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ryn Feb 2015
.
•they'd               
come at night•               
these footsteps are               
never light• always                    
heavy and running ar-                      
ound•...they are annoy-                        
ingly creepy..., these aw-                       
ful sounds•every night,                          
after eleven without                        
fail•into rooms,                        

us they would                        
tail• making a                        
din overhead                        
•when all                        
                         should
                        be quiet inste-
                         ad•like barefooted
                          children i would ***-
                          ume...•wandering and
                          exploring into every ro-
                           om•...could they come
                            wilfully•from the cou-
                                ple who live above
                            me•i very much

                             doubt so•bec-
                             ause this much
                             i know...•that
                             the neigh-

bour up-                    
stairs, they're                        
old•frail and meek;                            
never bold•they'd re-                            
tire early•after late, ne-                            
ver a party•now... there                            
the feet go again•drivi-                            
ng me almost insane•                            
on my ceiling now,                            
they're pacing•                        

they know i kn-                        
ow and they are                        
playing•these                        
invisible                        
                        feet•ne-
                        ver would we
                            meet•one thing for
                           sure•this is not a friv-
                            olous tour•determined
                            to tell•that they exist
                              as well•nothing i'm
                               certain but it is clear
                               •i think they really
                              like it here...•

                              •i don't think
                               they're leavi-
                              ng•they're
                 ­              bent on


staying...
.
I live in an apartment on the 2nd storey. My family and I would hear these footsteps every night.

Initially we would dismiss it to be the neighbour living upstairs but that became very improbable simply because the couple who lives above us are far too old to be jumping and skipping in the wee hours...

We have tried ignoring the sounds but they would intensify. We'd hear intentional heavy footsteps, running, jumping between rooms but most of the time they would follow us to whichever room we're in.

Lately these sounds had progressed to rapping on the concrete walls in my bedroom. I could hear them as I lay in bed knocking and tapping on the wall by me.

The thing is... I live in a corner apartment and beyond that wall is the exterior of the building... There is no way anyone could be on the opposite side of that wall...

Creepy much?
.
Chloe Elizabeth Apr 2015
He told me he didn't want to fall in love with someone 423 miles away
"That's a whole lot of foot steps" he said
I can't say that I didn't feel the same way
But I couldn't help look up at the moon and pray he was looking up too
I wished for him on every shooting star I ever saw
And I watched all the sunsets thinking about his hopes and dreams
"But the truth is I really do love you a lot" he said
The truth is I really did love him with all my heart too
Not a day goes by that I don't think about being with him
I never believed in soul mates, I always believed a person could love many people
And I still think that's true
But never in the same way you love that one person, the person you're meant to be with
That person in the world that in some way, somehow, finds you
That person was him
And maybe some day we'll end up together; but that day is not today, and it's not tomorrow
But one thing I know for sure is that I'll always love him
Just like I did from the start
All those footsteps away

By Chloe Elizabeth
JayceeJellies Feb 2015
"QUIT."
"QUIT."
"QUIT!"

Is all that I can think!

Quit stomping!
You're creating unwanted anxiety.
Why are you walking so harshly!?
Are you, maybe, angry?
I don't want to know.
Sebastian Macias Oct 2018
Moving forward
At your weakest moment
Surrendering to the truth
And above all,
Accepting the change
Beautiful people,
Doing beautiful things
There's a wild difference
Between what you see
And what you know
Sure a pretty face
Or shiny new car
Even a complete record collection,
I suppose, needed at times,
But have you ever
Sat yourself in a difficult position
Intentionally,
To find out who you are?
Marcella Faye Jan 25
I can hear you
Following closely behind,
With every footstep
That hits
The ground.

You followed
A path
Of deception
And it leads
Into your fall.

While your feet
Are stained in blood
As you walked past by,
Leaving trails
Behind.

There will be traces,
And you will never
Get away
Within these haunting
Memories.
Poetic T Aug 2018
liquid love poured from
           seeping fissures.
And she tasted his every moment.

He gave his essence so she could
       linger within a lifetime of memoires.
And she saw every pain of his existence.

Within her tears were reflections of his
            momentary happiness with her.
Knowing she would drain his pain away.


"To collect the pain of another
         is to know the true emotions
         of what its like to live within there anguish
"

We only know those we love truly by tasting
        the dirt left behind in there footsteps.
Everyone has prints in the past wished brushed away.
Matthew Roe Oct 2017
On autumns ground I walk,
As winters snow sky blindingly glows.

