Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
A Sad Alex Aug 2018
The distance is what makes it so hard
To be here, so far away from your side
To be here, as if snared in the lies
That you miss me as I long for times gone by.

To know what I had… To let it all go...
Your smile, your laugh and your touch
To know they are gone, never to return
It tears me asunder, it saps my soul...

The realization is what makes it so hard
To know that you were never mine
I could have had it, but I couldn’t grasp
It slipped my fingers, how could I be that blind?!

The shadows are what make it so hard
To let go of your memory and bury you in the past
I feel it clawing at me, it is screaming so loud
It won´t let me forget and it brings me down under its weight
As I measure this sadness in pounds
My failure streches on for miles
And liters of tears flow from my eyes
If only I could purge these hours from time...

And it is there, as it has been since the first day
The emptiness, the silence, the space
As time ebbs away, and life goes on
Mine came to an end
The moment I let you go.
I edited this poem so much that I think it deserves a re-release, hopefully its better than the original version! I´m thinking of unlisting the originals just to not spam my stream with what is basically, the same poem over and over again, but we´ll see what happens
Shofi Ahmed Jul 2018
The woman makes a house the home
and fills the man's horizontal spread with dreams.

Four walls can’t hold a woman inside
she is veiled but not tied!

The arch in her back hits the mark
virtually dwarfs the pyramid dwarfs the sunup.
The light at the end of the tunnel here is love.

Her inner mystery is her paintbrush.
The colour on her canvas
is a far cry from the rainbow.

It doesn’t fade nor falls on the floor
keeping it up the time lingers on.
Every star from far and near
can feel at home here with a mirror!
幽玄 Jun 2018
To what her words were softly spoken,
Weren’t they heard from the pulling ceiling?
It had no way to carry her softly upon shaken ground
he held onto what she last felt then,
past his hearing the searing heart reveled
In the last whimper of sadness
Gone was her feeling
tears had dripped over her face..
..Fallen from his grasp the black veil blew upward
he witnessed the blinds closing, her eyes watching
Overheard with great loudness she was deaf
Silence hurried the rush toward the floors liberation  
a sunlit evening wilted dry in prosperity..
In a timely fashion she was not heard anymore nor seen
The extraordinary pain I couldn’t understand then
If only..
She no longer knows where to go..
She’s gone unnoticed..
I can’t feel her presence anymore
yes, we’ll see another once again
From a pain stricken moment
Left in vespertine
Along those painless places
Where all that lingers high above the ambience
Will be your very childlike presence
Shown upon in your own exuberant smile
Thenceforth into tomorrow
Farewell till then
I have but one thing to say, please be kind to others as you would like others to be toward you.
And another thing, leap forward out of your comfort zone to help someone from leaping off the marked ledge of ‘enough’. It happens too often and I could say I know the reasons why, for others for their sake if only I could take on their pain. complicated is life huh.

—seeing her fall through hopelessly murmuring what would be her final words to the man striving to hold onto her pleading for her to stay within his grasp, she simply didn’t want to hold on anymore, tired by life’s hard trials. So am I. isn’t everyone
Arianna G Apr 2014
I can feel them on my skin.
I feel their electricity, so powerfully pleasing, pulling me in.
Every glance, makes my stomach dance.
The longer it lingers, I ache for her fingers laced between mine.
it's only in those moments
that things seem fine.
Do you understand
All of this is your fault
Vindication is all that I want
Except you’re still on my mind
Filling my head in every space for thoughts
Unexpectedly is how this started
Curiosity sparked an interest
Killing me as it lingers
Implicating me in guilt
Nothing can cure this conscious of mine
Going down with every thought
Suspiciously I clear my mind
Pencils and pens create my thoughts
Illustrated with curves that turn to letters
Variety that turns to words
Every one has a meaning and place
Yet I let them remain nameless
MicMag Jul 2018
I've witnessed a beauty
I can't describe
That speaks to my soul
As it swims through my eyes
The silent sounds
Sneak into my mind
The taste lingers on
Leaving sweetness behind
The scent creeps up
To slowly remind
Of the touch that once felt
Makes all else fade
Til only your beauty
Pure beauty remains

