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"lusterless" poems
Alone the third thing can't be known. Alone, I am a cold, dark stone In a universe yawning lusterless, Spinning void of aim. Then light shines In eyes and skies Of gray and blue And I am a new daymoon. Night leads the day As day ushers night; Light follows darkness As darkness the light. I follow, you pull; Take my arm, check my stride. You and I mark time and tide. We meet. We pass. We kiss. Eclipse. Heart quivers and the heavens shift. "Let us go then, you and I," Wend our way across the sky. The unknown beckons To me and you Where green meets hues Of gray and blue. Infinite line: horizons new. Misty islands ships drift past, Clouds cut by spires of stone, steel and glass, Cities bright in alley pools, Magic light on windswept moors. Prairie hills in gentle rain, Northwood pines sun washed again, Spring moss upon the forest floor, A different green on the unopened door. "Let us go then, you and I," Together take the road untried; Wend our way across the sky: A little sphere of green and blue 'Round which we dance, Me and you.
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Feb 14, 2019
Feb 14, 2019 at 10:47 PM UTC
Our Third Thing
I became a brainless mute My mouth droops open Nothing but impassioned silence For she was a giving disease My nerves begin to intensify Limited to a feeble breath For my throat clenches up As if her eyes excrete poison If only one word would pop out Just “hello” But a remote smile Would make me iced To think the attraction of one girl Could turn me senseless A lusterless jelly body A translucent emotion To be turned down Could explode my thumping heart I just don’t want to be A puddle of rejection
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Jun 15, 2010
Jun 15, 2010 at 8:52 PM UTC
A Puddle Of Rejection
~~ In the thick wet darkness Purple flowers are unknown Last songs of yellow days As if the anger of Lost spring, Standing at the end of the afternoon Embraces the eclipse Pale gray grass Dust dough days left alone Anguish drops around in the silence, As deep black clouds, That covers the sky With the blemish Drifted clouds drifting more Builds water flows Washes away A white rose And with the tears My white love Intact, Aloof But the lusterless time Moving with known unknown cradle Kapok, Flame-of-the-forest, Red Flamboyant Everything Stuck between Even my Eternal World Yet who calls from another way Not at the end of the bend, At the end of the way Even Earth Sun Moon, Where's all the ways mingle With so many different minds For another mystic reason ~~ @Musfiq us shaleheen
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Jun 1, 2016
Jun 1, 2016 at 2:46 PM UTC
Thick wet darkness
In her incessant memory, Your times were black; Always an addition to the white smile Grating across her lips. It hung from your shoulders like the curtains. Always a separation from an ardent breast Forcing femininity closer. Your clothes were black Her blood, cold and purple; Drying and fading in the back of your head. She hides among the folds; You see only traces of her white- Seeing her in parts. The times were always black; Leveling against your warm lips, Leveling to the girlish touch But always in control. The curtains just barely move, but in time with her breath; steaming over the window. And only the color remains; One thousand shades of black Rotting in your attic, open only to theives. She has stolen only what she needs, And she wears it out; Modeling a string of your cloudy pearls- Lusterless against her gleaming white skin. She knows you will see her And she'll break your black all over a burning sun.
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Nov 28, 2011
Nov 28, 2011 at 7:45 PM UTC
Your Black
Sunlight, that insipid ***** spills herself all over my desk in an open invitation. I want nothing more than to run outside, rip off my clothes and let her ravish me. My open book, ever the nagging wife, looks at me in reproach. "This was meant to be our day" "you promised we's spend some time together". That nagging shrew: I think I hate her. I want to tell her that she bores me, that the years have left her lusterless and lined, full of nothing but dull words and a dusty smell.
