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Annabelle Lee Apr 2014
Miss Annabelle Lee
Such a pretty girl;
Her tall, thin frame
Her long, blonde curls

Miss Annabelle Lee
As light as a feather;
She drifts in the wind
Through the tough, stormy weather

Miss Annabelle Lee
She hates what she sees;
She's melting away
Blowing off with the breeze

Miss Annabelle Lee
Now so frail and so weak;
She needs to be thinner
But her body's calling defeat

Miss Annabelle Lee
Rest in peace, my dear friend;
You got your last wish
Now you're gone with the wind
I myself and people close to me have suffered with eating disorders, so they can be personal and touchy subjects to me. This was written about anorexia and some of the things the mindset can bring.
Spenser Bennett Apr 2016
Drown out the sound
Frail fingers cupped around fragile ears
The voiceless singing too loud to hear
Sorrow filled songs of the proud

Sightless eyes still search for light
As she wanders through barren fields
Still the salted soil will not flowers yield
Emeralds or diamonds shine too bright

Calm storms whisper ghostly lullabies
As dead weather stirs living men
Dead men search for passion again
Buried too deep to reach blue skies

Ashes to dust
Blanket our frigid hearts
Purpose of mind a fire starts
Consign me not to trust
There were warning signs to beware,
great walls you had to climb,
more parcels inside,
sealed with labeled reminders
to handle with care.
That a wrong cut of a wire
could trigger explosives,
that the place wasn't just fragile,
it was also volatile.

There's a reason why
from miles away you'd been told
to keep your own distance.
Why this wasn't just something
you could happen to stumble upon,
but a shipwreck, a paper town,
a lost city you needed to find.

When it dawned upon you
that this was not paradise,
but a haunted cemetery of some kind,
you snuck your way back
to the hole you fell into;
burning the place to the ground,
like the ones who came before you.
Inktober 2019
Day 8
Prompt: Frail
Lizzy Oct 2014
My words, becoming literal.
I'm losing grip on deeper thoughts,
I wish I could find something more
But darkness fills my deepest caves.

I cannot mask my blunt remorse,
Unsatiated hungry thoughts.
I try so hard but I am weak,
My dusty bones can't hold my weight.

I am a force to all I love,
A burden they cannot hold up.
I'm sorry I am much too frail,
But you don't have to keep me safe.

There's something wrong inside my head,
I keep on wishing I was dead
Jordan Rowan Dec 2015
I'm tired of taking off my own belt
I'm tired of feeling what I've felt
I'm tired of giving up so easy
I'm tired of no one trying to see me
I'm tired of complaining and whining
I'm tired of the wanting and pining
I'm tired of sleeping all alone
I'm tired of staying at home
I'm tired of listening my thoughts
I'm tired of everything I've got
I'm tired of staring on the mirror
I'm tired of trying to wipe it clear
I'm tired of silent, early mornings
I'm tired of romantically mourning
I'm tired of my ever-drying lips
I'm tired of my calloused fingertips
I'm tired of listening to happy people
I'm tired of being frail and feeble
I'm tired of being alone
I'm tired of being alone
L Aug 2018
This life we're living, this place we're at, this thing we're feeling. Its amazingly surreal. Like a waking dream that is our reality. Almost too good to be true. And while every rose has gotta have its thorns, even our thorns are, oh, so sweet. Maybe they remind us of how frail we are. How quick a ***** could draw blood. And even the blood is sweet. In a way. In a dark twisted beautifully morbid way.
                                   Our way.
Email is the most intimate form of communication. It is also the most frustrating. The proof is in the persistence.
Do not say, what you feel
I'm not here
To listen
Do not remember me
I'm not the one
Who cares
Do not dream of me
I'm not the one
You deserve
I can't be there, where
You want me to be

Then he/she felt
Nothing left
No dreams
No wishes
No voices
Nothing at all

Stayed silent with
A fragile heart
A heavy head
A dead soul
Since then
Genre: Dark
Theme: Tough Time
O' how they rise above each other,
the descendants of Babel!
Rebels to forefathers.
All as righteous as they seem –
to the law, but not to reality

Towers Among Towers!
unreachable by mere ones
mocking the lowlands
with their heights  
Even dreams could not fathom!

