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1

Lo di che han detto a' dolci amici addio.    (Dante)
Amor, con quanto sforzo oggi mi vinci!    (Petrarca)

Come back to me, who wait and watch for you:--
    Or come not yet, for it is over then,
    And long it is before you come again,
So far between my pleasures are and few.
While, when you come not, what I do I do
    Thinking "Now when he comes," my sweetest when:"
    For one man is my world of all the men
This wide world holds; O love, my world is you.
Howbeit, to meet you grows almost a pang
    Because the pang of parting comes so soon;
    My hope hangs waning, waxing, like a moon
        Between the heavenly days on which we meet:
Ah me, but where are now the songs I sang
    When life was sweet because you call'd them sweet?

    2

Era gia 1′ora che volge il desio.    (Dante)
Ricorro al tempo ch' io vi vidi prima.    (Petrarca)

I wish I could remember that first day,
    First hour, first moment of your meeting me,
    If bright or dim the season, it might be
Summer or winter for aught I can say;
So unrecorded did it slip away,
    So blind was I to see and to foresee,
    So dull to mark the budding of my tree
That would not blossom yet for many a May.
If only I could recollect it, such
    A day of days! I let it come and go
    As traceless as a thaw of bygone snow;
It seem'd to mean so little, meant so much;
If only now I could recall that touch,
    First touch of hand in hand--Did one but know!

    3

O ombre vane, fuor che ne l'aspetto!    (Dante)
Immaginata guida la conduce.    (Petrarca)

I dream of you to wake: would that I might
    Dream of you and not wake but slumber on;
    Nor find with dreams the dear companion gone,
As summer ended summer birds take flight.
In happy dreams I hold you full in sight,
    I blush again who waking look so wan;
    Brighter than sunniest day that ever shone,
In happy dreams your smile makes day of night.
Thus only in a dream we are at one,
    Thus only in a dream we give and take
        The faith that maketh rich who take or give;
    If thus to sleep is sweeter than to wake,
        To die were surely sweeter than to live,
Though there be nothing new beneath the sun.

    4

Poca favilla gran fliamma seconda.    (Dante)
Ogni altra cosa, ogni pensier va fore,
E sol ivi con voi rimansi amore.    (Petrarca)

I lov'd you first: but afterwards your love
    Outsoaring mine, sang such a loftier song
As drown'd the friendly cooings of my dove.
    Which owes the other most? my love was long,
    And yours one moment seem'd to wax more strong;
I lov'd and guess'd at you, you construed me--
And lov'd me for what might or might not be
    Nay, weights and measures do us both a wrong.
For verily love knows not "mine" or "thine;"
    With separate "I" and "thou" free love has done,
        For one is both and both are one in love:
Rich love knows nought of "thine that is not mine;"
        Both have the strength and both the length thereof,
Both of us, of the love which makes us one.

    5

Amor che a nullo amato amar perdona.    (Dante)
Amor m'addusse in si gioiosa spene.    (Petrarca)

O my heart's heart, and you who are to me
    More than myself myself, God be with you,
    Keep you in strong obedience leal and true
To Him whose noble service setteth free,
Give you all good we see or can foresee,
    Make your joys many and your sorrows few,
    Bless you in what you bear and what you do,
Yea, perfect you as He would have you be.
So much for you; but what for me, dear friend?
    To love you without stint and all I can
Today, tomorrow, world without an end;
    To love you much and yet to love you more,
    As Jordan at his flood sweeps either shore;
        Since woman is the helpmeet made for man.

    6

Or puoi la quantitate
Comprender de l'amor che a te mi scalda.    (Dante)
Non vo' che da tal nodo mi scioglia.    (Petrarca)

Trust me, I have not earn'd your dear rebuke,
    I love, as you would have me, God the most;
    Would lose not Him, but you, must one be lost,
Nor with Lot's wife cast back a faithless look
Unready to forego what I forsook;
    This say I, having counted up the cost,
    This, though I be the feeblest of God's host,
The sorriest sheep Christ shepherds with His crook.
Yet while I love my God the most, I deem
    That I can never love you overmuch;
        I love Him more, so let me love you too;
    Yea, as I apprehend it, love is such
I cannot love you if I love not Him,
        I cannot love Him if I love not you.

