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meg Jul 17
My heart won't let me forget
people that have made me happy.

It seems to extend it's claws
and force them up my throat,
begging me to mention those
who I have tried so hard to leave.

I don't think I'll ever forget you.
I won't forget what you said.
I can't forget the broken
memories you left me.

I stopped doing what I loved to
feed onto affection that I had to fight for.

I went so long ignoring sunsets
my toes tied themselves to the tide
so all I had left was a lost freedom
that followed and laughed at my own doom.

I've been holding volcanos
in my eyes and lava in my heart,
I won't let you break me again.

I won't give you a place in my life
if all you do is prance around in the
ashes of my broken heart, dancing
to the sounds of my tear drops against glass.

I dream of you, even though
you're lost in my memories.
Your lack of love was fabricated
by my broken heart and mended into
loyalty and hope that you could change .

I wish I could just slowly let you go.
I wish I could slowly **** you with kisses
and send you off to the sky.
Maybe I'd find you in the stars.

There is so much beyond our scars,
beyond the lines that tangle
themselves around and
over our bodies,we break so easily,
but that's only since we love so hard.

I'll still miss you every sunrise
and find you in each sunset,
but I'll whisper to the moon
I want to go to the stars each
night till I'm in space.
first poem i wrote in a month
Jim Marchel Sep 2016
We will never forget...

The last day dawns on my life
And I don't know it
As I wake up to golden rays
Of sun knocking on my eyelids.

I kissed my wife good morning,
Got up out of bed
And tucked her in again.
Naomi spent 10 hours last night
Delivering a new mother's firstborn.
I didn't tell her good morning
And I wish I told her I loved her
But I didn't want to wake her.

I sipped my coffee on the way to work
As if it were any other day,
My only worry was if I had spilled any
On the new pink and white
Polka-dot tie my daughter Elise
Had bought me for my birthday
Last weekend
Or the new Bostonian shoes
My wife gave me
With the card that read,
We love you from top to bottom!

I walked into the conference room
And checked my watch:
8:36.
I was 9 minutes early
To the most exciting moment
Of my career:
My first pitch as project manager
For the new country club going up
East of the city in Glenwood Landing.

I was 10 minutes early
To the most helpless moment
Of my life.

At 8:45 I said good morning
To many fine ladies and gentlemen...
Bankers, lawyers, city representatives,
A union boss, some secretaries,
And a stenographer in the back.

The same words I would never again say to my wife and child...

And immediately I was thrown
Through the air
And knocked against the righthand wall
Of the room.
I was utterly confused
And my face burned
From the coffee I had been holding
That now stained
My beautiful polka-dot tie.

It would be nothing compared to the heat I would soon face.

Outside our 111th-story window
Rose an obsidian plume of smoke.
We all knew something terrible
Had happened just a few floors below.

The fine ladies and gentlemen
Of a moment ago
Quickly turned into uncivilized beasts
As the lights went out
And the piercing scream of the fire alarm
Shouted louder than the new mother
Experiencing the pain
Of her first childbirth.

Smoke very quickly came from below
And filled the floor with the foulest odor
I had ever smelled:
Burning rubber, sulfur,
And burnt hair.
Others in the room sealed the door shut
With expensive overcoats and undershirts
From Armani and Burberry.

They tried the phone countless times
But the line was dead.
I looked down at my watch
As a bead of sweat fell from my brow
And landed on my new tie:
9:11.

Today's date.

The fire alarm got tired of yelling
And the room was filled with an
Uncomfortable rumbling sound...

Flames...

...and the hysterical wails of the
Fine ladies and gentlemen in the room.
Some prayed, some wept together,
Others wept alone.
The one thing we all had in common
Was the persistent coughing
From the obsidian smoke
Slicing our lungs.

I looked down at my watch:
9:23.
The heat was now almost unbearable.
We huddled around the window
Jack or John or Jim smashed
With the powerful throw
Of a mini-refigerator.

When I gazed out the window
At the same sun that kissed my eyelids
This morning,
I was calm.
I thought of Naomi, who was
Surely watching on television
As her family called her to make sure
Her and I and Elise were alright.

Daddy's alright, baby girl.

I'm alright, Naoms.

9:31...
Gary or Greg was the first to jump.

I'll make it home to you, angels.

9:32...
Sophia or Cynthia was next.

Please, ***, get me out of here...

9:33...
Jack or John or Jim
And Patty or Peggy
Were each other's last hug
As they fell
Like two stars from heaven.

9:35...
I couldn't see
And I couldn't breathe.
The sunlight was the last thing to kiss me.

Before I jumped
I felt my girls.
I touched the tie on my neck
And the shoes on my feet.

I love you both

From top to bottom.
We will never forget...
Practice forgetting.

There are some things
which should be forgotten.

The poems we write are being
consigned to the internet's depth
where the data does not express the

semantic intent. As for this poem penned
by the user Mydriasis [real name unknown],
This too will go, it'll pass on, fade out; because
everything is an echo.
Oblivion take you.
My moon drips silver;
Gliding from its craters, flown
Across galaxies

Alien beings
Stare at its state; leaking a
Peak at what it is

But the moon's just the
Moon to us; nothing more than
A dab to the sky

How I wonder the
Way y'all see it tonight; can
You find the beauty?*

~Or is it just the moon?~
I feel sometimes I underappreciated things I never really seem to think are so incredible...
All feedback is welcome :)
OC Jul 30
Soon I will forget
and soon after
I will forget even remembering
For the world is several
times my size
imprinting its pieces in me
as fading images
The raindrops that pool to a puddle
forget how they once were an ocean
and the tree trunk loses sight of
its humble stem origin
Just like those
I’ll forget in a while
what was once
where I head
who am I
piece by piece
past and future break from the
now
oblivious
knowing nothing but grief
and not knowing
for what
Sorry for the lame translation. Proper English just could not capture what I was aiming for.
Marco Jimenez Apr 2017
I can hear your voice saying my name,
it feels good that you know it,
it sounds nice coming from your lips,
it looks sweet when you write it,
please..
say it again,
tell me you smile when you think of it,
that you love saying it,
and the vibrations you feel
as each syllable rolls off your tongue
sends tingles through your body,
I hope you never forget it.
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