Dhia Awanis Oct 2016
I remember they once told me that
music is the best time capsule

It's where people keep their secrets and feelings;
of their insecurities, their mistakes, their sadness, their first cut,
and even the wounds and bruises that invisible to the eye

It's where people let their wildest dreams alive;
of the one they can never reach, the one they know will never come back, the one that got away without saying goodbye

It's where people store their most sacred memories;
of their first kisses, their first love, their first dance, their first bucket of roses, their first heartbreaks

So they were right after all,
Music is dangerous, yet addicting; it can either tear you apart or put the pieces back altogether—depends on what kind of ghosts living inside

Thus, be careful who you listen the music with
some melody is louder than the others
Today I played the music box you gave me on my seventeenth birthday. How odd it is to realize that music sometimes can be a time machine, how every strings and clinks bring me back to you—towards you
Braxan Dec 2016
(Before you continue reading I ask that you read all of it and thats all I ask; proceed€;)

I have lived some years, In contrast to the years that have yet to come, even though I’ve never lived a life, there’s this one with you in Philadelphia.
In my dreams I often see a beach home with dogs and all the miricles, where someday everything; it’ll all make sense. Some days I believe this place is stomping grounds for you, and I’ve gone ahead and killed off all of your affairs cause now stories say the off white house with one garage is haunted,
Though now I only have this lifetime to reflect and roll it off on my dreams as just cause.

(*Before you continue reading I ask that you read **all of it** and thats all I ask*)
joeblow Apr 23
a longer life is long,
and every lonely man will tell you so,
the laughing days, as such, are gone,
and the dew that slid down the length of every dripping thing gone with them,
but oh, to taste that honey,
to come to it again,
my old grey beard in the sticky sweet,
o those words, that image,
o Lord, if you exist,
do you have a prayer for this?

o loneliness,
so cruel with cancer and broken faith,
you have your answers in your stupid face,
can you rise?
can you go on?
is there nothing left?
Eva Aloezos Jul 8
The mahogany rug seeped into my soul
and melted,
the night never grew old
as I watched Benji strum a guitar,
my happiness soared far
through the starry sky,
it felt melancholy to be alive
You laugh
Angels weep out of jealousy
Devils have no single conspiracy
Demons dancing in harmony
Men hearts go broken with no remedy
Women eyes tearing continuously
Violins break out of envy terribly
Composers have no more creativity
Music plays with no melody
Silence starts listening joyfully
Happiness laughters left in agony
Beautiful words describe nothing but misery
Tulip flowers become colorless shamefully
Believers lose their faith immediately
Infidels drop their convictions instantly
Hearts start beating rapidly
Lungs oxygenating quickly
Living ones laying listening carefully
The dead come back miraculously
The way she laughs. Je. Version 1.
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