    7

Qui primavera sempre ed ogni frutto.    (Dante)
Ragionando con meco ed io con lui.    (Petrarca)

"Love me, for I love you"--and answer me,
    "Love me, for I love you"--so shall we stand
    As happy equals in the flowering land
Of love, that knows not a dividing sea.
Love builds the house on rock and not on sand,
    Love laughs what while the winds rave desperately;
And who hath found love's citadel unmann'd?
    And who hath held in bonds love's liberty?
My heart's a coward though my words are brave
    We meet so seldom, yet we surely part
    So often; there's a problem for your art!
        Still I find comfort in his Book, who saith,
Though jealousy be cruel as the grave,
    And death be strong, yet love is strong as death.

    8

Come dicesse a Dio: D'altro non calme.    (Dante)
Spero trovar pieta non che perdono.    (Petrarca)

"I, if I perish, perish"--Esther spake:
    And bride of life or death she made her fair
    In all the lustre of her perfum'd hair
And smiles that kindle longing but to slake.
She put on pomp of loveliness, to take
    Her husband through his eyes at unaware;
    She spread abroad her beauty for a snare,
Harmless as doves and subtle as a snake.
She trapp'd him with one mesh of silken hair,
    She vanquish'd him by wisdom of her wit,
        And built her people's house that it should stand:--
        If I might take my life so in my hand,
And for my love to Love put up my prayer,
    And for love's sake by Love be granted it!

    9

O dignitosa coscienza e netta!    (Dante)
Spirto piu acceso di virtuti ardenti.    (Petrarca)

Thinking of you, and all that was, and all
    That might have been and now can never be,
    I feel your honour'd excellence, and see
Myself unworthy of the happier call:
For woe is me who walk so apt to fall,
    So apt to shrink afraid, so apt to flee,
    Apt to lie down and die (ah, woe is me!)
Faithless and hopeless turning to the wall.
And yet not hopeless quite nor faithless quite,
Because not loveless; love may toil all night,
    But take at morning; wrestle till the break
        Of day, but then wield power with God and man:--
        So take I heart of grace as best I can,
    Ready to spend and be spent for your sake.

    10

Con miglior corso e con migliore stella.    (Dante)
La vita fugge e non s'arresta un' ora.    (Petrarca)

Time flies, hope flags, life plies a wearied wing;
    Death following ******* life gains ground apace;
    Faith runs with each and rears an eager face,
Outruns the rest, makes light of everything,
Spurns earth, and still finds breath to pray and sing;
    While love ahead of all uplifts his praise,
    Still asks for grace and still gives thanks for grace,
Content with all day brings and night will bring.
Life wanes; and when love folds his wings above
    Tired hope, and less we feel his conscious pulse,
        Let us go fall asleep, dear friend, in peace:
        A little while, and age and sorrow cease;
    A little while, and life reborn annuls
Loss and decay and death, and all is love.

    11

Vien dietro a me e lascia dir le genti.    (Dante)
Contando i casi della vita nostra.    (Petrarca)

Many in aftertimes will say of you
    "He lov'd her"--while of me what will they say?
    Not that I lov'd you more than just in play,
For fashion's sake as idle women do.
Even let them prate; who know not what we knew
    Of love and parting in exceeding pain,
    Of parting hopeless here to meet again,
Hopeless on earth, and heaven is out of view.
But by my heart of love laid bare to you,
    My love that you can make not void nor vain,
Love that foregoes you but to claim anew
        Beyond this passage of the gate of death,
    I charge you at the Judgment make it plain
        My love of you was life and not a breath.

    12

Amor, che ne la mente mi ragiona.    (Dante)
Amor vien nel bel viso di costei.    (Petrarca)

If there be any one can take my place
    And make you happy whom I grieve to grieve,
    Think not that I can grudge it, but believe
I do commend you to that nobler grace,
That readier wit than mine, that sweeter face;
    Yea, since your riches make me rich, conceive
    I too am crown'd, while bridal crowns I weave,
And thread the bridal dance with jocund pace.
For if I did not love you, it might be
    That I should grudge you some one dear delight;
        But since the heart is yours that was mine own,
    Your pleasure is my pleasure, right my right,
Your honourable freedom makes me free,
    And you companion'd I am not alone.

