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Shane Leigh Nov 2018
A fine feat under darker skies when he left again in the mourning hours, and I woke again in the morning hours. Had I have held longer, tighter, I would have no poetics in steady stride. I find it is comfort that I fear in the deepest hours, alone and to myself, I dream – not often thinking. Dreams made real by gentlest touch of my thigh, my breast, my neck, my chin, then my cheek. He will not rest for I will not rest in the tint of a blood-orange sky following a dark deeper than the depths in the pit of one’s eye.

CRY!

Cry and I will bid away in silence at which you will no longer need to worry: not of the mourning hours, nor the morning hours. We will not be bothered any by the dark where I will no longer want a gentle touch for it will be cold - cold like a chilled night in the palm of my hand; but this chill is not cold for I will have seduced you and I will be warmed again in the morning hours.
© Shane Leigh
Hello!
ENJOY (:
David R Oct 2018
Fresh innocence,
Power aflower,
Baby experience
Your first hour.

Unaware, curious,
Shine 'n shower,
Child experience
Your second hour.

Optimistic,
Visionary mystic,
Youth experience
Your third hour.

Tired 'n bitter,
Lemon-sour,
Man experience
Your fourth hour.

Body bent o'er,
Spirit aflutter,
Codger experience
Your fifth hour.
King Panda Jun 2017
I stay awake—
gas,
ion and
tail.

your ghost strokes
my back, fingers
ski-jumping vertebrae
as my face steams into
powder.

your pith, soft and white:
our star in you—
rove to your low neckline in
fire humming comet.

space is blameless in
this limb of heartbreak.
Antino Art Feb 19
The smoke stacks that line the waterfront be like giant joints puffing thoughts of her into air embalmed by hundreds of rainy days
That slow burn, against the icy bay and the barges that carry their loads through them
This corner of the world gets six hours of daylight, tops
Greys seared by neon, smoke and clouds and fog produced as one
continuous substance
There's a pleasant blurryness here
floating amid the buoys and the docked ferryboats,
In the way the monorails glide above toward a 1960s dream of the space age through an Amazonian jungle of glass and cranes
in harmony with the clouds sailing overhead
Here is where you go to let off steam deferred, where you ride trains through a kind of dark that arrives early, stays up late
as shadows wander across the gum covered walls of Post Alley
like ghosts made of espresso mist
freed from lit joints protruding from the skyline
to a high beneath starless heaven
Resting into the glow of that harbor
against thoughts of her that cloud the view of the sea.
Lara P Jun 2018
11 p.m.
It's time to go to bed
With weird thoughts in my head.
Maybe dreams will be better.

12 a.m.
Midnight has come.
I can't feel, I'm numb.
When will sleep fall on my eyes?

1 a.m.
It's already too late
For me to still be awake.
Yet I can't fall asleep because of you.

2 a.m.
Oh, here they come.
I've been waiting them for long.
Bad thoughts are back.

3 a.m.
Everything is peaceful
But my heart and my lungs.
Anxiety, why won't you go away?

4 a.m.
Dawn is here, and I'm still awake.
Everything is calm, my heart doesn't ache.
It's too late to fall asleep now.

5 a.m.
I breathe in cold, fresh air,
Everything around me seems so fair.
New day, new chance. I'm glad to be alive.
Sometimes sleepless nights show you just how beautiful life can be.
Butch Decatoria Jul 2018
Diminutive minutes fly by and imbue.

Ennobled, hungers the second hand.

Verbose and loud, its villainous ticking;

Oxen heavy, that kneading sound,

Under skull and depth of dreams.

Rescind the mad lives we vitiate;

Enchanted by hollow, fear of ghosts,

Dancing in a pitch waiting room.


Happenstance for insomniacs,

Ogres and dark shadows howling

Unapologetic at the light and moon.

