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Paul R Mott Feb 2013
A fool sits alone.  
Not dumb but naïve
drinking ideals that were both sweet
and biting on the uvula of his thoughts-
thoughts that once resonated
from truth no longer ring true.

This terminus of sentiments that started veritable journeys
in the muck of questionable sources
housed his hopes
while he dared to dream of a day these hopes may be fulfilled.

But over hills and plains filled with grating winds
of inquiring eyes looking for lies so intently
while false truth slips through their gates,
these hopes gained grit.

Grit built in truth,
and to hazier eyes,
grit grained with wisdom.  

So our fool finds himself at a
beginning wrought from this inverted journey,
He’s discovered his truths to be soggy
with the living mire of human deception.

No longer does he sit
with starry eyes
hoping for truth,
he has found it by traveling backwards
through experience until he stands upright
amongst the crawling with lies filling his head.

It is in this moment when all he sees is deceit,
that he knows he has found the truth.
No longer does he believe in it,
he understands how ill-fitting that word has come to be.  

In the grand cacophony of the human experience,
the sterling ring of truth deafens.

It takes a qualified lie to reach our hearts.
Dawn Aug 2017
a roadtrip to somewhere,
just so we could watch a meteor shower.

we didn't even know exactly where to go,
only that we wanted to watch the shooting stars without the city's glow.

at first adrenaline filled our somber and tired selves;
we were all fueled with the idea of seeing something magical at twelve.

then came the rush of being lost in lonely, secluded roads.
suddenly we realized, this trip, to our parents we should've told.

whose is that car parked at the other side of the highway?
were they here even before we stopped to look at the meteors fall away?
should we flee or should we stay?
i don't want this to be our last day.

oh god please help us
we're running out of gas


and just as we are consumed with panic,
and fear of strangers in places, dark and exotic
we drive back to the city,
where the people are awake and much less creepy.

when the lamposts became brighter,
and the surroundings no longer sinister,
where the stars we so longed for became much hazier,
we simply laughed at our cowardice,
and at our overly-hightened suspiciousness.

as dull, yet terrifying the world can be,
even with rare astronomical phenomenas that are oh so sightly,
adventures are really, no less scary.
yet everything can still feel mesmerizing,
and even reassuring,
so long as you are able to find just the right company.
081217. A late night roadtrip with my friends turned into cinematic adventures. I'm glad we're all safe now.
Psychosa Apr 2022
A glass has come between me and reality.
This glass encapsulates my being.
The longer I remain in the glass,
the hazier my view becomes.
How I long to shatter it.

The glass has held me captive for quite some time,
and I realize I have come to know the glass like no other.
The glass has protected me from the strange outer world.

I have come to long for the glass which holds me.
But when I reach for the glass,
all I feel is bleak
and yet still my hand is left with nothing.

I cannot grasp the glass
because I cannot see the glass itself,
only what it is not.
Megan Dolan Feb 2014
The blank opportunities arose through the blind eye of me the same and the tempting destruction of the boy beneath me.
10, 20.. 80
Defeat was ordained in the slight smirk of the unappreciated look.
Reds, Blues, Yellows are all the same gray.
Hazy and hazier the virginal rights slip through the taunt suspenders of what is christened pious.
Captivated, I reach the perception of the manless boy who stood with silent mea cuplas and farewells.
NA Oct 2012
There are things not meant said and done,
I'm sorry if I can't pull myself away from it.
Smiles that doesn't reach to your eyes,
little things come down hard, let it go by.

I feel incapable for your troubles and worry.
If I could I would give you every bit of my happiness left within me.
Come, close the curtains and hide under the blanket all day.
There's not an option to give it away.

We've seen the finish line, and we're seeing it again but bigger and better,
Scarier and the future never gets ******* hazier.
I may be strolling and pacing down, but I know you could run and get the crown.
It's full speed ahead this Oct but lets be ready for the best shot.

Do care to jump on board with me?
Let's run.
It seems to be as i always see,
theres indeed a beauty in every breakdown.
Ashwin Kumar Aug 2022
It's been a long, long time
Since I went to school
Therefore, my memory of those days
Is hazier than a cloud of fog
However, whatever I do remember
I remember vividly, as though it were only yesterday

Such as, committing the biggest faux pas of my school years
When I was in the fourth standard
By wearing a t-shirt and jeans one fine day
While everyone else was dressed in uniform

Disturbing the whole class by talking about cricket
And thus getting a nice scolding from the principal
When I was in the fifth standard
Crying in front of the whole class
Later during the same year
Exam tension getting the better of me

Enacting the role of a princess in a cartoon show
While on the way home
During the seventh standard

Failing in quite a few subjects
At the beginning of the eighth standard
After switching from CBSE to ICSE
Being forced into a trekking adventure
Thanks to the annual cross-country races

Scoring an own goal as a goalkeeper
During the ninth standard
Failing in a record number of subjects
During the same year
Thanks to my obsession with cricket

And last but not the least
Making amends for my past failures
By clearing the tenth boards with flying colours

