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v Mar 5
I come to them with a question
they speak to me subtly, quietly
often in silence
their insights flow as they are understood
as above, so below,
as within, so without,
they tell me
all is not outside of yourself
Johnny walker Nov 2018
Even In death, I have an
obsession with Helen she
kept me alive through the
poems my pen she guides
total control to what I
write
Approved my now late wife
so strong was our love It
carries me through the heart
felt pain of grief she made
her mark here In my
heart
Obsession heart felt pain of grief Helen
saved me from
Vivid demise guides
Me; can anyone hear me?
Why won't you save me?

What numbs me worthless,
The vast veer of intention,
Why won't it take me?

Evolve existence,
Into inaudible cries
For mental relief-
I've been working on long poems, with these stories, I kinda just wanted to make something small, but with a bigger meaning. I hope I did that in this one.
All feedback is welcome and appreciated!
Elaina Dec 2013
I find myself standing alone in the barren valley. The wind is cold, it burns my nose. I feel it moving my hair. Shivers run though me. The smell it brings tells me that snow is not far off.

Looking in the distance, clouds cover the mountain. It's where I must go. A new home lies beyond the tall peaks. It's calling me. Why did it send it's message now?

It's hard to explain this pull it has over me. I must get there. It's where I belong. Where I am supposed to be. Moving forward I keep my focus. Determined to survive.
...........

It's warmer now. I feel the heat of the sun. The brightness of the day has replaced the gray of the dawn. Others are making themselves known.
..................

I see the tall grass move against the wind. Rabbit moves leaving a trail of dust. The shadow of a hawk passes to the left as it chases after it's intended meal.
...................

Soon I must eat. Looking around I see the dew covered tips of tender new shoots. Putting my head down I breathe in the scent of the earth, knowing that she will always provide.

Walking again I pleasure in the warmth of the sun.
...................

Looking up, the peaks are throwing their shadow over me. I begin the climb. Steady I go, feeling more and more sure of my path. The path that guides me home, and the path that guides my soul.

The higher I climb, the colder it gets. Patches of white snow appear. The clouds of my breath fade into the space in front of me. Onward I push, my goal is true, to reach the other side.
...................

The more I struggle, the more I want this, need this. Placing one foot in front of another I make my way.

To the right, I see not far off, a overhang. A place of shelter for the night. The daylight is gone and rest is calling. When the sun rises next, my journey will take me deeper into the mountain, nearer to my home.
....................

Late into the night, stars appear. Brilliant lights such as I have never seen. The air feels new, so cold and crisp. It tells me that new beginnings are here. I sleep knowing all is well.
.....................

The morning sun brings relief from the cold. As I travel onward, it's warmth on the snow provides water to quench my thirst.

The trees are gone now. The rugged mountainside holds little in it's rocky soil. Life is scarce. This only serves to increase my drive to get home. Soon, very soon, I will be there.
......................

The sun that brought warmth earlier has crossed over the peaks. Cold is settling in, but I can see the end of the rise. In a very short time I will be in sight of my new home.
.....................

My soul is singing. Far off in the distance, I look down on a flock of birds winging effortlessly through the air. Light from the late afternoon sun is dancing off the winding river, and a heard of Buffalo graze freely among the grasses.

At last, I step down from the mountain. The overwhelming drive that guided me, has lead me home. Everywhere I look, I see what brought me here. Tears form. I am more than blessed. I am... complete.
The original running title was 'Come back for more, or is this the end?: January 15, 13, 8, 5e, 1. December 31x2, 29, 14, 9, 8'.
Robert G Page Jan 2012
by
rgpage

face down she rests her naked form
head turned from her lover's glance.
eye's closed she lies and knowingly waits,
(a) loving touch starts passion's dance.

his huge hand moves across her back
with strokes the touch of butterfly wings.
upon her creamy skin so smooth
its path now set toward splendered things.

his pace a slow deliberate score
her passion's breath he brings,
from touch so soft, igniting sparks
with love her breath now sings.

his steady course she knows so well
with yet every touch as if it's new.
her sparks of passion love's embers light,
love's embers loving hue.

down past her rear with feathered touch
just knowing where to go,
behind her knees his fingers dance
to passion's steady flow.

their hips now in synchronic dance,
love's voluntary ride, she feels his
passion grown so hard,
now pressed against her side.

he cups her breast so gently
as if it were a flower,
its ****** earlier soft and small
now hard with passion's power.

and in her ***** great sparks erupt
her soft and pleasured flesh.
with juices flowing, desire's high
to meet love's natural crush.

now she turns to meet his lips
her passion running high.
with savage hunger she pulls him in
her hunter now the prey.

tables turned their urge well matched
desire holds the pace.
she takes control and guides his love
with feminine stealth and grace.

to places only she could know
where sparks ignite
small streaks of light,
that illuminates her soul.

together they fend love's tempting end
to stay their lover's dance.
to take control and reach their goal
the essence of their romance.
You can see how Endorsements feed your I
That Shy Ghost whose Casper does not exist
Fare alone for Cause to swallow your Pride
Which when accomplished guides your Star at Best
Just how often do we see your Girls cheer
And Pray for Purpose very Few will get
Hymns they Sing; From Media beg you to hear
Even when such Few harbour Good Intent
I guess those Executives knew your Cue
What would Attract and what would sure Pursuade
Even at Cost your Temple lost its Due
And they cry Happy at your Virtue, fade.
Those Trunks still shrink much to Addict's Delight
So climb your Board and do your Dive in-spite.
#tomdaleytv #tomdaley1994
Erin Suurkoivu Sep 2016
Would you leave me lost?
I could use the stars as guides,
and yet I could find
my way
so much better
by the light of the moon.