There's nothing else
Your beauty remains
Old found poem.
Allison Nov 2018
It doesn’t matter how much I want to change
I won’t changed
It doesn’t matter how much I pledge myself to changed
It still won’t happened
Because this is the way I was made
I want to do better
I want to be better than this
But I just ******* can’t
Who even I am
I’m no one
And I don’t care if people start saying
“Oh, honey don’t say that, you are too young
I’m sure there’s some one out there that loves you”
Yeah, you are right, my mom loves me
Also, my brothers and my sister, let’s not forget about my two best friends
And of course, my grandmother
But still who I’m I?
No one
Yes, no one
I’m someone who doesn’t tolerate suicide, but still think about doing it when something wrongs happened
Because I’m weak
Very weak
I’m a fool
An imbecile
A no one
Who wishes to just disappear
But not by my own hand, because I’m to scared to do it
But I’m also scared of dying in a different way
Ha! Such a fool.
unidentified Aug 2016
Honeybees, birds and blooms unfurl
an enchanting spell
when spring comes by here

Memories waft 'neath burled rustic trellis
where flowered tendrils grasp fleshly
like the newness a love once tenderly embraced

Songbirds in your garden sing
of swooning memories rapture.., of velvet eyes,  
the fragrant spicy nectar hidden within her walls                            

A song of honeyed bees'  sweetest stinger,
and the poignant ***** of intoxicating surrender
lingers, bemused spellbound by a thorny heirloom rose

Sharp beauty beloved like a blameless trap
caught blissfully, breathlessly inbetween
all you wish for and all your wanton needs

Desire 's wellspring an unspoken passion
coquet swollen buds adorn blossoming,
sensual, untamed carnal grace

A picture perfect natural beauty;
sunlit chassé … feathered brush, demure blush
dancing with basket of lace petal’d perfume

For to colour a heart's blank pages
rapt in the poesy a joyous ecstasy ..,
enrapture with rainbow's luscious taste

What seems lost is but a tender vestige unfound
a passing moments innocence lost
to steal away like rumors of gold

These silent reveries seep from a hole in my heart,  
as if ripe strawberries of yore, gently weeping sweetness
when pricked by a thorny rose  

The ides of spring do still bleed a timeless ache
onto the page ... sweet naivety stung
by a mesmerizing dart to the heart

Songbirds in your garden do sing
of sweetest things immersed in nature's nectar
blissful memories sleeping in the petals of a rose

Sung to the wind by a song sparrow — ♪ ♫...✩ ☼✩ ✩☺✩
If only now in dreams of yore
a sky full of stars shine brighter,
a garden of flowers fragrance more pungent,
and songbirds in your garden from yesteryear
sing tantalizingly more beautiful ...,
when you were near

gracie Nov 2018
it's how he's gentle, drawing me close
when I shiver; how he holds my hands,
cold fingers nestled in the warmth of his palms.
how we return to a certain forest, admiring trees flushed
in hues of gold and scarlet; how reality fades away as we walk,
drowned out by the bubbling of a stream.
how I adore his honeyed voice, soothing like the patter of rain
on backseat windows; how the taste of coffee lingers on his lips
when he presses them to mine so softly,
so bittersweet.
how I feel myself falling, but I still run into his arms
"it'll be different this time."

but how can I outrun reality?
too close too soon, i guess.
CA Guilfoyle May 2015
It must be a tricky business
it lingers, hovers stealthily
an invisible silence
a swift habitation
the soul awaits
to startle the body

In a wordless voice
it moves from room to room
turning lights on
spends a lifetime
ever longing
to be known
and heard.
melissa rose Jul 12
She invites me in with a therapist smile
as I step through her door
observes me with that deep blue gaze
leaving me longing for more
begs me to follow
as she moves across the floor
she lingers slightly with her touch
as she gently squeezes my hand
but it’s the warmth of her hug
that I wonder where does she begin and I end?

Truth is bitter with her scent so sweet
she doesn’t love me out loud
in this lifetime it’s just not meant to be
her love isn’t real
all images in my mind
of what I long to feel
we’re not lovers
and we’ll never be friends
but I’ll love her in breathless whispers
as the depth of my love for her has no end
Nat Lipstadt May 2013
For Al, who left us, Nov. 22, 2014

With each passing poem,
The degree of difficulty of diving ever higher,
Bar incrementally niched, inched, raised,
Domain, the association of words, ever lesser,
Repetition verboten, crime against pride.

You ask me when the words come:

With each passing year,
In the wee hours of
Ever diminishing time snatches,
The hours between midnight and rising,

Shrinkage, once six, now four hours,
Meant for body restoration,
Transpositional for poetic creation,
Only one body notes the new mark,
The digital, numerical clock of
Trillion hour sleep deficit, most taxing.

Al, you ask me from where do the words come:

Each of the five senses compete,
Pick me, Pick me, they shout,

The eyes see the tall grasses
Framing the ferry's to and fro life.
Waving bye bye to the
End of day harbor activities,
Putting your babies to sleep.

