Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
We shall make
A recourse to the gun,
If for election we run
Devoid of ideas,
Sell which we can,
We could hardly win
The heart of a single fan.

Also labelled
And narrow nationalists"
They can
Put on us a ban
So that sinks on us
The Sun.

Climbing into
A political ivory tower
Is not for us,
Let us beat
The drum of war
To garner
And to monger to power.
recalcitrant, retrogressive, detractors,mongers,war
Cindra Carr Nov 2011
We drift through the moments
Of silence in our flickering thoughts
Who are we then?
Brief lapses of lost identities
With none of the trappings of personality
Lies the mind tells itself drop and fall away
Folded up memories cleared
To allow the blank shuffling
Faraway stares unfocused on the present
Drifting moments of silence in flickering thoughts

Yanamari Oct 2018
When people tell me
That I'm strong
I'm beautiful
I'm amazing...
I don't feel anything.
Tell me these things
When I cry about the pain
That has lasted me years,
When I'm up at night
Even when I'm lacking sleep,
When I'm expected to smile
My whole life when I don't feel your warmth.

This ice palace I reside in,
Is it my lifeline?
Because if it is
Wouldn't it be better if
It melted?

All these moments
Have become entangled
And the momentary lapses
My world all
I just can't do this.

But my calls are stuck
In my throat.
I'm frozen.
I'm not resilient.
It's taking me so long
So long
To stand up.
And my heart is giving up
It's beat
The Dedpoet Mar 6
A confinement to the street,
I likened it to a bliss of pain.
Not extended like an overrun episode,
But the anxiety is sleepless,
When yesterday approaches,
I wrap myself in the ignorance,
Homeless, timeless,
It grows and defines,
Coarses through my fundamental
A boy becomes an atitude,
I wish i had these experiences in youthful insurgencies.

Its someday in the week,
I lose the raptured schedules,
To hunger is life.
To thirst is life.
The misled winter wraps itself
On my frozen life.
A faint emergence of time
There in the shadows
I once knew a man,
The visions of him asking to feed
My souless self.
Stretched by insistent graces,
In a road of certain contrasts,
Gentle into the street,
I laugh; the revolving doors,
I cry; what or who i never was,
A certain kind of grace to be
Within the containment,
the poor, the  restless,
bleeding my facades,
Shredding the faces I once knew
Destroying my world.

Once I sat upon a throne
Lost in the decimations,
I dont know who I am.

Keep walking.
Telling myself as the night freezes
I will be just fine.
Keep walking
Telling myself in minced
Thoughts as hope flutters against
Nowhere to go.
Keep walking,
The sun rises
And blisters on my feet
Calm the night as the safety
Of day lets me rest.

I will bounce back tomorrow,
And the streets become a ripened spring fruit,
Losing myself
And the art of loss
Is no disaster,
Not unlike losing my keys,
Not unlike losing places,
Not unlike losing names,
Until i reconciled myself
At the fork of the river,
Losing myself is not an art:

The beauty was in finding who I was meant to be.
No pity. I walked my path. I see what it is and i am grateful. To the end. To the beginnings. Life is and i am hapoier than i have ever been.
Gabriel Ibarra Aug 2018
If today my life does slip away
And my lips lock close with words I didn't say
I'm not sure what I would make of it
My ever running mind speeding past me, creating temporary lapses
Lost in memories gone turned into passage
Jotting down my fleeting thoughts
Lonely nights where I was cool with being lost
Days where happy was more than just a state of mind, And maybe I
Could find my way through darkened tunnels and over passes
Drawing smiles on our fogged up glasses
And my stick figures that never seem to look right
My early twenties kinda made a mess of me
My best of times have gotten the best of me
A younger me, my younger I, and my refracted reflection
Tragedies, on fallen knees, and my redacted rejections
To victories, and days where we
Could hardly breathe or fall asleep
For fear that we'd miss our happy ever after  that was only a moment away
Saturn's gravity nicked a moon
into rubble hummed with a tune
foresting carbon bleeding sap
and into Earth it lapses
and disturbs iron ore and breathes
into branches and is fibers running into a tree the
perfect twist of strength to be
felled and become a boat I drop into seas still
swirling with the steam
of comets who could no longer dream
and I ride into the blackness of all origin and make creatures from the
stars because I am Gravity
A fall,
Jen Nov 2018
Horizontal lapses happenstance in the open.
A reflection present when motionless- inviting, welcoming.
Stopping, for seconds passing, to be stoic, calm breathing.
Haunting in the most pleasant ways, senses reckoning.
Daylight Beckoning.
Visiting, clear picture, subconscious revisiting, silence, closing in.
There’s an opening; rectangular door; wooden; lit with a warm glow.
Closed with a Smile. The rest not confiding.
No longer hiding.
This is a place like no other.
This is a safe corridor (We created it).
Closing one door,
To lead to another.
Closing one door,
To lead to another.
Ending here to begin,
As if there never was
Jordan Hudson Jun 11
Let me know you're okay
As time passes
As action lapses
My heart collapses
I wonder if you're okay
Time flies by
Distant and far
I wonder like
Where you are
I don't need to know all the time
I just want to know if you're fine
I hope you understand
Let me know if you can
This sample brings back
Memories that I see
I can play this track
And my soul leaves
It will think deep
And leave this place
And make me this way
Although I do
Want to give up
I know you are there
We are strong and free
Limited only
By some and by little
Balanced by sides and the middle
Geometric psychological stance
Our brains change but can't
Avery Glows Jul 2018
The more I think, and reflect about life, the more it hangs on me how little we need to survive.
But then the question of my life itself baffles me still.
In the name of
Cups and Wands
and Swords and Pentacles.
How does one figure out
how one wants to ease into the world—
in what manner
what face
what costume
what identity
shall we assume
in this theatrical muse of mass-scale rehabilitation.
for the right attire
in a tolerable personality.
To eventualize, to officiate, to become
A masterpiece—
by the hands of time
and the wheels of fortune.
So that we may be worthy
Maybe, if you were dealt with luck.