In the thylacines footsteps i tread,
On a path the future presents.

Sitting in a cafe, I realise,
The tea I have just had, was built from a billion lives.
Who tasted the leaves.
Who told the others.
Who invented the farm.
Who planted the leaves.
Who planted the seeds.
Who made them grow.
Who picked them.
Who told the nation.
Who created the plough, made the grow more effectively, created the axe, learned to chop a tree, learned to shape it, learned wood floated, came up with the ships, made the first boat, made it sail, told the others, discovered nations, learned their language, spoke it, found what they wanted, got tea, got it back, gave birth to 200,000 generations who split off as cup makers, baristas, cow farmers, milkmen, sugar farmers, sugar packers, cafe owners and tea farmers.
'CHEERS!'

We are indeed standing on the shoulders of giants, but the weight will build on ours.
Swimming the route laid out by the Baiji.
Inspired by my love of animals, specifically my curiosity about those that are no longer with us. Relating to how we are all ‘standing on the shoulders of giants’, following in the footsteps of those who have walked before us.
We walked in beauty at daybreak
a cool breeze blew through our arms
like long feathered eagle spirit wings

Sky pressed its cobalt palms
together in prayer and
bowed to the four directions

Stopping to commune with
the new baby across the street
round, gurgling Buddha face radiant
as the sun glittering above us

His mother expressed concern
over a recent viral infection he'd
just gotten over, her greenish gray
eyes beaming with maternal devotion
in the morningstar light

We continued our beauteous trek
I paused just off of Island street
to take a pine blossom bath
Thanking the noble, handsome pine
I immersed myself in the aura cleansing
prickly, tickling pine needles

A dark blue car ambled slowly pass me
wondering, "What the heck?!"

Laughing, I wandered on...
singing to the sun dancing higher in the heavens
showering the earth and all my
brothers and sisters
in Golden Beauty
Matthew Jan 17
a very small step that goes to the next.
It leaves and stops with fair hesitation.
Waiting and Restless.
Starting and Stopping
The movements going fast.
The feet, stomping.
The running, the saving, the freedom.
The tendency to always precede them.
Blur of speed
Never Stopping
The world asking
for silence
Quick response of
Stomp! Stomp!
The sound of a quickening run
Alice Wilde Jul 2018
She was born of a forest
And rests her heart  
Shallow in pooled dreams
Dripping further than her tears
Falling to soft earth.

She eats rosed lilies
And pickled cattails
All while
Her footsteps leave no absence known
As her lithe nymph body melts into foliage.

And her arms permanently reach
Into the void of
All unknowable things.
Grasping at gossamer threads,
Like thoughts that can't be spun together.
My
Four
Schiz(Zoo)phrenic
breaks
with reality
are
me

I can
-hear-
YOU

fluttering. . .
    fluttering. . .

birds communicating
        insects have emotion(s)

hear ~ravens
calling me

footsteps on the ceiling *

and you. . .
appear solid
I could've touched you.
I have had four complete hallucinations whereby everything was nothing real. The brain appears to open pathways that later in life open up without LSD leading to strange voices, shadow people, lights and auditory hallucinations.
Nat Lipstadt Apr 2016
~for lovejunkie, who loved this poem best~

so many reasons,
so many stones
yet unturned,
for each poem
a season,
for every season,
a given reason

eyes, dimmer,
hearing, harder,
memories, ha,
disappear as fast as
footsteps upon
my island beach

this then
my log,
of places momentarily visited,
capturing the of,
of me,
the exactitude of
where, when and what
I felt

what felled me,
the long and lat,
of the attitudes
of breeze and currents,
the happenstance that carries
a desperate soul
eager and afraid
to remember


"how fragile we are"

so memorized records here,
for his storage and his places,
both filled and unfulfilled,


poems, nothing more,
flawed each,
product of a flawed man,

here, for all to see,
most of all,
for the man,
to see himself
when the eyes of his mind
at last be shuttered
4/11/16 8:04am nyc
Bang! Bang! Bang!
T'was like a never-ending siren.
Wirh trauma engraved minds
blood on their hands
came bravery
in each man's heart and soul.
The battlefields were their cage;
they got themselves in
but couldn't get out.
Snowflakes sprinkled down from the sky like fallen men,
while the soldiers waited like sitting ducks,
before coming face to face with death again.

Still. Still. Still.
Without the squealing bombs
and earth shattering shells
all seemed to be oddly still.
For the first time in forever
almost as if they were frozen in time.
You could feel the silence
that hung over that wasteland
on the very night
of December 24th, 1914.

