led me to your world.

A world of magic where love flourishes
And sorrows die.
A world where finally
I could be free
With you.
Eros.

Pothos.
People driven by lust want to have ******* with each other. But people driven by Eros want to have a much broader fusion. They want to share the same emotions, visit the same places, savour the same pleasures and replicate the same patterns in each other’s minds.
Natasha Nov 2018
A butterfly broke its wings
from fleeing through the jungle of rage
then you came along
to gently kiss the cracks
rip a part of your skin
and sew the wings with it

Thank you,
for the butterfly has now witnessed
something more beautiful
than all the flowers it had ever laid on
i 'broke my wings' and it beautifully led me to witness an exquisitely beautiful form of love.
Zane Apr 2017
You held me in your loving arms as i wept
So sure i had found my way home after my long journey in through frozen land.

Now i'm turning to ash because i stubbornly refused to see that the warmth i thought i needed had left me on fire.
Then you threw me in a coffin,
Nailed it shut with your grin and covered it with the dirt of your promises.

Do you remember way back when?

I still remember the hotel room where I sat.
Fleeing the hand that gripped you.
I gave you words,
they were inadequate. Couldn't admit that I
abandoned you.
My fear grew, ever stronger. My delusion cast about me, a blanket to my conscious mind.

Remember further back when we were all smiles, blind to reality?
I sat with eyes closed for awhile. As if days don't turn to months to years.
Except, I forgot it ends like this.
Blue veins, cracked upon a pale surface.

That's me.

Seeing me.

And you.

For what you are.

For the first time.
Annatman Dec 2018
Lingering salt from the risen sand
Reminisces of a sea-side land
I have abandoned in search of peace
Arriving inland - no sea, no release
From the concrete-desert landscape
Bricks and bridges, and no escape
For the dirt from pores into water
Only mortar and glass, but the latter
Like the sea, shines and reflects
Made of sand, this mirage protects
The memory of this desert land
Where light, reflected, on the skin lands
Like airplanes arriving from distant lands
Where pigment - the only reminder that stands
Free from our far-fleeing, wandering hands
Memories, immigration, Israel, Crimea
Midnight Rain Sep 27
a boy is  fleeing
from the flames with
embers at his feet,
he chokes on the nostalgia
of the lost
swearing it was the last
time he'd ever go back,

a boy flees from
the flames
and yet, these flames
never seem to leave his
eyes,
his hands turn to smoke
during the night,
like a cry for help
before he’s all burnt out.

Jeffrey Stelling Nov 2015
In a dream I was a soldier
Rolling dice in the shadow of Christ
My head twisted, contorted, out of control
Away from my game to meet His Holy eyes
A heroic gaze staring purposefully into mine
He spoke with no words and thus unto me delivered
An enchanting message, One sent my spine to shiver.
'Twas of no average man, the soul with which I spoke
And as I understood him, I heard his corpse choke
up a gasp that sent the blood fleeing from my face,
And upon his magical message my soul seemed to shake.
"Of that you have done unto the least of thine brethren,
Thou hast done unto thee, thy lord, in heaven."
Edward Coles Feb 2017
The distant park
Was a graveyard of dead stars.
Each streetlight a system of worlds,
So many lives between each mote of light,
Indistinguishable in their unique love,
Bespoke hate, and the drama of the modern age.

Drunk laughter behind transparent
Double doors. Another hotel balcony,
Another cloud behind the canopy
Of marijuana eyes
To unsettle me from the crowd.

She points out, when you look closely
You can see the disorder
Amongst all constellations
Of life and love and litter;
Of discarded Coke cans
And temporary highs.

She says this is not a scene
To imbue the ****** of a present mind,
More to baulk at the incompletion
Of one thousand to-do lists;
A million reasons why
You should just stay inside.

She says you can see the human swell
Of ignorance, our city lights
Blotting out the stars
In a black ocean of broken politic
And irretrievable fault lines-
Divisions between us all.
Lives twisted with professional smiles
And eyes lit with stunning indifference.

Still, I have felt charity and warmth
On the doorstep of lunatics and fascists.
I have read the love of life
In faces of those who gave up.
I have recounted countless artists
Who saw beauty
In moments that precisely lacked it.

I have spent too many nights
In anaesthesia,
Fleeing each instance of feeling
And terror; all the tremors
That tell me I am still alive.

Continued to stare at the lights
Long after her voice
And the laughter inside had gone.

Heard waves in the traffic.
A world so large, so expansive,
It can never truly sleep.
Every broken heart,
Every war-torn land,
Every promotion,
Every one-night stand.

I wonder what would happen
If we all stood still.
If we all took one moment
To observe the motion
That unfolds beneath
Our static windowsill.

If we all took one moment
To recover our loss.
The wars that we won,
The feelings, forgot.
The hell we retain;
Our paradise, lost.
C
Erin Suurkoivu Oct 2016
There is nothing to pinpoint of the strange beast.
Only images,

Blurred and refracted,
Fleeing down a hallway of mirrors.

O maestro of conditions,
It is you they are in love with,

A dark sun unaware of its own orbiting planets.
They are the cause of all of it.

Every comet, every lack
Leaves a trail etched across your sky.

And in their eight eyes
Something seemingly whole becomes distorted,

A piece cut out made separate from the rest.
From this gulf appears a war engine,

A bite of venom,
The desire to **** what they can’t.

Darling of judge and jury,
Blame absolves them of all responsibility.

You are the sole carrier of their weakness.
They fill your skin with their nightmares.

Flesh as fruit
Is strictly poisonous,

Bleaching the sheets of the saints.
Now no more –

Vanished,
Like what was found and then lost.

Like what was married and
Soon divorced.

Still, notoriety is a phantom
Floating in cages,

Star player at a masquerade,
Costumed with your own face.
"Monster" can be found in my poetry collection, "Blood for Honey", available at Lulu.com and Amazon.
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