Would you leave me breadcrumbs?
I hope the birds
would not have picked them clean.
There might be branches broken
through a rough pathway of trees
that I could follow
in hopes of tracking you.

O, but darling,
the darkness is absolute.
Featured along with other fine poems in my poetry collection, "Witch", available on Amazon or through Lulu.com.
shogunzoe Apr 2015
Snakeskin umbrella guards a king from the shower
as hailstones sail as if fired from a tower.
Bespoke time bandit guides an eye to the hour.
Moments plucked precisely like seasons of a flower.
As the clocks tick seconds off the lives of a coward,
the worried watch quiet as the minute grows sour.
A samurai arrives to strike the iron:
he was the wise scion on his way to claim the stars of Orion.
A coward dies a thousand deaths. Strike while the irons hot.

If there was a time traveler whose job was to alter the continuum in order for dreams to come true, this is his mission statement.

Written at midnight in honor of national poetry month.
Sharon Talbot Sep 2018
Mourning

Mourning is an eerie thing,
Not always tied to death.
It may celebrate or sing,
May widen eyes or lighten breath,
May bring unexpected things.

Sometimes it is a wayward thief,
That steals among the tombs;
It can alter feelings, and twist beliefs,
Searching for less bitter rooms,
Yet it brings a strange relief.

The heart may not know it,
Nor the mind accept it,
But it may be for the best.
As it guides the sorrowful away from grief,
To a long and healing rest.
Re-reading this, I was reminded of some of the riddles in JRR Tolkien'ts "The Hobbit". I'm fairly sure these were based on the word-play of either Anglo-Saxon speech or Middle English, that Tolkien knew so well. Perhaps I worked some of this in unknowingly?
Empiricprotagon Nov 2018
you had frequently checked her favorite place
like she's going to sit there as usual

you talked with that place
like you talked with a person
cause you think it's a part of her

she's your favorite ghost
the one that you've always talked to
in every night that comes as a gloom
without expecting any answer

she's your favorite ghost
the one that you've always imagined
her presence sticks in your head
her memories floats on the stream of your blood

three years has passed
it's unbelievable that you survived

you're going to where your vision guides you
it's going to be beautiful
but it won't be easy
This is a note for myself to keep myself living.
cause i never really moving on since my grandmother's death.
sophia Jun 2017
when my heart's deepest clench lose synergy with the words i behold for the man on the stars whose light guides me through the lines that sing my i love you's, my emotions wander everywhere. they whisk and bound but they somehow found themselves in him.
Ashleigh Black Jun 2014
You have to know that deep down inside all of the cracks and crevices of your heart that I will always fit in those fragmented spaces. You want to know how I know this? Because you are my morning songbirds when I wake up and my northern star that guides me home on dark summer nights and your heart aches when I ache like we are in each other's skin. I fit nowhere else but here.
I got a notebook so now I'll spend more time thinking before I write.
Peace Jul 2018
Touch the stream of her essence & let your hands flow through the river.

As the air guides your desires you feed off the heartbeat, of her emotions.

Frequencies sending waves of her scent,
whiffs of the undying,
undoing of her beauty taking you to heights unknown.

You drifting to the edge of this garden of vibrant possibilities,
continue to control the animalistic side of you to possess,
& claim the body of the innocent,
inviting woman,
of your clan.
She walks at night likes passion's grace
Through nebulous fields of dream landscapes
Wild Morpheus her footsteps guides

She’s lust’s impassioned wile incarnate
Her will like swirling ocean currents
Endows the night with wanton purpose

Sent from heaven's pearly gates
To make men ponder mortal fortune
Tempting spirits will to sate

Demanding accolades of prowess
To satisfy her primal needs
Traverse her treacherous terrain

Her visage of immortal love
Like honey dripping from the comb
Inspires reckless heart's abandon

Dawn comes like coitus interruptus  
Narcotic wisps of contention fade
A thrall with no earthly recourse
Infatuated with the feminine mystique in general can leave you unrequited.
Corey Apr 2017
Religion has such power. It guides in a
certain direction while allowing the followers
to take on their own life. They are submissive
despite its controlling ways.

I worship you, and you worship the moon.

It has such control over you. It allows
your tides to rise and to fall. Yet, you are
not forced, you prefer to adhere
to it's gentle push and pull.

I have no religion but you.

Perhaps the moon is as unknowing of
its control over you, as you are unknowing
of your control over me. It is pleasant
to allow you control.

For you, I am tidal.
KiraLili Jan 2016
Last sleep in day of holiday
White linen sheets
In an all white room
Two stir slowly
As winter day breaks
Fingers trace along lines
Till hands open unto curves
Skin awakens before eyes
Warmth beckons our movement
As instinct guides
On a January morn
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