    13

E drizzeremo gli occhi al Primo Amore.    (Dante)
Ma trovo peso non da le mie braccia.    (Petrarca)

If I could trust mine own self with your fate,
    Shall I not rather trust it in God's hand?
    Without Whose Will one lily doth not stand,
Nor sparrow fall at his appointed date;
    Who numbereth the innumerable sand,
Who weighs the wind and water with a weight,
To Whom the world is neither small nor great,
    Whose knowledge foreknew every plan we plann'd.
Searching my heart for all that touches you,
    I find there only love and love's goodwill
Helpless to help and impotent to do,
        Of understanding dull, of sight most dim;
        And therefore I commend you back to Him
Whose love your love's capacity can fill.

    14

E la Sua Volontade e nostra pace.    (Dante)
Sol con questi pensier, con altre chiome.    (Petrarca)

Youth gone, and beauty gone if ever there
    Dwelt beauty in so poor a face as this;
    Youth gone and beauty, what remains of bliss?
I will not bind fresh roses in my hair,
To shame a cheek at best but little fair,--
    Leave youth his roses, who can bear a thorn,--
I will not seek for blossoms anywhere,
    Except such common flowers as blow with corn.
Youth gone and beauty gone, what doth remain?
    The longing of a heart pent up forlorn,
        A silent heart whose silence loves and longs;
        The silence of a heart which sang its songs
    While youth and beauty made a summer morn,
Silence of love that cannot sing again.
st64 Mar 2014
he who knows..
he who speaks..

laughing all the time
disobeying every law
even the great-king laughed
till he retired for five centuries
to meditate


1.
the imp of wisdom
with coat of gold-brocade and mint-lining
never crawled but crashed
all parties with *ephemerated
-crime
with banner held high, he spread mirth
but the jay-lord's son was not amused
and challenged the magic-monkey
who blew but one hair-strand to duplicate the view
and the foe fought hard against the wind
which made one **** and disappeared

there he was.. up on the beam
munching joyful an apple to the core
and ire met his glaring eyes
he lifted a large vase and forced fire inside
and sent it forth
but excellent skills of the hermit shone
until deception caught him by surprise
ugly lies and secret art sent the baton flying
into malingering-oblivion
and left the imp banished into stone
mockery petrified
and the staff traveled on, alone
where it spins to this day
until it finds a worthy-hand
to catch its portent, embossed with ancient-lore


2.
but the player of the lyre spun a thread to turn all heads upside-down
spinning a feline-twist
smacks them with tight silver-aglet'd tresses
and sends the hunters onto a new trail
of unspeakable dangers on the Fifth-Pathway
a hooded rider on a steed so fast
outruns the stallion over a cawing-hill
a silent-temple starts humming olden-prayers in tongues-forgot
to a drunken-master
calabash-mug in the hand of an expert
pretense hard at work in the grey-dust

both holding onto the same thing
makes sharing one swish of a horse's tale
a miniature-masterpiece sways obstinacy
interceptor-serpent too languid to trap the crab
silent riddles stretch learning to land at the waterfall's feet
its power majestic, yet freeing


empty your cup
pour anew
there's half a shadow beneath the bridge
the one you must cross
take finest-care now





S T, 1 march 2014
just a silly piece..



sub-entry: protect yourself

read the letters on the wall
now.. duck!
Death-throws Mar 2015
I was never a good boy  , dabbling in the wrong side of the right life,  i stole coins like candy from my grandmothers cookie jar.  Of coarse i was wrong, but i allays...
I always thought i was right , because my world had so little light  i didn't know...
I didn't know what was right, what was i to feel? how i was i to fight?,
i wasn't..
depression is like having a red dot on your forehead and you cant tell if that's from the divines gifting you inspiration to speak or the ****** down the road firing words sharp enough to slit wrists through the ballistic scope of the internet. and how dare you say..
"get over it"
how dare you say"be happy",
because depression is like a black hole
that not even light can escape and where all stuck at the bottom..
only the lucky few get to sit at the top with smiles and wave without being ****** in. throwing in careless well wishes like the coin you stole into a well...wishing that coin would grow and swell and unfurl into the note  of green you think you need.
stop counting your own blessing and count mine,  because down here at the bottom  its to dark to see the notes of happy things you write, and still you throw more and ask for them back but why is it always about you?  why cant i get a helping hand without seeing the back of it against my cheek, because we only get help when its returned..and we can only beat depression when we earn it.  and the only way to earn it is to run faster then light because that's where the answer is...
happiness
and im not talking about the kind of happyness that drips from the slit neck of a broken bottle, im not talking about  the kind that seaps from my lungs in the clouds i blow, im talking about that someone ..
the girl with cute socks all fluffy and pink,  the doctor who series box set and waaayyy to many treats..
im talking about  the people who even when my skin is made out of stone see the marshmallow of my heart, even when my worlds falls apart, and the fragments of my reality splinter into stepping stones across a  raging river...
they make the steps not so far apart...
  while upstream my family and my friends rush construction on the dam that will slow the flow enough to cross..
THERE THE ONES WHO CARE  !'
the ones who grab that happiness that outruns my own black hole and dive head first into it m force feeding me spoonfuls of sugar and courage and smiles because  they never saw the swirls of darkness around me they only saw emptiness