I can go on and on
But I think that's quite enough for today
Self-explanatory!!
Emily Miller Mar 2018
The smell of salt water invokes the image of the sea shore.
The flush of red in lips makes one feel lustful.
A rocking sensation reminds one of the comfort of the womb.
But here in this bar, the sight of that Jameson bottle on the wall makes me think of nothing
But you.
You.
Unholy you,
With one hand brushing back unruly locks,
The other fiddling with a half-empty glass,
And that look on your face
Because you know exactly what’s going through my mind,
You.
And that green bottle perched on a shelf.
The bartender tries to hand me my gin and tonic,
But my eyes hover above her hair,
On the dim haze of a gleam on the dusty glass,
And suddenly the haze becomes hazier,
Blurry with the unexpected moisture pooling in my eyes.
Because it’s not just from you anymore,
The **** thing is a part of me,
Because I’ll never forget when you said my eyes are the color of the glass,
Your favorite bottle,
With your famous mischievous grin,
But a softer look in your eye,
So that I know what you really mean.
It’s not just that subtle bottle green color,
It’s the fact that you can’t get enough.
Drink after drink thrown back,
And just like your glass,
You throw me down,
And you say
“I’m thirsty.”
You consume me as easily as you consume whiskey,
And I’m an essence in a bottle to you.
Bought and sold,
A commodity to be replaced,
Because you’re insatiable...
But as I stand here with my eyes on that bottle,
I realize…
I don’t want to be your addiction anymore.
Aditya Roy Oct 2018
Hazier in daylight
Getting sunshine
By the second
Daydreaming
"A room without books, is like a body without a soul"-Cicero
G C Poulos May 2012
Sometimes mornings just don't seem to work out.
And, you wonder what life is all about
The world may seem a little crazier,
And, your mind seems a little hazier

Perhaps life is just crazy anyway.
As we worry about things day by day.
As you stare at the early morning mist,
you realize justice does not exist.

Life is just a vapor that fades away,
as we worry about nothings each day.
And, those nothings don't even count at all.
They are just dying leaves, so let them fall.
grace snoddy Jan 2021
our love was the morning sky
courageously pink and quietly blue
seemingly everlasting and sincere
daring, to say the least

our love was the sounds of chicago
trains rumbling and music thumping
people talking, cars mumbling
us walking, hand in hand

i cant seem to get you out of my head

our love was us naively believing in each other
us sitting in my room, or yours
our bodies molded together like clay
and our souls embracing each other
in the comforting atmosphere
alongside the setting sky
framed by the window

our love was our favorite movies and shows
and the late nights we embarked on
watching every single one of them
our tired eyes and tired beings
resting on each other

and i now find it funny,
because in those loving moments,
i remember thinking
“i dont want these memories to fade”,
“i dont want our love to disappear”,

and now im desperately holding onto
whatever visual resides in my head,
your face is getting blurry,
your voice is becoming hazier,
my heart is sinking deeper
as all the colors mix into
the darkened hue of sadness
that is your departure

our love is this song
that rings in my ears late at night
it posseses a beautiful and humbling,
yet terrifyingly isolative melody
as my heart and mind conjoin
to accept this new reality

i will love you forever
as your ghost remains in my head
but everyday i cant help but wonder
“what could we have done, instead?”
yvan sanchez Mar 2018
I was front row to all your playful crimes
You saw me dissipate into the distance;
I wish you had ran after me with feverish want
Your harmful grip my favourite fading colour

"Life isn't fair," you said, though your mind was faithful
Though it wasn't god you believed in
You believed in what wasn't yours
Feeding on the sweet flesh of envy

We walked every universe together
Our undetermined destination approaching
I wish I could walk sixty-three more
But I couldn't find it in me to ask you for even one

Will you join me for this party for one?
Your mind hazier than old video
Your heart only an arm reach away
I will keep in touch

Paradise, 2018
Nicholas Fonte Mar 2018
Awaken o' youth of legend
It is time to bring evil the end
On your own accord
you will raise your sword
-Oh, wait is that a rapier?
I'm sorry things got hazier
over on the scri-what? It's a claymore
now? This is getting really sore
Excuse me? It's apparently an estoc
Those aren't very easy to block
with but-wait nevermind, I think it's a katana?
Ok, whatever, do you just wanna
"cut" to the chase?
Woah wait it's not a mace
Dont expect me to rhyme
every line... all the time
Sorry this has gotten out of hand
But, I hope you understand
That it doesn't matter what it is
You are our hero who will finish this
Sev Mar 2017
I torch my body like some proverbial ritual.

I’m strapped to the bed,
My brittle spine fracturing and breaking like fingers snapping back in the dark.
You’re bound to my bedside,
You weep a eulogy to the tune of my death rattle,
But your soft voice drowns underneath waves of static creeping through the halls.

You, alone in that room.
You, lying in what was once my bed.
You, holding onto whatever strings of me remain.

Me, alone in the kitchen.
Me, watching the microwave heat up last night’s leftovers.
Me, surrounded by nothing but the whirr of the dishwasher.

The buzz of fluorescents is our one likeness.
It hums through the hallway, the shut door not quite able to silence the hospital room.
It drones through the kitchen when I turn the lights on at two in the morning.