And oh, how Towers fall too,
at the top of their limit.
Catastrophe! Phenomena!
their power too is frail
because there is always
One that stands taller
than any other could avail.
When all falls, the towers will first
ryn Jan 2015
.
             *the *future is...a tornado of uncertain-
          ty• a swirling vortex, in its centre is
me•such power and speed, can ne-
ver see•can never foretell, it's hid-  
den debris•like clockwork, it will        
   make contact•by the second, bra-        
cing for next impact•the past is...      
  yet another•wild winds that echo      
     my mistakes as reminder•this twis-         
      ter within...tearing with no remo-    
           rse•destroying confident strong-
             holds, breaking feebly boarded
           doors•can't ease the rage...eat-
    en from the inside•won't stop
until...my beating heart had
        died•the present is...only this  
   frail little body•fighting huge 
battles that come incessantly  
  •fending off the future, con-        
    taining the past•not know-            
ing how long.......this disas-       
ter would last•but I'm still      
   here.....still holding integ-         
   rity......•still fighting this       
war waged in history's        
folly•will i be settl-
ed? will the winds
ever abate?•
will i ever
      come to    
terms...?
will i
ever
    acc-
          ept
                     fa      
                 t
               e
             ?
             •
Corey Apr 1
Allow me to take Springs flight
and blossom with the sun
The birds arrive with morning light
nesting, with new life begun

And in these mornings let me see
that the birds have come so far
Let me hear the buzzing bees
and not forget what ears are

Allow me, then, to speak my mind
and listen to the words spoken
A drop of honey from the hive
of knowledge and of emotion

And in those days of trials, troubles,
I’ll no longer hold my tongue
But in careful breathing I easily struggle
and need reminding how to use my lungs

Allow me next to closely whisper,
to ask myself for forgiveness.
The trees forgive the retched winter
for its cold, unending stillness

And in the next days I ask for time
to take note of my frailties,
but in the Spring, I will rise
with radiant and blossoming peace
A young girl is walking on a sinuous and rough trail.
Wounds and scratches have found its place in her body, so frail.

As she reached the end of the pathway, she began to feel decrepit and impuissant that she wanted to discreetly skreigh.

On a cloudy dark night, a boy appeared in the fog.
He said
Everthing will be okay..
Don't worry..
Just take my hand..

He took her to a place
that is very bright,
dazzling that it hurts
her heavy eyes.

They both sitted on an evergreen
well-groomed grass.
She noticed the beautiful scenery that appeared.
It calmed her mind,
her heart,
her whole being.

The sun shines,
the water by the river is crystal blue,
the breeze of the wind blows her hair.
She have seen the skies,
the birds and the flowers
surrounded by tall trees.

This place is filled with love, joy and happiness.
This is the place that she can choose to be with
or she can be in another world..

                                          - Ella Salvador
(c) June 2018
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?
.
wes parham Aug 2017
Loyal hearts are a paradox,
These strong and frail commodities,
They're not concerned with etiquette,
Or confused by love's vast oddities,
They're strongest not for how they love,
Not weak for vision that they might lack,
They're strongest once they've been abandoned,
Love one who will not
Love them back...
Sometimes, I leave comments on someone's poetry in verse, reflecting what I got out of the piece.  This was one of those from a recent read on HP, reflecting some of my own feelings at the same time about trust, loyalty, and what happens when love (or even  friendship) is abandoned.
Jessica H Oct 2012
Left with traumas that are immensely heavy, too frail to keep dragging them along.
To flee is not an option
my woes have quick legs to chase me,
I fall to the ground in exasperation,
to wait for an able-bodied hero that will never come
Jordan Rowan Jan 2016
Electric dreams of crying electric sheep
Sweep through my mind full of sleep
Dance across the diamond sky
And wave as your silhouette goes by

Crying crystal eyes fixed upon the sun
With no thoughts of many but just one
The one who sings in hazy blue bars
Illuminated like the northernmost stars

Melodies warm the air and the heart
Drift past the door and into the dark
Deep in the mystery of human life
Rests the emotion tied to one night

Calm and frail under sapphire skies
Doubt and worry in worn-out eyes
Never known yet unignored
Never had but longed for
Jeannery Jul 2018
Give me a reason to smile
Make me believe your own style
Tell me all about your profile
Prove me you're worthwhile.

Give me reasons to fall for you
Assure me I am your only one
Spoil me when I feel so blue
Make sure all my sadness and doubts will soon be gone.

Give me reasons to stay,
I hope you know I'm frail.
Make me feel loved everyday,
Sweet scents of yours, I want them all to inhale.

And if you find me not worthy anymore,
Tell me as soon as possible.
I'm tired chasing like before
Don't make me chase, that's so impossible.