And one after another those broken hearted lovers those screaming from slit rists or happyness in there raught minds strip there beds and make a rope from the sheets  and tossed it from the tallest window of the fortress of life and  as soon as it touched the ground..they scream. they scream like animals climb.. climb dam you climb!!! climb like gravities blowing you a wet kiss and  the worlds tied wings to your back CLIMB! and those eat the bottom of the rope .. they  chant your bane  to keep you going...keep moving they say.. and those on the other side who can see the sun rissing and see it getting better they scream hurry! because my lifes passing me by and only they can see it...

and i can say because of them...the friends that care the one who suffer i climb...Ii still do... I haven't stopped and im STILL not at the top but im still going...
and its hard...
and my hands bleed from the effort and the slits on my wrists beg to burst again but i cant...
I  cant **** the rope that love built with my own blood and slip back down
I  must keep going...
thanks to the selflessness of those around me i know that bed sheets aren't for nooses...
there for ropes..
because dreams aren't  knifes there an escape from climbing...
the soft pillow i rest my head on doesn't feel like rocks any more..
because i couldn't dream before and now its all i do,   i  scream it DREAM!  i yell from one ear to the next look at me! smiling with  broken teeth look-at me! my scars aren't scars because I've shaped them into badges of pride because im climbing...
and as long as i climb ill never have to touch the ground...
  as long as i catch the rope when i slip those who love me will cheer me on, iscream it... look at me, not even a black hole could catch me now

*L.G
a quick spoken word speach
authentic Mar 2015
I will still write poems about you
Even if I do not speak to you out of fear I will love you again
Even if I look away when I see you out of the corner of my eye
Looking in my direction with the hope I will turn to you
I won't
Even if the rate of my heart outruns my mind and I want to call you
I won't do that either
Because I am coming to realize that waiting on someone to love me
Is like having a noose around my neck and a stool beneath me
But I am choosing to life my feet from it, hanging myself
Putting myself through torture with hopes you will lower the rope
But you never will
So I am standing up, I am saving myself from falling into you
I will not wait around for someone who is waiting for someone else
I will not be the second choice
Even if you never come back to me
I will still write poems about you
J. W. Mar 2010
Solitude begins with a silence,
It is an uncomfortable void
Solitude begins with nothing
And time mockingly waltzes past
you hear quiet nervous laughter
she promanades behind you
words begin anonymously as whispers
she passes you once more
A voice is present, is flows from the depths
It simmers and delicately steams untill
It begins to boil, and boil over and flood
Becoming submerged in insanities, it cooks your memories

Judgement slips and truth becomes your own
There is no such thing as a stranger anymore,
We are here, an army with meaningless words.
We are here, but why?

Every experience is suspect,
My eyes are closed, i see blue in the sky

Mental fatigue outruns everything
It crosses the finish line first,
the race for the rights of destruction
Slowly, disected, things are taken from me
Find this mind a hole or else I just am, i have to be

Write in Spite.
Kyle Kulseth Mar 2015
Keyring's clinking on my cut time stride
under lights, buzzing islands in the ink sea night.
Slink away from my murky years,
                  they're piling up
and I'm hunched, walking dumb
          across the hazard yellow lines.

Behind me
          the night just rolls up
almost outruns me to my front doorstep.
                                                The hungry
hills enclose
                    our mid-size
                    opaque town.

Old partners,
          forgotten crimes we
did and left trails of clues, all gutshot
                                       creep hunching
through this skull
                      beneath a
                      fraying cap.

Keyrings jangle like anxieties
in my chest, humming static in the core of me.
Sinking in to familiar tones;
                  shades purple grey.
And it's cold, striding slow
          through the west side warehouse lots.

