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Tori Ginter Jul 11
You didn’t even call...
I told on Monday how I’d only had a couple days till I was gone.
But that wasn’t enough for you
I’d have to be dying in order for you to call
Little do you know I am, it’s why I must leave this place that is killing me slowly.
But I still have hope
A dream
You’ll be standing there at the end of the aisle right before I  board.
I will drop my bags and run as fast as I can into you
You’ll be the excuse I’ve been looking for to stay
But the reality is
You’re the excuse that makes me have to leave.
Your silence screams leave more than goodbye
Kate G Jul 2017
It's three in the morning
The mourning hour
The hour where naught is awake but
Lovers and dreamers
And those deemed too far gone by the rest of us
To which we send a wilting flower.

It's three in the morning
The mourning hour
And I sit upon a lush coven of cotton and broken dreams
And peer into the crisp, aging pages of a crisp, aging story
To dissolve away the alms that haunt my hollow tower.

It's three in the morning
The mourning hour
And I mourn
I mourn the loss of love
And the loss of hope
I mourn a loss I have known so well
As well as a loss I have never myself felt
Tied, side by side, in a waking melancholy sour.

It's three in the morning
The mourning hour
And doves less mournful than I have passed on to sleep
And he, as I dream, is far away and dead to me
Still dear to me
And I reach out, into the darkness of the night
And end the mourning hour.
GreenTrees Aug 2017
Sand castles drifting into the wayward sea.
As the last tower falls I feel complete.

My spirit escaping to unknown shores...

© Karl V. (2017)
J Jul 23
I wonder if the color green releases calm and renewal energies because it is the earth's carpet, magnetizing us down to earth.

I wonder if the color red wraps around passion and chaos because the blood in our veins rush evermore when we see something we love, and it rushes to our brain when our world turmoils.

I wonder if the color blue spreads hope for the sky as a crutch for those who have nowhere else to look but up to their god or to the formation of clouds that one cannot make sense of their cotton candy essence.

I wonder what color we are. What color does the earth reflect on us? Are we chameleons, morphing into different shades by the hour or are we permanent markers, bleeding deep? Maybe we are gray and receive color by what we surround ourselves with. That's how science works, right? A reflection of light in our retinas.

I am purple. There is a cloud of mystery and romanticism that shields me like a cloak, but my emotions run like rich velvet. Maybe one day I'll find a yellow who bursts rays of warmth. I think I would like to be with a yellow one day, the golden hour of colors.
Andrew Dec 2017
Living in the moment
Is where I gain my power
This is my hour

I have interesting thoughts
In the shower
This is my hour

I look outside
And see flowers
This is my hour

I have no time to cower
When this is my hour

This moment
I must reckon
Just for a second

I feel life beckon
Just for a second

I start to feel in it
For a minute

I feel queer
For a year

This lifetime
Builds a tower
But this is my hour
L B Aug 8
On rising heat, killdeer flush
to decoy enemy--
threat to its young that roams too close
They rush to skim on hayish blur
wailing over wildflowers drying

Fretful twitter in perpetual flight
swifts-- twirl and hurl their bits of bodies--
debris
from a cumulonimbus of a late-day sky
toward a ridge of stag horn sumac
presuming horizon primordial
behind which time and city-- drift and wobble
on rising heat-- after rush hour

Rising Heat
Rising--
to meet my mind
on its way down
from my post behind
the laundromat
where I view it all--
rising--
where I usually go in search of quiet
to almost hear the ocean
     two hundred miles away
to strain words from wind
     in careless conversation
to wonder over
     missed whispers....

But not today
In rising heat, I went down
in search of something better--
     your eyes again
     solvent for my presence of mind
     dissolvers of hours and the order of things
But I need an excuse!
     To turn, to trespass, to disturb the peace!
     For your eyes again!
And still I need more-- being feverish, weak
Or?
Or... should I take the cure?
     To deny ...To deny

To deny what?
Overtones from a sea of years?
I don't know!  Whatever it was!
Nothing explain it...

I melt... I'm gone....
An old poem that keeps finding itself a need for expression.
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