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Sep 20, 2012
Sep 20, 2012 at 6:59 PM UTC
The Open Book
Cherry lips ripe for the taking with a pomegranate cracked hue just to the left corner Spiced vanilla into twisted locks of dry abstinence in which filled a lusterless waterfall Crystal and star dust weaved into the midnight ink of dead eyes Slick satin clinging onto deadened skin, to bring out the warm glows that used to hue the soft skin Red oak coffin barely containing the life force that once lived in vibrant life, only now been dulled This thing, a person, the one I used too know, now a painted mask of lies and deceit Quietly glares back at me as I close the lid to the coffin, pulling back upon rocking heels As if I am the creator of this "disease"; conforming it to her form, breathing in her soul and life, the soul devourer, if you must Can one so minute as myself truly have become the cause of this abominable misdeed? Yet, should I feel no remorse as tumult plays me like a startled violin? A thousand dusty eyes watch me in pairs, two by two they came and went Observing me kneel beside her raised pedestal, with tear glimmering eyes as mine remain an arid desert The final riddle in which I cannot fathom, the spinning web catching me in its snare The deer in the headlights, a fish in the proud eagles grasp, gasping for air Disoriented turbulence on the inside, with naught a blink to show Where did the time go, as I sit in tolerated silence, plagues me like shadows Silence is not intolerable, but mostly, magnificently and implacably trying
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May 13, 2014
May 13, 2014 at 9:46 AM UTC
Saturated with false calories
Who is this? This melancholy, lusterless, sad-eyed girl? Sitting there, in an anguished silence, only hollowly responsive Perplexed and dismayed by the qualms this life has rapidly unfurled A heartbroken, lonely ghost of a woman, stripped of all treasures she wished to give   Who is to blame? Who forced her to board that otherwise lifeless train? When it reaches its final stop (the end of the line...) fault shall be hung on what sorry name? As this girl steps out on to the platform, destination-less, cold and soggy in the rain To whom might she raise her finger, pointing out the wretched being who first began this ****** game?   What if an ugly truth, her answer, is a monster, too hideous to stand and face? Might she recognize the feet that carried her, each of the steps past, leading to present grounds? Or perhaps she'll cling to denials, fearing her sins too heavy to be lifted through grace And regardless, what of hopes, acceptance and loves still hiding? For this girl, could they yet be found?   I watch while she sits, waiting vainly for some resolution; her guiding light to come take her away Of my presence she seems unaware, and I've seen her eyes fill up behind a quiet blink, then spill In those moments, I cry as well, and beg of God to take the chains from her soul, let her lovely spirit again play Left to hold her own reigns of mercy and faith, her hands will create the misery-rope she'll eventually be hanged with and killed...   We are the same, but divided ourselves; split into two fractured pieces of one broken whole I've held on, held out for her, yet she's all but forgotten me And I'll never let go, because that tormented, splintered heart inside of her is a piece of me that she stole So I'll pray, plead, console, call out to her, for without her acknowledgement of herself, we'll never be one again; we will never be free
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Jun 14, 2013
Jun 14, 2013 at 9:19 AM UTC
Poetic Garbage
Who is this? This melancholy, lusterless, sad-eyed girl? Sitting there, in an anguished silence, only hollowly responsive Perplexed and dismayed by the qualms this life has rapidly unfurled A heartbroken, lonely ghost of a woman, stripped of all treasures she wished to give   Who is to blame? Who forced her to board that otherwise lifeless train? When it reaches its final stop (the end of the line...) fault shall be hung on what sorry name? As this girl steps out on to the platform, destination-less, cold and soggy in the rain To whom might she raise her finger, pointing out the wretched being who first began this ****** game?   What if an ugly truth, her answer, is a monster, too hideous to stand and face? Might she recognize the feet that carried her, each of the steps past, leading to present grounds? Or perhaps she'll cling to denials, fearing her sins too heavy to be lifted through grace And regardless, what of hopes, acceptance and loves still hiding? For this girl, could they yet be found?   I watch while she sits, waiting vainly for some resolution; her guiding light to come take her away Of my presence she seems unaware, and I've seen her eyes fill up behind a quiet blink, then spill In those moments, I cry as well, and beg of God to take the chains from her soul, let her lovely spirit again play Left to hold her own reigns of mercy and faith, her hands will create the misery-rope she'll eventually be hanged with and killed...   We are the same, but divided ourselves; split into two fractured pieces of one broken whole I've held on, held out for her, yet she's all but forgotten me And I'll never let go, because that tormented, splintered heart inside of her is a piece of me that she stole So I'll pray, plead, console, call out to her, for without her acknowledgement of herself, we'll never be one again; we will never be free
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empty aching, waking to cold feet and grey blinds shadowing the lusterless world outside. deserted suburb, thoughts racing minds fumbling, trying to get past their persisting knots, prying. heavy headed, how can I not be? many conflictions, strange decisions shadowing the small cracks in lifes lens- I wander blindly. silent world, technological hum fills the tense void. it is almost still but if you listen close, a quiet, violent noise. a swarm of a thousand locusts; the moments before they cast themselves upon a city. we are are the waiting, herded to our daily lives- like dull, dusky sheep. can you hear it? it is coming change is in the air; do not hide- no, there is no use running. for it will consume all of us inevitably. crushed petals, another budding rose, smothered- by our manifested reality.