Tension, curiosity and confusion
wafted through the British trenches like incense.
and those three feelings
were the only things that loomed in the sky
until an all too familiar tune filled the night...
Sweet, muffled melodys filled the air
as a German silent night
was being sung everywhere.

Tranquillity took over each soldiers heart as they realised in that moment
it was Christmas days start.
Though they longed for their families
something felt true
as German symphonys whispered
through the cold nights gloom.

And soon,
the Englishmen had all joined in-
sounding somewhat like a broken choir- but to them
it was amazing.
An astonishing moment when
something felt right
and something felt fair
and that was the hope
they needed to share.

Voices. Voices. Voices.
Bouncing off the walls of each trench
of both German and Englishmen
from both sides of the fence.
The song 'silent night'
hung in the breeze
just like twinkling lights
laced around a Christmas tree.

Loud melodic Voices,
Flooded through the battlefield.
Soldiers grinning from ear to ear
while their hearts sung wonders.
But little were they sure
that singing wouldn't be the only alien sound they heard
that Christmas day or more.

Footsteps. Footsteps. Footsteps.
Feet crunching on the crisp leaves!
Englishmen were cautiously fumbling to see out of their trench
only to find Germans
wearily emerging from their wire...

In that moment
every weapon was lowered
and suddenly
possible peace approached. 
Soldiers then
from both sides of war
came out from their place of stay
and were civil
for what Christmas they saw.

As dawn broke
Christmas day approached
hands were shook
smiles were shared
and a glimmer of hope
flew around in the air.
Football, cards, carols and more:
christmas bought them all together
as snow fell heavy on the floor.

Loyalties didn't count for that day,
however all those hours after
once that first bomb went off in the distance,
It was like an alarm.

The alarm going off and saying
"Wake up! Wake up from this dream,
and go back to harsh reality".
And it was safe to say,
that not one of those men wanted to wake up.
But it was not an alarm-
as much as it sent the same message-
It was a warning instead.
A warning that they had to go back to their duties right away.

Smiles, frowns,
and sad looks all around.
Frohe Weihnatchen!
Merry Christmas! 
And all went back to their grounds.

A Christmas spirit was spread that night,
which might have been enough, 
to save a mans life.

Back to work,
it was war again,
but they never forgot,
they made a friend.
Whatever the rules,
they knew it felt right.

Silent night.
Silent night.
Silent night.
A peice on the Christmas truce in ww1. May we remember those who lost their lives as we read this, and may they all remain in peice, with pride.
Kristo Frost Mar 2013
Parallel tremors follow your heavy footsteps through the moss that carpets a maze of tired oak. Solemn warnings calcify soft thoughts and point you at the coal on the horizon. Its splinterglow peeks hot squints through the arboreal tangle. Topaz streams convene and braid themselves around your spine. The stones in the riverbed grow smoother and each becomes a grain of sand. You let the sand console your roots as you curl your toes and fall asleep.
Thom Jamieson Aug 2018
He dreamed he was loved.
A love guarded fiercely, with passion.
A love that was not unconditional.
Not the blank slate love of a child
or an animal so programmed by instinct.
This love was willful and earned.
Having glimpsed an injured brilliance
beneath the flab and sweat and stench she weaned it to health.
Making it stronger, and brighter,
and more prominent with each passing day; until it erupted.
And he was transformed.
to embody that brilliance.
And she protected that embodiment.
Letting nothing call it to question.
She cared for him as he never could for himself.
She soothed and softened
and loved the deep furrow from his brow.
And her passion overwhelmed him.

And he wanted for nothing.

