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Abby M Mar 12
I am a garden just waiting to let spring in
I stand frozen now with wind blown tufts in the air
Nothing but a blankness, as suits the harsher months
I wait for the signal to unclasp my sprigs
To make known my blooming blush
To let down my head of greenery
And fill the empty space where I have slumbered
Nat Lipstadt Sep 2013
How I Observed the Day of Atonement

If you are unfamiliar with day and its observance,

In a place of perfect solitude,
No crowded synagogue within to hide,
No cantor to intercede on my behalf,
I spoke words of mine own creation
To my creator who wisely empowers me
To judge myself, for knowing, none harsher,

We two,
Old travel companions,
Upon worn grayed, adirondacke thrones,
We overlooked,
A natural prayer place,
Bay and breeze, white-clouded and sun-laced.
Only the full time inhabitants, the animals,
Grayling butterflies to match and contrast,
Eavesdropping on our Greek dialogos, in this,
Palace of Perfect Solitude.

Amiable did we chat,
I of family, this and that.

He, wearied from recent travel,
To Syria and India,
Was glad for a day off,
For he had little to do,
But wait for twilight,
To then close the books.

For us no formality, easy the going,
No prosecutor no defender in residence,
For we exchange these roles intermittently,
The incriminatory, the penance, all deeds displayed,
No adult games of winking eyes, and
Hidden heart, secret chambers,
Rabbinical or angelic intercession.

He does so love his Bach,
Adagio on strings,
My soothing gift to him,
This music more than divine.

He returned this courtesy.

Warming sun to expose my chest,
Cooling genteel breeze offsetting,
The bay emptied of wayfaring skiffs and yachts.

A cooling beverage proffered,
But sighing, he said that he had yet to find
A beverage that his kind of thirst could slake.
For his eyes, tho shining, did not effervesce,
As when we shared this day in years past.

Too much killing, this year,
It tires me so to tabulate human excess,
Spoke not a word, for my critique would
Comfort him less, if at all.

Thanks for Kol Nidre, he plainted,
So I too can disavow,
The best intended oaths I took and take,
For each year, I fail more than the year before.

If only I could sit with each,
As I do with you,
Where what needs saying,
Is said, understood, undisguised as praying.

A schooner to the dock did appear,
For him it attended, for him, it waited,
Sails, both black and white.

He stood to depart, my arms-grasped, taken, he graphing,
Measuring my fortitude, my strengths, my divinity.

I do so love this day in your company.
I shall sit with you again one year on,
Bach sweet when next we meet, please.

Soft spoke, as almost I should not hear,
Your time is nigh, no thing I create is forever.
He spoke with such sadness,
For well I knew, the intent, his meaning.

He, for-himself, saddened, for he loved
Sitting  beside me in this manner,
Since my inception, never deception,

Only He resting easy, when he atoned before me,
And I gave him his absolution conditional,
As he gave me,
September  2013
Dead Rose One Mar 2015
In The Prison Of Winter, No Rise, No Set**

orbit nearly closed,
the radio announcer gleefully
chirruping, the twittering fool,
"only ** graves to X off till

the weight of the prior
the wait of the more
no matter how little
yet to come
                    too much insufferable

having suffered
multiple life sentences
you snit ****, u don't know better,
ha, they don't even run

there are no sunsets
in the girding grays
of harsher enough and words that fail me,
are the winners in the
winter of the ****,
tests and hunts,
I have successfully

of course I'm wrong you
petulant hobgoblin wringing
nyet from me you'll get no concession,
**** science,
there are no sunsets in the winter
and the sunrises,
short unsweetened,
light-less, less of less,
frigid glaring revealers
of dead trees
and deader

maybe in the Rockies,
perhaps the Alps,
wonderlands photoshopped,
pretty lies on the Internet BS posted

where I live,
wear the wear the weary
neath the sweat stink of layers of
unbundled choking hands,
winter's damage
assessed and assessment is
never overdue, payable in

heating bills I can't pay,
a job that said no more of you,
unpretty please,
a woman who sorcerer-scarced herself
right freaking black magic quick,
trust me I have certified verified,
me and Nixon,
X's on the kitchen calendar,
there is daylight, there is mighty night,
almighty in long and colorless
and nothing in between,
but the smog stained slush of
                                                    smothered life

but definitely
no sunrises and no sunsets
watched all day from the
imprisoning kitchen window
which doubles
as a *******