--jeannery a.




was written last june 16 and if ever you're going to read this, honey this is not really for you, sorry. I don't know why I wrote this but okay whatever
Cody Root Apr 2015
..
Please be gentle, because I am frail
If you're going to break me, I want it to count
I want to be a million pieces of shattered glass blowing in the wind
Spreading like the weeds you pluck from your garden every day
So when you're walking barefoot through the green grass
You may stub your toe and remember that I used to be more than just a thorn in your foot
I used to be the mirror you looked into every morning, laughing because there's no one you would rather see across from yourself
I was once a seed you planted in your mind
You will let me grow with beauty and might
And you will **** me out when I occupy too much of your space
Like a **** in your garden,
Please be brutal, so I can no longer be frail.
Kato Locke Feb 2017
Seemingly small and insignificant,
It sits atop my finger, like a bird perched on a branch.
A symbol of great power,
Yet shrunken and frail as paper.
Its hidden beauty rivals those of
Aphrodite.
My love for it swells
Like a well after a heavy rain.
Oh, this paper crown,
Its simple beauty
Is a gold as pure as any other.
Its paleness is greater than snow,
Its weight light, but heavier than
the empire it represents.
This paper crown, worthy of a Queen.
This was written for a class project
L B May 2017
“...Your words were found and I ate them.
They became a joy to my heart. In my mouth—
a sweet delight, but in my belly—bitter...”
                                                ­ --Jeremiah


...But that night
by dim background of next-room light
I could not see your face
just feel your hush of shadow words
on spine of shudders

Seems we dropped this bomb
that would not stop exploding!

...And I was sure?
that it was right?
because...because....!
Their eyes were slanted!
So they could not see—
the “Good Guys”
VANISH—
WIDE-EYED—!
in its TOO-MUCH-LIGHT

Still your voice insists
in pause and fissioned hiss
that I MUST KNOW
in tender half-life
TRUTH
too pure
too deadly white

I swallow lethal glowing dose
HOW CAN YOU SPEAK
SUCH WORDS SO CLOSE!

EXPOSED!

“...in mouth sweet—in belly bitter…”

Stories? and the Grandma Song
rendered tender—lull of voice
Soul’s cabinet cleared of venial sin
Last of all—the tucking in.....

They say you first get sick....*

Seems we dropped this bomb
that would not stop exploding!
And I am invisibly ill—with truth
approaching critical mass

Will angry rads incise their ways?
Will leaden swords of angels drive them back?

In this night—
my bedtime stories fainted at your
whispers...whispers...WHISPERS—

fusing an oblong fear
that I MUST NOT DROP!
but I cannot hold!

Fetal-folded
frail and freezing
under covers— just barely peeking

“Jesus hanging on the cross…Tell me-- was it I?”
Jesus hanging in the cross
TELL ME! IT’S NOT TRUE!

"Tell me, mother
Were you God talking?

I could not see your face
by the next room’s light..."
My mother told me some bad **** sometimes just before bedtime, and I never forgot it.
Written 1995
how faint his final cry
how frail his last goodbye
plays on low as he drifts away
'song of the sandman lullabye'
he wraps himself in memories
he finds a dream and falls
the music on a constant loop
makes its way down hollow halls

morning light now finds no breath
the pen's ink soon to dry
his final words
his quiet death

'song of the sandman lullabye'
Andrew Rueter Nov 2017
I scoffed at my minor cough
Until I was immobile as a sloth
I had to press pause on my life's tale
After I became a beached whale
And my body turned frail
In my illness jail

My stoic resolve tested
My pain threshold crested
The way I act is antisocial
The way I feel is anti-hopeful
For I treat others poorly
When I'm hurting sorely

In sickness for health
I give away my wealth
To feel one hundred percent
That's the physician's intent
To make me experience drainage
But I need the healing medicine
So I can practice the discipline
Of removing my diseased shark's fin

Ramses II, known as Ramesses the Great
Had a permanently fractured finger
And his teeth were significantly rotten
The pharaoh's excruciating pain
Must have effected his reign
A massive amount of men slain
Is discomfort what's to blame?