And when he opened his eyes
To **** and filth
with only the kiss of concrete
and the banter of horns
and obscenities
and footsteps.
******* FOOTSTEPS.
Heels pittering purposefully to mask exhausted uncertainty
Brogues, and wingtips clicking; with a cocky juvenile illusion of importance.
Boots plodding heavily under the weight of duty,
to build, and fix, and secure for the others.
And through a fog laid thick and throbbing
by poisons chased dutifully the night before;
he felt her fierce love for a fleeting moment
Guarding, and loving his shining brilliance
until it erupted from him;
With bile and blood, **** and regret
coldly rejected by his concrete companion.
And she was gone once again.
I almost never write in the third person but thought I would give it a try (part of my narcissism therapy ;) )  Feedback welcome  (also part of it...:))
Purcy Flaherty Mar 2018
I heard the footsteps as they came across the road;
The snap of hurried feet outside the house.
Shapes in the moonlight, a voice in the darkness,
A knock at the door, I heard the dogs barking.    
The bleating of the flock,
The chatter of the birds omongst the trees,
I recall the whisper of the morning breeze;
Hyphening the broken silence as two boys stole about the house;
It was midnight in August 99.
Two sparks set out to chase the bang!
Bang!~ set them running.
I cut them down!
I cut them down!
-
I heard the sirens as the cops sped up the road;
The squeal of hurried wheels outside the house.
More shapes in the moonlight, a voice in the darkness,
A knock at the door, I heard the dogs barking.
The bleating of the flock,
The chatter of the birds amongst the trees,
I recall the whisper of the morning breeze;
Hyphening the broken silence as two cops stole about the house;
It was midnight in August 99.
Two cops set out to chase the bang!  
Bang! ~I put my hands up!
~and the cops took me down!
-
It's true ~
Judge I’m guilty, for everything they said I did; I did!
But there were reasons, don’t you see:
These boys; they were bullying me!
I called the cops on monday,  Tuesday,, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday, Monday again; till i was insain;
Two sparks set out to chase the bang!
Bang ~I cut them down ~ I cut them down!
~
Two cops set out to chase the bang!
Bang! ~ I put my hands up !
~ and the cops  took me down!

But the wolf just gave me twenty
untill the circus came to town,
As a victim I was lonely
but as a killer I was crowned.
King of the castle!
Top of the heap!
The talk of the town!
Here is the song link
https://youtu.be/j9whsrQCaIE
Read My Feelings Sep 2015
Such a restless mess,
wishing you could
count the steps,
you pace across concrete.

Threads catch,
scuffing clean socks:
devastating.

Ants emerge from tunnels
in your heart, marching
toward cranial burrows,
carrying answers.

Birds flock, strike, and take.
Your porous skull sits
open and empty, waiting.

The persistent flow of time
bears no change:
only the steady beat
of footsteps.

Neurons fire without purpose,
like legs plodding across the floor,
wearing new socks,
now tragically tattered.
This needs work.
7 September 2015, 6 pm
CA Guilfoyle Oct 2015
Sonoran desert
sacred hot breathed
scorch of footsteps, blood red sands
sun bleached, bones and skulls
this wash, a hallowed holy ghost
an unnerving place of hiss and fire
molten sun to dry the water
a drowning fever of red prickly sweat
last night, the Yaqui man you met
undulating in a purification ceremony
lashing, the energy cords cut
he is laughing like coyote, wild eyed
green the velvet, desert peyote
and you have come to understand
the universe in a fleck of sand.
I want to be this MAN called
Motivation !
Lace up my shoe strings filled, with inspiration.
Adversity is crushed on by the soles beneath my feet
This man has a strong voice,
One that makes the ears bleed !
One lesson from his story,
Will give power and confidence.
He was guided by the lost, humble to the found
I want this man
To go the full 12 rounds
They said this man shoes were too big.
Keep on walking motivation !
It shall be filled.
Look up to the crowd
And you will be surprised how many eyes will follow.
This man you say ?
Will be a step closer,
If you focus on a better tommorow.

©MH
ᕼOᑎEY Aug 2018
All this
Talk
Talk
Talk

No one is any better

No one ever changes

I'm hoping for a better life
I hope to not follow their footsteps

Talk
Talk
More talk

I'm so tired
My ears might explode

I'm not sure how much I can take
before I let it all out
Grace Feb 2015
In flickering eyes
Is the glow of a smoldering fire
They are sizing us up

My body transforms, a whirlwind
A temple for worship
To a stage for performance

All eyes are on me
Shadows flickering on the walls
Whispers scattering
Hurried footsteps down the hall

Their lips glisten in the dark
A shred of light
Despite the darkness  trapped inside

Grumbling stomachs
Resonating like heart beats
Growling for me

They are starved
For my skin
Ravenous

For to them
I am nothing more
Than meat
Because I am not solely for your entertainment.
Kristo Frost Mar 2013
Turn, camera, follow the sound of footsteps, nervous in the dark, echoing away down the fogsoaked street. The night begins to cool and it starts to rain beneath the lampposts. Glance, only briefly, at the clerk who pulled the graveyard shift, curled on the floor under the register, clutching at the bullet in his belly. There is a gentle kindness in seeing the world how you want to. Show me the money. You watch the fog.
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