Behind me
          the teeming sidewalks
shout half-slurred spears at my back retreating.
                                                The half-light
spills itself
                    on wrinkled,
                    trenching brows.

And out there
          the night just rolls up
to darken the mat by your front doorstep.
                                                You're just a
single thought
                    and several
                    miles away.
AP Jan 2015
the numb can't fall in love with another
only with the thought of being in it
they'll convince themselves they're thawed
until depression outruns denial
when they grow angry at themselves for being unable to feel
then they'll return with slumped shoulders to their cavern of ice
where their tears freeze along with their hope
to wait until they can lie to themselves again
taking one foot out into the sun
and leaving the other in the snow
He lives in days
I live in decades
His world in constant change
My world struggles to be sane

The master of his ship
Unbothered by the sea
I am the waves, the current
All the chaos underneath

How incompatible are we
Only now I've come to see
He was made for adventure
But he was not made for me

He can tolerate the harshness
He can understand my depth
But tolerance is still not love
Or else he wouldn't have left

Our paces are mismatched
They cannot intertwine
How do I catch up to him
If his pace outruns mine

His seconds are my moments
So little that he forgets
Locked beneath my trenches
Like a buried treasure chest
Matalie Niller May 2012
Voila!
A beautiful ******.
Watch the delicate movements;
the serenity of spirit,
the feminine grace in her gait.
She raises a glass of water to her thirsty head,
crystal coolness against youthful lips,
curious tongue.
Vital and charming, she eludes all hunters.
She outsmarts and outruns the vikings who wish
to steal her mojo, her soul.
They want to skin her,
to feel her pelt against bare, sweaty flesh;
they want to mount and stuff her
full of formaldehyde and polyester batting from Wal-Mart.
They want to lock this majestic, innocent creature
in a cell
without padding, only harsh, cold bars
and stare at her nakedness with crooked grins on grimey faces
and **** her of her will to be whole.
Even worse:
they want to love her,
to hold this creature's hands
and write intense poetry of devotion.
These lunatics want to love this poor, hideous beast
who does not want the attention.
She is a monster,
a ******* abbhorred abomination of existence,
and they wish to court her like a little lady.
Pristine. Pure.
But they are only seeing a siren, a mythical form
better left to starve on the jagged rocks of eternity
than to be admired and held in soothing arms.
The hunter’s bullet lodges in my side
like the pin bones of salmon wedged
in the back of my throat.

My life balances on the border
between my favorite comfort foods,
and the blade of the taxidermist.

You would make me into a trophy,
gutted and cured to become an ornament,
in your seasonal hunting cabin.

Raw honeycomb, Caribou marrow,
salmon roe stuck to my tongue,
psalms of my home made flesh,

call me back into my survival
instincts for my sleeping children.

She who outruns deer & devours
strong bucks with antlers the size of sequoias
could not outrun the champion sprinter,

American made bullets.

But when you realize your rumpus
disturbed wild things, there is no time to reload.
You brought a potluck into the den
of a slumbering mother with cubs.

My teeth are agonizingly real
And my jaws are in your belly,
rooting for the lost rib of Adam.
sandbar Sep 2012
Silence is the beat of a dead man’s heart
Raindrops have never felt colder, at one
in the morning
A cigarette in the thunder and darkness,
destroying me
Satellites rolling from my shoulder blades
down my spine
Transmitting quiet thoughts into my
eyelids
Refracting memories at heartbeats a
second
This ambient sound engulfs
thought
And the pen stroke outruns the
thought
A few brews deep and you’re already thinking of
tomorrow
But those days are beyond your grasp, forget them for
the present
Where the tangible become reality, and reality
becomes livable
Reflecting a thought on the edge of
consciousness
And from our awareness comes
discontent
And the falling, heavy, raindrops, forget
their impact
Shattering like liquid glass on the tongues of
dying men
Cecil Miller Apr 2018
You're such a beauty with your powder blue eyes,
Like specs of loveliness.
Why can't he see it?
Why doesn't he know it?

They all talk about your flaxen hair;
Your legs that stretch from here to there,
But he outruns you
Without nary a strain.

You've got a long way to catch up to him
Cause you know that he's out of your league.
But you don't care how far you'll go,
Someday you'll have him on his knees.
Begging for mercy, please.

You got no reason for to doubt yourself
And what you bring to the game of love.
But he wont play it,
Won't even say it.