When there's no pain relief
We give each other grief
And there's a lion with a thorn stuck in its paw
Eventually that simple thorn becomes a claw
Spenser Bennett Apr 2016
Calm in silent mourn
Trees bow beneath the frail storm
Light sings sorrowful
Tammy M Darby Dec 2016
Allowing my heart to plummet into iridescent spiraling tides Dipping my thoughts into iridescent spiraling tides
Trailed my fingers through the cold waters of the mind
Releasing thoughts from the subconscious purposely hidden
That by self-command were long forbidden

Reviving emotions once deliberately struck from thought
The body a pale failing vessel
The faint beat of a frail heart

In my, despair I leaped into the waters of time
Disappearing into gathering memories
Chose not to rise
Preferring a surreal obscure existence
Immersed in rivers of doubt  
At loves insistence

All Rights Reserved @ Tammy M. Darby Dec. 25, 2016
The raindrips are dropping outside for a change,
some way I still feel them draining through my decrepit veins.

Thunderous applause for the storms that wage,
The wars that I've paid for with my strayful ways, day after day.

Come now,
Come play in the swaying waves forming aside my imminent lines,
The ones that play and play on,
Bouncing and rebounding around inside my mind(s).

Tip, typing away,
Fueled by the fires outside this time.
Each of these rampant keys seal away the pains that fray these frail heartstrings.

Filling the gutters with the utterances that speak the futile fightings,
Flying through the air,
With the nimbus lighting my way through the faintest of nighttime scenes,
Hoping these barely discernable dreams are the ones that will see me through the day.

Easing my restless heart with the chaos rains that thunder and pour,
They sway my mind to sleep.

Pray,
that it will all be over soon,
or perhaps,
even today.
Timothy Jun 2013
Withered flow'rs from long ago preserved still,
Though long since dried they contain no perfume;
Gone is the loved one, lingering at will
On the memory and within my room.
Withered thou might be, but I love thee best
As thou wert, but now within my frail mind;
I see thee as yesterday, but thy rest
Among the angelic choirs I shall find,
Thy form once more as that delicate flow'r.
This cherished thought shall always be within
My heart, and henceforth each and ev'ry hour;
This is my love and it shall never end.
Throughout all of these—my remaining years,
The memories of thee, shall rain as tears.






**~Timothy~
© Timothy 3 June, 2013.
L B Nov 2016
Susan
with her china-white skin
relaxed
down to lace bra and *******—

“Have you ever heard this?” she asks

… sets the album, drops the needle
in the groove
We wait till bass fills in the room
sending time and silence empty-handed
down a hallway

Susan lights a joint
settles on the bed
ample legs begging apart
She ***** in deeply
impounding clouds  
Head thrown back
Thick glossy hair—
loses gravity
Eyes half-closed, shadow-heavy
clear and blue like piano
The walls are muted trumpet
stutter-hush of cymbal and the snare
Crackling over scratches

We are barely there

Susan exhales
a swirl of fog to a frail moon
Only her sultry voice still holds me tethered

“Have you ever heard anything— like this?”

Miles flows 
around me
Smoking
On the floor of Susan’s room
lying clothed and drunk
Soaked
with chords and wonder

I never hear him coming

Miles takes his time
Clearly, Susan was not the ****** here.  The year was 1969; Lowell State College dormitory in Massachusetts.  I was 19, a music major and on my way to becoming "radical revolutionary" and a poet. The album, I think, was Kinda Blue with Miles Davis and John Coltrane et al

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zqNTltOGh5c
yuki motokane Dec 2016
i stare
at his
closed eyes

lashes
longer
than mine

skin
so flawless
and pure

envy not
love him
i do

holding on
to bright
colored flowers

ironic
to his
black and white

casket too big
for his
thin frail body

a boy
once filled
with life

now
just a
memory
Erin Suurkoivu Oct 2016
War paint I always found unnecessary:
Gloss for manicured lipstick commercial princesses
Not of my kind.

And though I walk with shield, I am without armour:
Ramparts mere cheekbones,
Bare skin impressionable as snow.

Boot-print,
The mark I hated. My characters:
Frail tree rings, exposed to the chill night air.

Gold inlay frozen solid.
The fairly bound dream factory
Lies purple with melancholy.



It’s the world’s bruise. It colours sudden,
Shadowing the other side of the room
Where it paused, rare moth

Lighted upon my dark reflection,
A Mona Lisa dressed in black
And reminiscent of bobby sox.

Beauty without fanfare.
Stuff of woods: we do not glitter.
We don’t call out.

Our tongues are both dumbstruck bells.
Shy rabbits, we fold within ourselves
And sequester our secret pulp.
Dumbstruck is a poem featured in my first collection of poetry, "Blood for Honey", available at Lulu.com and Amazon.
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