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Jan 26, 2017
Jan 26, 2017 at 10:24 AM UTC
Virtual Reality
trust me she assured in the fading glow as though trust came tied with thoroughly tested knots intertwined with love. hear me she pleaded as the past abruptly revealed itself in the present and communications became pantomimes in the dark. help me she screamed to the night stars who shone glowering at her lusterless attempts to be elevated and live. hi, its me I whispered to her as the sun crept through the morning curtains and caused her smile to glow.
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Oct 29, 2011
Oct 29, 2011 at 3:40 AM UTC
forgiveness
They say the night is black, a shadow cloaking the beast that makes horizons bleed at dusk and flees her wrath at dawn. But the night is grey, life is grey, a transitory shade, silver lusterless, passionless like gleaming blades too long concealed. Inflections chart themselves across bed sheets, worksheets, warning labels, charm their way past sunlight and into matrimony with patriarchal corners, vestiges of dark upon dark. Grey is beautiful. Sad symphonies tender their resignations, masterpieces monochromes occupying the dome of the sky, storm cloud devout leaving their stations.
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Mar 19, 2014
Mar 19, 2014 at 12:38 AM UTC
Grey
So much passion rests in his palms solo's & chord's an ease through every last song. Sometimes I wish to explain to him the "he" behind every line of poetry. Every line, typed out on script, to give his lusterless love-life a trip. Imagine what we could be if the world had been gracious enough to unite you & me. Through timeless days, space above my head I pray that soon, we will see that day. *It breaks  my heart, all I see is we will never be. I bleed. I cry. I don't know why but something that rests so deep in your heavy eyes has just- made me feel, again.*
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Apr 3, 2014
Apr 3, 2014 at 10:09 PM UTC
Late Lullaby
A dark line snakes along the shoreline Vanishing into a towering temple Home to the finest Michelin cuisine The ravenous crowd awaits, raven-clad, fangs out. Chef Yukinosuke’s obnoxiously fragranced guests Survived his expertly orchestrated dinner with death They devoured his fugu main course, without remorse ******* with a familiar demon, gatekeeper to hell Muffled screams can be heard behind the rice paper curtain A clamor of voices arises, one can hardly maintain The merciless knives wielders, red lips kissing bone Eternally insatiable of sins they can’t atone For. Yukinosuke adjusts the nori bond Of this new victim, his room will be fond One poised drop of noir caviar in her navel Her scaled-tail undulates, tale-tell Signs of her struggles before slaughter. Queen of the seven oceans served with a side Of whipped up seaweed cream from the tide Her breast perspiring under a life-like lotus flower. Before her, watering mouths stare in disbelief ***** men eye her perfectly tamed skin A woman sadistically touches her finger to her shin Yukinosuke’s knife glistens, still free from grief. Marred mermaid munched at midnight Lusterless tuffs of salt-streaked hair Vanished into thin air. A trampled on silky red ribbon in lieu of a gag Remains. Her turquoise scales to be made into a bag. April 8, 2018
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Apr 8, 2018
Apr 8, 2018 at 6:13 AM UTC
Worldly-vore
All we love is lost in lusterless light-- like a lunar colorscale-- when care is forgot. Take good care, lest y' lose what y' love.
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Jan 23, 2018
Jan 23, 2018 at 3:21 AM UTC
Take Good Care, Lest Y' Lose What Y' Love
A ancient man of up to date, in search for his rugous body to expire. Very sapient, in a low spoken tone. Blackening, lusterless, tone of green eyes hazed behind his glass dome to in which seeks a luminous view. Thus being no longer youthful, such man twas engraved as my forefather.   Tis of thy ancestor hair a majestic, ash, of none of thee less than one inch grown out of his marble shaped, sphere, crown. Scars are thee faded memories, thus he shall not keep them in mined nor heart.