They all know you got the strategy.
It's so frustrating that he leaves you be.
Won't look your way,
Though he's not gay.

You've got a long way to catch up to him
Cause you know that he's out of your league.
But you don't care how far you'll go,
Someday you'll have him on his knees.
Begging for mercy, please.

You've run the cycle,
You've toured the maze.
You've carved a path.
You got it figured out.
Just at the time
You reach for prize
He does a zig-zag-ziggy-zag
Swill-still swanson sidelong swag.

You're such a stinger with your tight, ruby lips.
And he should be your own.
Why don't he see it?
Why don't he know it?

All can see the assets you could bring to romance.
But he seems numb to your signs.
What's wrong with him?
Not that he's dim.
But he keeps getting away

You've got a long way to catch up to him
Cause you know that he's out of your league.
But you don't care how far you'll go,
Someday you'll have him on his knees.
Begging for mercy, please.

Someday you'll have your way.
So you'll keep chipping away.
And someday your baby
Will come around to your way.
I was practicing my guitar, then heared about three seconds of a catchy commercial jingle that was kind of upbeat and decided to write something kind of whimsical.

This is in the tradition of 1960's pop rock songs like The Beetles might have inspired. The homage was unintentional.

I wrote it in about 20 minutes on april 22nd in the early morning when all was quiet.
Gabriel Mar 2022
How can I outrun it?
If it gets faster with every encounter
as it catches up it'll slow your pace
you'll see the world slower
and leeches on to your stamina that keeps you going further.
Slowly reaching your shoulder
trying to get a grasp of what carries the weight of your burden
tipping away it's balance
it hopes that you'll tumble
It's whispers will make you tremble
and once it outruns you
weakening both mind and muscle
everytime it moves forward
the deeper you'll sank
at the rubble
The times we had
The good outruns
The bad
A percentage of me has to hell been consigned
by the ever raging zionists' war machine.
To each livid soldier, a mandate is assigned
to uproot terror where multitudes are confined.
Torrents of explosives have swept my landscapes clean.
Churches, mosques, schools have all to mighty vengeance bowed.
Stricken mothers wail uncontrollably aloud.
Itinerancy pervades my horror stricken crowd,
whilst my kids toy with explosives, carnage and ruin.
Survivors will take shelter from snipers shooting
death ***** and lead from peevish and portable guns.
Horror unprecedented the people outruns.
I have metamorphosed to nothing but a morgue.
Lice and bugs have infested hoodies lined with borg.
Disease and maimed limbs have no remedies in sight.
Let not the world be unmoved by my sorry plight.
Why must I this price pay for a thousand or more killed?
My morgues are beyond their capacity filled.
The deaths of innocents are nothing but unjust.
My once-populated streets have been turned into dust.
Dedicated to the people of Gaza.
without remembering
our past
we cannot understand
   the present
   plan for the future

   that is what they have told us
   in so many words

with advancing years
memories accumulate
   eventually
making up most of our lives

and yet

memory is there
   life is here

the present always
outruns the past
leads us into futures
we do not know

those who think
detailed knowledge of the past
would help them cope
with future life
are right
    and wrong as well

we imagine
our future modeled on the past
with the present thrown in
for good measure

and yet

the future may be
   the present is
      the past was

to live in it
makes you an addict
of events that were
once upon a time

   no matter
   whether fairy tale
   or trauma

the art of letting go
is in demand
and in much need

to square the circle
of life’s mystery
Riding a chariot ,
darker than your darkest thoughts ,
For mortals a sight bearable not .
Perpetually driven,
By despair , misery , grief and pain ;
Carving paths , lined with blood of hundred slain .

A million shades , all of deathly hue,
Shrouds the body of my ride;
For from my grasp , not even spirits of His ,
Can think of holy ways to hide.

Know me man,
For I'm emperor of spirit world, origin of fear ,
Sustainer of Anarchy , Chaos creator.
I hold sway over the world darker,
Before , Now and forever.

Crafted in the forges of hate ,
By skilled spirits with a cursed fate ;
Outruns it not mere winds or gale,
But even the mighty shadow's trail .

Quick disappears the ephemeral's soul ,
Devoured when by the God , of all beneath .
It's he who rides this dreaded ride ,
It's he who sadness and anger breathes .