You watch the cross sitting idly on the wall.
The moonlight illuminating it barely enough to distinguish the intricacies embedded throughout.
And you find yourself asking,

Why?

I stare at the rosary in my weathered hands,
And I find myself pleading,

Why?

My body,
Cleaner than ever,
My conscience,
Hazier than ever.
My insides breathing fresh life.

Yet on the other end of the current,
I left you lying in that hospital bed until they pulled the plug.
I left you in that room alone,
And you wonder,
Whether your existence provided any comfort whatsoever,
Whether I found myself in you.

If I am now cleaner,
Purer,
Softer than I was in your time.

If you went out into the streets one last time,
Would you recognize me?
Would you pull up a seat,
Would you tell me you were proud of the steps I have taken?

There is a hole within me,
An uneasy emptiness which I try to fill by embracing you.
But the more I seek,
The farther you stray.

Am I so far removed that you cannot recognize your own creation?
Am I so estranged that my path was created to run parallel to yours?

I have defiled myself,
And in that process,
Thrown away a world I will never see.
Chaos May 2015
why can i no longer sleep?
With the tear tracks on my cheeks
My vision is getting hazier
With all these passing weeks
Where are all those dreams
That used to haunt my nights
My long hours in the dark
Have been replaced with lights
My bed is extremely rumpled
From all the lack of sleep
My mind is one giant migraine
From all the late nights I keep
why can i no longer sleep?
Emery Feine Dec 1
The whole world was gray
November’s first snowy day
Not a single winter racquet

And in the midst of the white
And the foggiest sight
I saw a man in a dark blue jacket.

I’d seen him before
And that I swore
As he was a classmate of mine

In past Fall’s red hue
I remember seeing the blue
Of the man’s dark jacket’s shine

i always saw him in the hall
he wasn’t particularly tall
but wherever i was, he was too

and when i saw him at lunch
my friend told me his hunch:
“i think that blue jacket man might like you”

i admired the admiration
but felt no butterfly-in-stomach sensation
so maybe i had to go and pack it

then the following saturday
when from my classes i was away
i saw the man in the dark blue jacket

he had tried to sit next to me in class
and i told my friends to ask
if i could sit further away from the bloke

in the corners of my eye he was there
How much longer could I bear?
the bare blue of his deep colored coat

so when i was walking home one afternoon
i hadn’t tried to get home too soon
The days only becoming hazier

The winds were speeding fast
A man behind me tried to walk past
I saw the dark blue of his blazer.

he turned to look at me
stopped, starred to see
and began to walk slowly behind

i started sprinting to my abode
snow now down rode
the blue jacket man on my mind

his pace sped up too
and if only i knew
how no one would believe me

was he stalking?
should i start talking?
the blue jacket man’s spree

So I didn’t tell them the truth
I knew their words wouldn’t soothe
His eyes always on me

In the park he was there
Lurking like a ******* nightmare
His aura seemed aquamarine-y

I see him in my room
I know I shouldn’t assume
That that blue jacket is his

How is he everywhere?
You gave me a scare
Now go back to your biz !

He is in my screams.
He is in my dreams.
Blue jacket man, get out!

He is in my eyes
He is in my lies
Flow out with the water spout

He is in my lungs
I’m speaking in tongues
And as my eyes begin to fade

I see a smearing blue
Across my vacant view
That jacket of his facade

That dark blue.
Blue.
blue.
this is my 133rd poem, written on 11/30/24.
- Jul 2019
5:32 AM

The cars come and go
Stars blink in and out
As the horizon grows a cleaner, hazier bright.

No color,
Just bright,
Just the addition of light.
Nothing you could find on the color wheel.

You left half an hour ago.
And I think you'd be impressed
By how drunk I've gotten in that timespan.
Sally A Bayan Jan 2020
They're often cliched, yet always uttered
the real essence of the quote, "life is short."
struck me, as i was clearing my jaded eyes...

the “winter of life” is how they call it,
when your numbers are higher than those
on the calendar...when doing the stairs
shouldn’t be rushed, for, slowing down
is not a choice...but, a must.
:::::
despite challenges and changes that
overwhelm, there's this sprightly feeling
that still breathes within, like second skin,
as short hair, sneakers, skinny jeans and
t-shirts are to me...age hasn't weakened
this longing for adventure, this wanderlust,
unaffected by tedious procedures and
long queues at the airport...
:::::::
like a cat...i purr not, while exploring,
Yet, always wary in the midst of curiosity...
still wondering what's beyond the fence, or,
how to cross traditions, or, sensitive issues,
without displeasing, or hitting a raw nerve...
::::::
much to do,
much to see, but
   not much time...
::::::
at this point in my life, i feel, life is short(er)
the weeks, the months could be no longer
days turn foggier, or hazier, yet, it's not at all winter,
here, in my own space, it's always summer, where
short hair, jeans, tshirts, and sneakers are bestsellers,
where numbers, wrinkles and sags don't really matter...
:::::::::::::



Sally
© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
January 3, 2020

— The End —