Riot of the quiet, against daylight

Star: quarry in the void of night / time / dark.
Ciel Feb 1
In less than 4 hours,
I will be eighteen.
In the last year alone,
I have changed more than in the previous 16 years.
I have learnt that it is okay not to be okay,
that I do not always have to have an answer,
that it is okay to be vulnerable,
that nobody but yourself can make you happy,
that I can express myself without any sound,
that it is okay to lose some friends,
that it is okay to outgrow some other friends,
that I am not one fixed thing and it is okay to change,
that it is okay to be lost at times,
that I have to listen to my soul more than my fears,
and that I still have so much more to learn.
Tick, tick,
Down, down,
the watch beeps
On the hour,
Every hour,
I always hear it,
I go to bed at nine,
And can hear it counting,
Ten,
Eleven,Twelve
One,
Two,
ThreeFourFive
Now I have to wake up in an hour and a half,
I didn’t sleep,
Should I have done something instead?
Maybe done that essay,
Or finished those slides,
I have so much work to do
But I’m stuck inside
My own head, filled with
This fog of exhaustion
And confusion,
Why can’t I just
Fall
        A
               s
                     l
                               e              
                                           e
                                                               p
Instead of
Purgatory in my bed,
But I’m so dreading the upcoming hell
There’s a part of me that
Wants to stay awake,
Live through the hours
Because I’m not skipping ahead
Like a game, I don’t
Skip the night
Since there are things to do, right?
But I’m not even doing anything
Useless pictures fill my head,
Impossible to put into words,
Fantasies of a history
That never was,
A future that never will be
A creature, almost human,
Glowing with a white light,
With a voice that echoes,
Electronic and demonic
Keeping me awake,
My god, why can’t I dream properly,
In half-remembered fragments
Like my living nightmares
All seem to be...

Turning the alarm off at 6:30,
I realise I haven’t slept at all
I groan and roll over
Then get up.
We have work to do.
nadine Jul 2018
a distinct feature
in my appearance
would be
the bags under my eyes;

i remember staying up
until my bones quiver
under the bewitching spells
of the moon’s forgotten raving sonatas,
enticing enough to cradle
an iota of dejected sentiments
from centuries and centuries ago.

i remember looking up
at the night sky
until my eyes flicker from dust to ashes,
burning the crevices of every wall i built,
graveyards broken down
to match the unmatched
bleakness of the ignominious sorrow
peeking out of the corner of your soles.

i remember laying down,
not once had silence became overbearing
that i could hear the faintest brush
of a weightless feather falling
from a tainted nest,
aching to meet its pernicious lover.

i remember closing my eyes,
shifting everything elsewhere;
still, i dread the feeling of compunction
emerging deep from
the landmines of mistakes
that i had claimed as my home
and my shelter.

but this, i could never forget:
i remember
being envious of you;
how you do not
lay awake at night,
wondering if things
could have been better.
i still love you (always)
I am extremely in love with you,
And I don't want to be,
I'm not supposed to be,
But I am
frik
This one is for u hehehe
Philomena May 15
I saw you the second you entered the room
Not that I was watching there just wasn't much else going on
My heart flutters a little cause seeing you is like coming home
And I smile
Four hours to go

You finally enter and I don't think you see me due to sheer distance
Your laughing and well
It brings back memories
I glance over to you from time to time
Same quirky boy I loved
Three hours to go

By now I'm sure you've seen me
But you didn't say hello
Something feels horribly wrong  
I can feel your eyes on me when I turn my back
But otherwise it's like I don't even exist
Two hours to go

I give up
You're not going to see me
Not the way you used to anyways
And part of me understands
But part of me wants to grab you buy the shoulders  
Bring you back to reality
One hour to go

I watch you walk out the door
Too afraid to approach you
And I know you will never approach me
I can't quite put my finger on it
But I feel so sad
Zero hours to go
Erin Suurkoivu Feb 2017
the edges are stained blue

and no matter
that spring is holding out its hand
in a promise,

spring becomes summer,
summer fall,
and winter again,

and the hours and the hours and the hours

and cities rise
and forests fall

once, gods
are now falling into disrepair,
temples on the verge
of imploding.
An old friend of mine is dying. He's on the other side of the country. I wish I could see him one more time. Money is nothing to some people, but everything to me.
Woody Apr 6
It is the strategy
of the locked door
trapping light like
dusk or love, weary
of the cold weather
inside, the days
not so many dreams
left, a legacy of one
who loved a woman
in a blue dress
a lonely color only
noticed by a poet
in the last hours
of midnights dark
as silk and daybreaks
hard gray stones.
Shane Leigh Jul 2018
There's only so many hours in a day;
only so many words in my vocabulary;
only so many breathes to take
before I am dead and buried.

Therefore, I laugh,
I giggle and smile.
I live in this moment
if only for a while.

If breathing was infinite,
like life itself,
there'd be no point in worrying
about my sense of self-
righteousness that creeps further away
because no one knows what will happen,
not even today.

Because there are only so many minutes,
hours,
words;
because there's only so many breathes
and so many turns;
because I fear that it goes by so swiftly
I'll miss
whatever is lurking
if I'd take one more risk.

So, because all the things that I've said above;
because I forget what I said it was;
because I fear the swiftness of spring,
I will savor all moments
and do one last thing ...
Hello!!!
I've been gone a while ... I'M SORRY !! I'm sure I've missed some AMAZING poems while I've been gone and I can't wait to play catch up hahaha
I hope you enjoy !!

© Shane Leigh
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