Fortune's Fool—
How do we know which
is the correct way to go
sᴉ ǝɥʇ ʇɔǝɹɹoɔ ʎɐʍ oʇ oɓ·
in hindsight.
To hunt for a halo in the robes of glee
while you dwindle in time
Abject, at sea.

Cut the chase.
Bleed. Heal.
Await the haemorhage and its evanescence.
And when you approach the Great Finale,
Be free.
At any moment of time, we have one foot in the abyss while the other lapses into ecstasy.
July 2018
Ricki T May 19
You were infatuated
You were well-situated
It was the ease and comfort that allowed you situational hurt
It took precedence over your sanity
Relational humanity is nothing but addiction

Is said love an affliction to the heart-- or merely some anomaly?
If the heart is meat of veins and chambers with purpose of pumping blood,
How has it grown a monopoly over the presence we call "love"?

The heart is just an *****, and love is just a term
It describes the judgment lapses of the synapses that fire in your brain--
Those associated with the dopamine ejected from *******
The enamored, that are happiest, are with some conviction
For, love may be the prettiest addiction.
I feel likethis sound like a bunch of choppy mumbo-jumbo, but I like it very much. I havent written a poem in months, so I'm slightly out of prectice.
MarieAnna Mar 26
I used to cry in the rain once. It was a perfectly natural excuse to bathe my sorrows in ambient moisture and hide them in plain sight.

His universe is thundering down in tiny fragments. Reality falls abruptly from different directions. If lucky one drop will scratch beneath the surface.

Every tear drop burns and he winces. Invisibly crying a waterfall. Paradoxically questioned for deception and secrets.

Behind his strong exterior of tungsten. How long can he walk down a lone road with no sense of direction of purpose? Deluding himself he is indestructible. Detrimental.

It was closer to grief than pain, synonymous to those who refuse to differentiate but equally exhausting to others who recall. Like a fleeting moment of recognition.

The crooked and decrepit house moans in agony when tears of the sky flood its weak foundation.

Every memory he possessed became submerged in an instant. Ignorance is bliss.

Recollections of lost instances flooded him in that second. Rendering his once shared worldview crooked.

Lapses in time lost while under guise or being illusory. Remnants of his soul now in dilapidation.  

Why, and how, can I relate? What personified hurt I share with that which I hope relieves it? What kind of paradox allows me to smile in pain yet cry out of joy? Why has it been so hard to feel... anything?
Jowlough Mar 4
The thrusts of trusts
Hooked upon instincts of crooked flukes
Bloops upon loops of hopes in a rope
Nope, I want to cope walking like an antelope
Broke, sitting on a boat, with a smoke,
Cans of coke, whisky and cup of hoax.
In my mind, blind from the inside.
Slide, coincides the what if’s
Trips and coffee sips,
The leaked tips and tricks, pointed
At the corner of the eye sorted,
Like cards hoarded
In a thrift shop, copped, snapped,
Napped and again, aging,
Doing anything, sinking, sloping
From what I don’t have,
Mic’d overdubs,
Brain scrubs;
Is this love?
No, I suppose
Just a comatose
From raised eyebrows
Daily dose of lows
Trashed roses
My heart, collapses.
A H Butler Jul 2018
The urge to do nothing is overwhelming,

I am motionless
I find myself halted.
Based upon a worry
a waiting
dominated by uncertainty.

I cannot go on
I stretch the mind
wonder of antidotes
remedies delicious
in the knowledge
of their reduced life
But not a cure.

Openings brighten despite me,
the ephemera of the street untouched,
lilting on its arbor
in its impetuous parade.

​(I think)
I should not allow myself this dysania
in the spaces between moments,
lapses into stillness unforeseen.