there are no, not any,
you know what,
cannot even say them,
the pipe dreams of better yet,
pipes that have beaten down
me and my
disassociated senses,
signed sealed and now delivered,
from the formerly known as
The Summer Man
Lavina Akari May 2017
i can only find the open palms of my demons in that red mist, the ones that once held my face in a much harsher way than you do now. your calloused hands feel like heaven instead of the **** that slept in the creases of their fingerprints. sometimes i fall too close and i see their blackened eyes that replay childhood traumas that i have spent years repressing with self-destructive behaviours and alcohol. your own remind me of the rivers i could drown myself in but i must remind myself that diving in will only give me peace, not death, though it feels like death whenever they're not in my sight. sometimes i think about hurting myself again but then i remember the claws of those monsters and how they can't compare to your nails tickling at my back in the late of the night where theirs would be cutting me open. i don't ever want to be in their grip again. never again. never.
Masha Aug 2018
Maybe you did love me,  at least I thought you did, when you told me you hated the world but the only thing you didn't hate was me.  Maybe you did love me,  at least I thought you did, when you'd buy me flowers and cards and you claimed you were sorry for the mistakes you've made and that sometimes you felt you weren't good enough. Maybe you did love me, at least I thought you did, when we started deciding how many children we would have,  when we started picking names and when we agreed to how they would be raised. Maybe you did love me,  at least I thought you did,when I'd see you cry because you knew you'd hurt me or because I was in pain, we would then sit in your car and talk things through under the rain. Maybe you did love me, at least I thought you did, when we gave each other those promise rings and we said one day they'd be replaced with the real thing.  Maybe you did love me, at least I thought you did, when you'd tell me that I was the best thing that ever happened to you,  when you promised there was nothing and no one to worry about, and blindly I believed you. Maybe you did love me, at least I thought you did,  but you didn't love me the way I loved you.  You didn't love me enough to stop the lies.  You didn't love me enough to stop you from having wandering eyes. You didn't love me enough to keep your promises.  You didn't love me enough to stay and make all those dreams we talked about come true. Then one day it hit me,  maybe you didn't love me.  Maybe you loved the idea of me.  Maybe you loved that you knew you had me wrapped around your finger. Maybe you loved the idea that I would always linger.  Maybe you loved the attention I gave you but you loved the attention from multiple girls even more. Maybe you loved that you'd knew I'd do anything to keep you, even go to war.  I started to become everything I hated,  I let you walk all over me,  I became a doormat. I became the mud on your shoes,  I was everything and yet nothing to you.  And then I became a burden,  a scab you couldnt scratch off, you were done with me but I wasn't done with us. I kept fighting and holding on for both of us,  and then I finally realized that I was the only one. Then when I finally found out the whole truth, everything, even the good memories seemed like lies.  I told myself then, maybe him ever loving me was also a lie.  And the harsher truth wasnt that you maybe didn't love me,  no, the harsher truth was that I didn't love myself enough.  Enough to have walked away when I saw the red flags,  enough to have put an end to things instead of tolerating them and knowing when to say "enough is enough." I realized that I shouldve never settled for a "maybe he does love me". So maybe you did love me,  at least I thought you did but our dreams never came true and your lies no longer fit.  Maybe you did love me,  but maybe, just maybe you never did.
Elisabeth Sep 2018
A mirror reflects harsher words than I’ve ever heard,
Even if they’re slurred.

These words say they won’t grieve,
Won’t care if I leave.

I go after my veins looking to bleed
Maybe then I can be freed.

These voices continue to come in a flood-
Maybe I can escape with my blood.

I can hear them no matter how much I scream and shout
Maybe another sting will draw them out

Another sting and I’ll feel something else.
Maybe then I’ll feel my pulse.

Another sting and maybe it will mask the sting of my own words...
Mikaila Sep 2018
I try not to let anyone catch me gazing at you
But it’s like gravity has shifted.
I drink in the sight of you,
Any moment when I can look at your face.
When people are around I force myself to ignore you
But that makes you loom larger,
A force so powerful my heart aches,
And it is an agony to turn away, to pretend I don’t feel a pull strong enough to dizzy me-
Just one more second
Just one more glance
As if you’ll be gone if I wait too long.
In those rare moments when I can look at you without fear
I’m surprised you don’t see the tenderness in my face,
A gentleness I am ashamed of
Because it is both
And traitorous.
The artist in me notices the curve of your jaw
The softness of your mouth
The depth behind your black rimmed eyes.

