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grace snoddy Dec 2017
a new beginning starts here.
when we let the absence of words
sink in our skin and flow through
the red and blue veins.
to let silence become apart of us as a whole.
and to be ridden of awkward
and gently colored with tranquility.
when we are consumed with the most
heavenly stillness,
we appreciate the things
that normally don’t come to eye.

a new beginning starts here.
an interconnection manifested in the
deficiency of conversation.
an ambience that is better than any
formulation of sentences.
our unspoken vowels and consonants
playfully roll around
in the quiet rest of the atmosphere;
it speaks louder than your steady heartbeat
and collected breathing.
روبرت Nov 2018
Missing; nope you’re not missing
In; but you’re still in my life
Action; you’re the action in life
With each tump of my heart you course through my veins
Your love is the marrow of life and it drips from my lips with every formulation of “I love you”
Nervous butterflies fly in my belly because they can’t find their nectar
You’re not missing; my heart disagrees
You’re clearly in; but in is a mater of perspective
You’re full of enriching action; but my anxious mind struggles to keep up
You’re not MIA; My pesky friend named “Mr. Self Love” took the bullet this time
Brynn S Dec 2018
Have you ever watched the stars fall from your eyes?
Not many have, it’s a terror that masks itself as blue
Once the stars fall they reveal the darkness beneath
The absolute
That’s what I call it, it’s an immenant force awoken by madness
It exhumes itself from a dusted space and collects the spare thoughts
It feeds on my lungs, it rips pieces of my soul
Dragging them down to the plunging tides to be washed and preserved into a formulation of unbridled torment
I have not the slightest to why my heart beats in two awful tones
Maybe it’s the excitement, maybe the moans
I need not worry for breath falls short
I always reconcile back to the night it made itself known
A dwelling creature beneath my stomach
Risen from the ashes and buried in self pity
The sad clown of desire without as much as a tear I stood there petrifical in glances
Watching the bottom of the glass come closer, it snuck up on me as it’s fragments plunged into my chest and brought with it the terror
Frozen in silence I heard only the wails of my lungs
False Poets Oct 2017
An excerpt from           An excerpt from
a poem by T.S. Eliot.     a poem by the False Poets

Between the idea          no permanence in juxtaposition
And the reality              where Falls the Shadow, the shadow
Between the motion.     a divisive notion caught between
And the act                    composition & action, the response is
Falls the Shadow           Falls the Shadow

Between the conception grayed outline indistinct, the cognitive sap
And the creation              leaks, contradictions irritating birth sac,
Between the emotion      whereupon Falls the Shadow emerges
And the response            the response conclusive, occlusive, collusive 
Falls the Shadow             Falls the Shadow
Between the desire          juxtaposition insertion, need to achieve
And the spasm                 the blurted ****** of spurted letters born
Between the potency.      in the potent white seeds of black words
And the existence            coming into existence as a riptorn issue,
Between the essence        essences of scents blood+logic foretelling
And the descent               birth & death, descent & the ascent, both,
Falls the Shadow              Falls the Shadow

Between the desire            the desire desired, completed,
And the spasm                   the latency uncovered,
Between the potency         the potent toxins of spit and tears
And the existence              the birth fluid of  of existence
Between the essence          the formulation of the human essence
And the descent                 from blood dust to blood dust is where
Falls the Shadow.               Falls All the Shadows
October 2017
no cure exists
Or solution ever able
to become that Saving Grace
when hope is unavailable

No attainable cure-all miracle
will fall like manna from above
To make solid and sublime
the rising tendrils from and made of

The sine qua non
Of all pipe dreams
to regard themselves a panacean
non nostrum renderings

No cure will endure
Nor antidote denote
Any solution as an absolution
when the God sent boon
is only a mirage -  an impediment
a harbinger of that which cannot be

  a chimera

  formed by all malignant fears
becoming the very anathema to self perseverance
The formulation of
abject hopelessness and despair
No Panacea exists to cure the pain of
Believing when we are gone....that......
....... no one will care!!

— The End —