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Dec 13, 2012
Dec 13, 2012 at 7:51 PM UTC
Expiring
Burnt brown sugar, sweet grass carefully caramelized. Be blessed with few seconds of solace, the fragrance of better times. Mother moon, always mentioned within the many stanzas to each other is at this moment in time a sliver of an eggshell, hanging perilously against the night sky. A few months prior, we expressed with equal desire to share the feelings in between words we wrote so faithfully, to one another in areas we grieve & aspire. A time where, I wasn't so in love with another. Please pardon my newly birthed, lusterless attempts to stay close to you. You are still so special, so needed to me Each sentence of your literature, brings my heart up to speed. And darling, you are aware of my love for the ocean, do you see how much you mean to me? I beg of you to understand, comprehend & perhaps accept that without your presence, acceptance & guidance I am lost at sea is this my penance?
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Feb 23, 2014
Feb 23, 2014 at 10:48 PM UTC
Letter 4: Pleading Apology
An inflating reverie, An nostalgic memory, A far reaching boulevard, lingering to debacle from my stumbling and unsteady feet. The days are long, But the nights could be longer. The moon hasn't cast a single fortune smile on me, But it is nothing there but for the grace of the sun, that I take a trip back to the              Memory lane. I hope you miss me as much as I do I hope you don't go to bed with quivering hands or a distraction to keep your bed warm, or that the only onomatopoeia that remains in your house are empty bottles of alcohol clashing against each other harder than you clash your wrist over the scattering pieces of mirror that still remains on your bathroom wall. The one you out-layed with your bare knuckles because you're tired of watching your soul bleeding in prepetuum at night. I know the colour of crimson still remains throughout the dimness, and that the sun never sees you bleeding. Your fragileness wilts quicker at night time than it does at daytime, and I know the moon laughs at your woe and misery. It's been months, but I still feel obstacles stuck between my teeth and a wire wrapped around my tongue. I feel my oralability whisking up into the lusterless sky, and the moon exchanges a hint of death and accomplishment. Droplets of warm venom streams smoothly down my cheeks, because I remember how you haven't been crying warm tears on my shoulder in a very long time, And it is no wonder I shiver myself to sleep every night I close my eyes. See, we're from two completely different scenario's, You and I. You engage your suffery into more pain than you're likely to feel, and I allow myself to remember. The warm, summer nights filled with love and stars. The nights where I got hom with the light to the porch still glowing brighter than your flaunty appearance I'd acquaint myself with once I step over the treshold When watching your yellow sundress fluttering in the open wind wasn't as bad as whirling droplets of blood spattering against my mirror reminding me of how you're bleeding from the Outside, And I'm bleeding from the Inside When we were happy,         do you remember?
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Jun 25, 2015
Jun 25, 2015 at 10:15 AM UTC
Nostalgia.
An inflating reverie, An nostalgic memory, A far reaching boulevard, lingering to debacle from my stumbling and unsteady feet. The days are long, But the nights could be longer. The moon hasn't cast a single fortune smile on me, But it is nothing there but for the grace of the sun, that I take a trip back to the              Memory lane. I hope you miss me as much as I do I hope you don't go to bed with quivering hands or a distraction to keep your bed warm, or that the only onomatopoeia that remains in your house are empty bottles of alcohol clashing against each other harder than you clash your wrist over the scattering pieces of mirror that still remains on your bathroom wall. The one you out-layed with your bare knuckles because you're tired of watching your soul bleeding in prepetuum at night. I know the colour of crimson still remains throughout the dimness, and that the sun never sees you bleeding. Your fragileness wilts quicker at night time than it does at daytime, and I know the moon laughs at your woe and misery. It's been months, but I still feel obstacles stuck between my teeth and a wire wrapped around my tongue. I feel my oralability whisking up into the lusterless sky, and the moon exchanges a hint of death and accomplishment. Droplets of warm venom streams smoothly down my cheeks, because I remember how you haven't been crying warm tears on my shoulder in a very long time, And it is no wonder I shiver myself to sleep every night I close my eyes. See, we're from two completely different scenario's, You and I. You engage your suffery into more pain than you're likely to feel, and I allow myself to remember. The warm, summer nights filled with love and stars. The nights where I got hom with the light to the porch still glowing brighter than your flaunty appearance I'd acquaint myself with once I step over the treshold When watching your yellow sundress fluttering in the open wind wasn't as bad as whirling droplets of blood spattering against my mirror reminding me of how you're bleeding from the Outside, And I'm bleeding from the Inside When we were happy,         do you remember?