I could paint until my hands bled and not capture the hypnotic grace you wear like a mantle.
I truly don’t think you have any sense of it.

The other day I walked into the room, glancing into the shadows
And stopped short.
I covered for it quickly, but what halted me wasn’t surprise at seeing someone in the chair there,
It was awe.
You could have stepped out of a painting of the fallen angels and chosen that armchair as your throne.
Soft light poured over the green velvet of the cushions, stopping only to frame your face in shadow.
Your eyes glittered in the dimness
As you glanced up at me,
And I could have left the Garden
For your gaze alone.
Just then,
I know I would have.

It is dangerous to look at someone the way
I know
I look at you.
Beauty isn’t the word
You’re something more
Something harsher
Something deeper
More complete,
And when I look at you-
Hoping nobody will notice
Hoping that you won’t find me out
But drawn there by a force I can’t resist-
When I look at you,

I know that Heaven and **** are only words
But I feel
In my very skin.
Amanda Jean Oct 2016
Maybe you're the reason I always love those who hurt me
Maybe you're the reason I always forgive
Maybe you're the reason I've been ****** since I was born
The reason why I became an adult as a kid

Let me explain to you what I mean by that
How I'll always be my father's daughter through and through
You see he unintentionally planted his ideals in me, and then they grew and grew

Its this lifestyle of doing things my own way
Doing whatever the **** I want
Do what I love and nothing else
And if I'm not happy then I'm at fault

When he left I had to deal with it
Take care of my brothers and myself
Cause my mother of four was busy with work and school cause his affair really ****** her up
She unconsciously sent me the same message, though it came in harsher words

I'm the only one that I can rely on
People will ******* over and hurt you
In some families blood means nothing
So you have to fight for you

But dad returned to show me the ropes and I relied on him again
He showed me how to sin like a real Christian
Deny God and love him still
He showed me the sweet dangers of drugs and alcohol
Of how mental illnesses will try to **** your soul

But he showed me some better things
Things that have stuck with me more
How to paint my feelings and draw my insecurities
How to take on the world and try new things
How words and music bring the most joy and sorrow
How to live in this **** and to always love the sinners the same as saints.

Now simple with kind words, my life lesson is the same
Live for yourself
Love others
And experience everything
You are a unique
Amongst common,
Don't waste your time
explaining your self,

Your list of good
deeds is humongously big,
The commoners
is just too shrink.

To find a flaw in you is not
there habit but a source of there life,
For them,
To become like you is
just not possible.

To wipe you off from the
canvas is there try,
To imitate you is impossible.

You are unique in house of common,
You are a model of God's

History is witness,
God always chose tough
exams for special people.
Just you keep praying to the
One who created you.

He will do the debate,
HE will be guard,
Court will be His,
Witness will be Him,
Counts will be His
Conviction will be His!

You are UNIQUE amongst Commons
Definitely, life be
For you!

Life will never be this way for you,
But, in HIS COURT you will be the ultimate winner!

Sparkle In Wisdom
7 Feb 2019
blissful Feb 25
yellow flowers in a white room
a pretty scenario
an inhale for the young
a harsher exhale for the living
we hold hands in the room
i look at you as we eat
chicken noodle soup
that's my favorite
the broth is rich
like your tongue
and the carrots
match your eyes
soft and round
the chicken and noodles
are like us
conjoined and fitting
Glumbugged Oct 2018
Leaves aren't appreciated until they're dying.
Even if they were, you wouldn't know.
After death, harsher death comes...and yet it's the most beautiful silence you can ever have.
Sometimes the sun can be too hot, and sometimes the air can get too cold...but people walk in the snow in shorts and bathe in the sun.
How can you envy someone else who envies you and not see the ignorance?
Why do people feel obligated to yell when they don't understand things...
Why do we spend so much of our time trying to make mistakes that we know we'll regret and hate afterward?
If there is no God, then what is God?
Why do we excuse our wrongs; pretending our wrongs are for the benefit of another when it is never...?
We've enslaved something that was wild until it obeyed us...but sometimes they get unstable too.
Why do we spend our lives to spend our lives with money; where did this value go wrong?
Why do people always look for the wrong in something and the right in something, but no one looks for what's logical on the other side?
Why does it hurt so much to be alone...and it hurts so much to be surrounded...?

— The End —