The ears hear the boat horns
Deep voiced, demanding pay attention,
I am now docking, I am important,
The sound lingers, long after
They are no longer important.

The tongue tastes the cooling
Italian prosecco merging victoriously
With its ally, the modestly warming rays
Of a September setting sun,
finally declaring, without stuttering,
Peace on Earth.

The odoriferous bay breezes,
A new for that second only smell,
But yet, very old bartender's recipe,
Salt, cooking oil, barbecue sauce, gasoline
And the winning new ingredient, freshly minted,
Stacked in ascending circumference order, onion rings.

These four senses all recombinant,
On the cheek, on the tongue,
Wafting, tickling, blasting, visioning
Merging into a single touch
That my pointer finger, by force majeure,
Declares, here, 
poem aborning!
Contract with this moment,
now satisfied!

Al,  what you did not ask was this:
With each passing poem,
I am lessened within, expurgated,
In a sense part of me, expunged,
Part of me, passing too,
Every poems birth diminishes me.
(this poem more than most,
for its birth celebrates
my loss, your loss,
which cannot be exonerated 8/7/18)

written at 4:38 AM
September 8th, 2012

Greenport Harbor, N.Y.
Aimee Heeringa Jan 2018
Pain still lingers
Feels like I'm about to break
Standing here aches
Not sure how much more I can fake
Put me out
Wipe my tears when they fall
Give me some hydromorph's
Swallowing handfuls of pills
Not sure if it's all in my head
My back is full of sharp objects
Even sitting is excruciating
Just give me a break
I need some time alone
Just being alive is pain
Nobody to phone
Even though I try to
Nobody picks up
I'm on my own
Never alone
Just dead on the other end
All hope is gone
Luisa C Sep 2016
i'm taking in your scent that still lingers against my hands
before i go to sleep,
to remind me one last time of the day i had with you,
and to pretend you're here whispering goodnight
with soft protective arms wrapped around me.
Hirondelle Oct 2018
Six feet under, Niobe’s short summer.
Six sons' dolour and six daughter’s torture.
Six secret items on the chain Gleipnir.
To conquer Fenrir, a hand’s given Tyr.

Life’s woven of thread with a hidden end.
We pace a blade’s end in fate’s grim old hand.
Six years or sixty-six by River Styx?
End employs her tricks; breaks all walking sticks.

Some take a stand, to stars they hitch a strand
despite Fates' command, swim upstream to end.
It's light they befriend; a life to amend.
To a child's small hand, a sunrise they lend.

Is sweet summer sublime or fierce fight prime
when where one lingers is a star guised rhyme?
Styx in silent sleep sneaks and surely sweeps
those in summer’s hips that one sows and reaps.

Some kneel by waters; misers of piers.
Those who dread rivers drown in feckless fears.
Some die on the pyre yet live on the lyre.
Those who dare the river know none to fear.

Old deeds that ripple, from stars they flicker.
To Charon’s rider, nothing’s aglitter.
When where one lingers is a star guised rhyme,
flesh will bow to time, for deed is what’s prime.

Won’t End in the end cut off her own hand,
awed by the man who had his breath for lend?

©️Hirondelle (30/10/2018)
Is living all about fighting to make earthly gains while all the same fearing death?
Given the chance, what would be the greatest gain you would make in life?
Would the river sweep that after you were gone?
How many of the people you know seize the passing time and bless it with meaning? Meaning is that which the river can’t sweep away.

The topic being life and death, I couldn’t help making mythological allusions to bring some univesality to the poem. In Greek mythology, River Styx separates the realm of the living from that of the dead. If you are able to wade across River Styx by yourself, it may also mean you have carried your mortal flesh across time. Does this make you an immortal in a way?

There are two sorts of crossings of the River Styx: catabasis versus necromancy, the former being crossing it before death and the latter after. Well, I know of three figures in Greek mythology who have done it; Odysseus, Orpheus and Heracles. Orpheus, as tragedy would have it, dies seconds after he exits back from the entrance of the underworld. But, with the ‘gesture’ he has made -to descend to the depths of the world and claim back the woman he loved-  he earned his place amongst the stars to look up to.

The river represents the grim hands of fate to me, and it must take a lot of pain, strength and bravery to wade or swim across it. How many important people in history have made this crossing? How would you describe them?

I love how Ernest Hemingway coins the might of human life before mortality: “Man can be destroyed but not defeated.” And what I suss out from this is men, if they deliberate and thus manage to take fate into their hands, are stellar beings like gods. Or in the least regard, if not us, some of our feats are godly: a star guised rhyme they will always be.