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Do you know that what makes you scared often is a big circle of rainbow? You are colorblind and it runs through your *** chromosomes. Blame your mother 'til you are a chunk of solid, useless rock. Rock it out, baby! You wore your little sister's blood red lipstick and kissed four corpses on the cheek. I saw they smiled. Wide. I saw you cried for a lusterless, shriveled red rose they stomped like crazy as the music got louder, louder, louder. *Do you know that red roses never grow like a scar?* Your father is deaf but I heard him once hummed you a lullaby.
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May 26, 2014
May 26, 2014 at 1:01 PM UTC
Red Roses
A ancient man of up to date, in search for his rugous body to expire. Very sapient, in a low spoken tone. Blackening, lusterless, tone of green eyes hazed behind his glass dome to in which seeks a luminous view. Thus being no longer youthful, such man twas engraved as my forefather. 
  Tis of thy ancestor hair a majestic, ash, of none of thee less than one inch grown out of his marble shaped, sphere, crown. Scars are thee faded memories, thus he shall not keep them in mined nor heart.
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Oct 20, 2013
Oct 20, 2013 at 5:55 PM UTC
Expiring
Dishes surround us, Verdigris embraces lusterless metal And I look at you with an air of vertigo I’m on the edge of understanding but there’s An invisible wall. Or is it a ceiling? So this is what it feels like to be restrained Shackles of my mind rattle against their firm anchor Society crushes these spikes deeper into my skull The taste of defeat suffuses my lungs. I breathe in your disdain and still understand nothing Of what I’ve done or am doing. I go forth ignorant and blissless Straining to overcome the walls in my head
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Mar 8, 2016
Mar 8, 2016 at 12:47 PM UTC
Glass Ceiling... for Men
Splattered on the wall Lay layers of lusterless paint That crawl under your skin small bumps with a faint taint of a soft yellow haul that drags you down to a feint filled with reality
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Apr 2, 2018
Apr 2, 2018 at 5:41 PM UTC
This Square
After many season of wrongs, comes the righteousness storm Beginning the end of all in any malicious form The squall of virtue conquers the lingering souls Destroying all things devious with its gusty hyperbole Lest some tyrant hold you by the scruff Turning your lusterless cheek into toxic crimson You don’t die of it, for death brings salvation Stuck in a dreadful loop of living and the dead Is the best you can get, They will tell you are human, but ask for your humanity in return Don’t think about that, just get rid of the **** blood stains, Leave no clues behind **** them softly, Look into their eyes, when they die And leave before the light spills in those dark alleys.
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Oct 21, 2018
Oct 21, 2018 at 7:12 PM UTC
Death
“Where is the rest for the weary?”, Cried out the sappy sun. The burden of lighting up the world left his own soul lusterless. His blistered fingers handed down his glow as he stood frozen up high in his onerous profession, keeping a bright smile in a baby blue prison. In his own shame, the pitiful sun covered himself, boosting his rays so no man could beam their eyes up To see his dreary tears. After work he would blaze back home Dreading the next day to come while countless stars flooded outside his home, Night after night Begging for his spot and Dreaming of his celebrity. While the stars pounded on his door, inside He emptied endless tears out of the well of his heart But he could never let go of his pride. So, season after season he suffered in the spotlight all to hold on to his futile fame.
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Oct 27, 2020
Oct 27, 2020 at 9:17 PM UTC
The Life of A Star
the monumental night sky bedazzled with an ocean of twinkling stars and a moon that illuminates the caliginous. lusterless i may be but forever will i flicker for the moon.
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Feb 13, 2019
Feb 13, 2019 at 7:09 AM UTC
evangeline and the moon