In the warm response of wire
I ask for forgiveness.
Trapped in my own gaze,
it’s all I have.
(the purity of sorrow)
The floor pushes me skyward,

I run my finger’s tip around the edge of the afternoon,
Hope to god it rings out in response.
© A H Butler
Stephanie Oct 2018
a thought visited his preoccupied mind again
as the galaxies are making its way to her
this man will wish  upon the stars
because he knew that they will listen
and all the celestial bodies will grief with him
when no one understands nor sees his pain
thoughts of her is the best he could think of
but why it is like the best things are worsts too
he begin to utter words of i miss you's
but no matter how loud it was, he was voiceless
just letting the tears drown him in such sadness
if time lapses are existing in real life
he will replay every second she was there
and skip every fights and every cries
no, life's too cruel for it to happen
in the blink of an eye, she became like one of the stars
there in a far away land of shining lights
giving him hope, giving them hope
but for him, she's not a star, not even the brightest
for him, she is the entire universe
that every time he will look above the skies
he will weep and after that is a bittersweet smile
a pure love that is severed in the land
will be continued somewhere else
and he believes
someday, they will meet again there...
in a much better place.
to all the postponed love that'll be continued in heaven, this is for you.
Kichiya Hayashi Dec 2018
Lying on my bed, staring at the ceiling replaying the lapses in my head
memories that inculcates in my spine
I hope you know at this very second
you’re the only person I want to bury my face in your chest and savor the most precious sound on earth: your heartbeat
SassyJ Oct 8
The snow trends from the mountain tops
on a window ledge by the peak trail
submerged on a train of eventful thought
compounded by a sail of unlost memories
resigned to see an arousal of a soul
hearted in a summit of the unseen dust
yet the aliveness of your energy rebuilds
silenced in the calmness of an un-wasted night
lost and resumed to care a little bit more
yet the brightness of your heart sings
echoed in the rhythm of the unheard hymns
founded under a layer of a consumed night

…… and when the night falls my heart races, like a horse galloping in a field of daffodils. ****** under the view of the city lights, set on a valley of a precious flow.

…… and when we kiss the world ceases to move. All motion of time lapses, tranced in a space of un-woken dreams.

…… and when sobered in a time closer to 2020, no reformed regrets darling. Lately I have been lost in your within. Soaring to dreams of unfading forevers.

…… and when I say "I love you" its unconditional, it passes time. It's a mystery of innocence. It's as easy as the world exists. It's not an obligation but an existence.
Sid Lollan Nov 2018
Constellations of Time
    suffocated, deadspace in my neural lapses—

                                               —still, I caught the fly
                                                             ­ with my hand.

Constellations of Time—
         and I am cowboy in the outer expanses of sanity

faithful cowpoke and Lenape murderer,
native lover, too,
dun American guru
       like john wayne defunct.
but when we speak like droogs,
       this be:
       America: A Detective Story

and I’m the dogged dreams of america:
Humphrey Bogart with his dame Liberty

No, I am Robert Mitchum, too.
Remember Philip Marlowe?

I once was america’s psychosis, and still am.
[I am
the soul who walked above
the soul who walked below;

Constellations of Time—
        like gooey cosmic spider webs;
[and I ******* hate spiders]
Fear of Death
…is being stuck, and
fear of that horrible cosmic spider coming home for dinner!

I am
Monsieur Bonaparte’s Hollywood counterpart
who puts the war before the art,
but not the horse before the cart


is where my story starts;
like the spine of a country and constellations of time
–im on a plain–
ghosts in dust bowl clusters
reflect like
dust particles, like western stars, scattered—
and im on shifting razor planes and who do the math?
Michael John Oct 26
the ******* rain is falling
like the gods are *******
i was good at dancing..

ask anyone
some took exception
but when one is young..

sort of a fred astaire
dee dee
on lsd

sometimes i was lost
and hid in the toilet
sometimes the moon

on the sea
the scented breeze
i thought god loves me

must be
why doubt
i felt the moment

and understood it´s
soon be gone

choice was paltry
stars are falling

stars were born
there was strange days
but not strange

as these
so before
and after

before it lapses
meaningless twaddle

and perhaps

**** my pants
and wail

beauty is still
beauty is true
beauty is me

beauty is you
beauty is
Graff1980 Nov 4
the pain in my ***
blast from my past
that passes
memory lapses
of gut reactions,

sorrowful reflections
of never was
lost connections
and decisions
that I long to

back to those
distorted memories
as I recall
fogs of vagaries
and what if
that were never
ever really real.
Owen J Henahan Aug 2018
My feet are anchors, sinking as I collapse
into your arms; hearth-warmed fabric wraps –
your quiet affection – around us; communication lapses.

No words are needed, for the light fluttering of
our hearts join in subtle chorus, muttering
unutterable truths about love, and suffering.


Unutterable truths about love! – and, suffering,
our hearts join in subtle chorus, muttering
"no" – words are needed for the light fluttering of

your quiet affection; around us, communication lapses
into your arms: hearth-warmed fabric wraps.
My feet are anchors: sinking as I collapse.
is this not love? is this not suffering? are they not one, the same, indistinguishable, and everlasting?

— The End —