Fortune in life is fickle and summer time is not to be trusted to last long. Niobe, let's take for example, is the daughter of Tantalus, a son of Zeus born to a nymph. She has these six sons and daughters; all beautiful lads and lasses. As fate would have it, Niobe boasts about the superiority of her siblings to those of Leto: Apollo and Artemis fathered by Zeus. Oops! Leave Zeus alone, Leto is already the granddaughter of the titans Uranus (Sky) and Gaea (Earth), and she is enraged at this outrageous presumption of a god descendent mortal, so she commissions Apollo and Artemis, who are -along with their many other skills- supreme deities in the art of hunt with bow and quiver, to go hunt these six hapless sons and six ill-fated daughters of Niobe in front of her eyes. So is the gory deed done. Grief stricken, Niobe weeps and mourns herself to stone on Mount Sipylus. Today, this place is on Yamanlar Dağı, northwest of Izmir, Turkey. Summer didn't last pretty much for Niobe....

Well, the thematic relevance of this motif is that not only humans but also titans could not escape the grim hands of fate even in the summer of their time. In fact, gods were no exception. The Moirae (Norns or Fates) spun, measured and cut thread for all.

Yet, if not how long, one may at least determine how beautiful the lent time will be. ‘Memento mori’ so let’s ‘carpe diem!’

In Assyrian mythology, too, Gilgmesh travels across the river to ask immortality from Utanapishtim. So the river image in the poem is an instrumental image of death juxtaposing both those who succumb to ill fate and the fighters taking a stand in the face of peril.

There is allusion to Norse mythology in the poem as well. There is reference to the sacrifice deity Tyr makes to keep away Ragnarok, doomsday. Loki's son Fenrir, an ever growing ferocious wolf, has to be tethered to lag his growing; otherwise he will be big enough to devour the entire world, Midgard. Alas, there is no powerful enough chain to do it. In the end, some dwarves fashion it from six mysterious items: The sound of a cat's footfall, the beard of a woman, the roots of a mountain, the sinews of a bear, the breath of a fish and the spittle of a bird. They call it Gleipnir (Old Norse 'open one'). As seen in the list, it is impossible to make this chain. Aren't there some people undertaking the mission impossible to defy the grim hands of fate?

Well, the chain is ready and the Gods have to dupe Fenrir to let them bind him with it as part of a game. Tyr has to place his hand in the mouth of Fenrir for surety that the gods will take the chain back from the sly wolf's neck. However, this is not the gods' plan, so Fenrir snaps off Tyr's hand from his arm as soon as he understands he has been duped. Aren't there those wonderful people around who wouldn't hesitate to give an arm for a good cause to happen?

Charon, the Ferryman in Greek mythology, rows across only the dead. And the dead may see they failed to see all the answers, yet it may be too late... Why not be skeptical and pursue meaning when alive?

We have the tendency to imagine the great people who have passed away inhabiting the stars, or becoming a star indeed. We are wont to attributing this eternity to them. Is it because we love them and we can't bear the pain of acknowledging their departure, or is it because the good deeds they have done during their lifetime has gratified both their and our lives and we can't let this meaning slip through our fingers and we tend to hitch their memory to stars: those twinkling jewels and beacons to the good and happiness in the dark of the night? Yep, do we do this out of love or admiration?

"Some die on the pyre yet live on the lyre." This line draws on the importance of both the ancient and medieval bards in perpetuating the battle glory of knights with the lyrics they wrote, played and sang on the lyre. Yes, heroes who died in battle were sent to their last journey on the flames of a pyre, yet their fame was perpetuated and it did glow like stars.

One thing for sure, we live to die, but beautifully at that, which is only possible with meaningful deeds. And we associate stars mainly with three concepts: eternity, godliness and meaning... Watch out the last item of the list of three; it may bestow upon your life a godly quality and make you a flickering star. To shine, we need a good scraping and rubbing; these are both the toils and tribulations of life we have to bear and how we employ our strength to fight them.

Enjoy your fight and always shine!
Ashleigh Black Apr 2014
Your name still lingers in my hushed mouth
with no key to set you free

But if you wrap me in a blanket
and place me in your arms
under a midnight sky
I will always see your loving face
staring back at mine
And I will reach for your cheek
hoping to graze it one last time
but those hopes could never be mine

Because like the dawning of the day
and the warming of the air
the darkest places in our hearts
will always see the light
And with that light I will know that

I must’nt wish for moments
that will never come to life.
Kichiya Hayashi Jul 2018
Feels like plain
peaceful all at once
ocean scent lingers
through my skin
emotions scribbled
and leaves are falling
skies darkens and
soul is weary
unfolding bliss
as I continue walking
Enjoying the wind ^^
Next page