Minions of mine , are patrolling the depths of our abyss deep ,
Allowing spirits to float across , or simply seep ;
For when degrees of darkness engulf the dead  ,
There remains not much to be said .
#Death #Hades #Pluto #Darkness #Chaos #Hate #Anger #Misery #Spirits #Underworld
mystique May 2015
I'm emotionally distraught
painting pictures with my feelings...
I'm falling into a void,
someone **** this dark circle.
can you hear my scream?
It only comes out in smiles.
someone pull me back I'm almost in too deep,
my heart hurts. . . it's crying in blood..

You said I'll be okay,
why am I in decay ?
My shadows shallow me
my past outruns me,
my future is scared.
I stand unheard,

someone come save me.
my brain is drowning in tears
my eyes are heavy like stones,
they cry in small rocks.
now my cheeks are hurting....

But someone lied,
they lied & said I'm happy
but why? why do i feel so ******...

someone just save me . . . before I fall in
fall into this dark hole
all alone...
#17YearOldMe #2014 #BadTimes #Depression
Alex Sep 2019
Yesterday gone
Never returned
Feelings wrong
Lessons learned

Today's anew
Time endowed
Seconds pursue
Age avowed

Tomorrow ahead
Always outruns
Possibly dead
Promises none

-Ajm
Short + true
Hope you enjoy.
Thank you for taking the time out to read it!
Sarra Mar 2020
When time outruns the last of your brothers, and the heart of a golden generation turns into stone. Your strained bones long to rest among your loved ones, but you're unable to answer their call.
There's worry lingering in your thoughts and straining your soul. You fear for stories too precious to leave behind, vulnerable to the ruthless fires of oblivion.
So you keep clinging tiredly to an uncertain future. Desperately, you wonder for a shelter, a sanctum to all the lessons that must endure.

Let go of these fears grandmother. Your history will live on.

Through emblems, talismans and charms carved in the blood of our nation, your beliefs will be embedded in the symbols of our ancestors. Your teachings will clear the path for understanding, and our bodies will carry on the knowledge you left us.
Through legends, tales and chants all forged from truth, your morals will resonate among frozen hearts. Your hopes will breathe life into our dying spirits, and the wisdom of our ancestry will guide our nation for eternities.

Go in peace grandmother. Your wishes will live on.

As your never-fading love warms us, harmony and peace will unite us again, and we will reach together to the glory you once saught.
As your never-dying spirit inspires us, bravery and confidence will guide our conquests, and our triumphs await in the lands you dreamt of exploring.
And as the blessings of your ancestors protect us, we'll pass on the knowledge to our children, and enlighten the path you've once shown us.

So rest assured grandmother. Our culture will live on.
Satsih Verma Jul 2017
A sleepwalker gives up
a snake,
inside the sleeves.
The dog outruns
the moon.

*

You draw a blue line
around the summer night.
Flames.
I will drive out
the ghosts.

*

The acid attack
went for the thatch.
You will snorkel now,
under the reeds.
Nathan MacKrith Jan 2021
Sleep sweet, child
the new year comes
all yesterday’s troubles
gone as time outruns

the fear of yesteryear
the new year comes
what happened here
more than zeroes and ones

turning, ever turning as
the new year comes
remember what is dear
by the beat of drums

marching without retreat
the new year comes
full of joy, love, and hope
for what is to be done is

Sleep, sweet child
the new year comes
today has its own troubles
come as still time runs.
~
NM
12/31/20
*For Manar
Andrew Rueter Jun 2020
Late night chore
****** score
can of sardines Toyota Camry
cigarettes are thrown out the window
after they’ve burned to ash.

Life is grueling
money pulling
social circles are salesman circuits
items in stores can be sold by anyone
money belongs to whoever is holding it
the rabbit outruns the fox
because the fox is running for its dinner
and the rabbit is running for its life.

Wheels are spinning
not winning
up and down Hopple Street
cash clutched in clenched clinging fingers
swivel squirrel seekers scan the street for swine
snakes slithering to ****** sparrows with clipped wings
flashing lights bring fame and shame.

Lifetime of disappointment
hedonistic enjoyment
outstretched arms receive god
precarious stones in the water mark the path
murky liquid lies beneath       lies within
murky thoughts from beneath lie within
murky dreams from within    lie beneath.

Cycle of looting
then shooting
concession consolation
paranoia prerequisite
thievery theology
potholes collect in the freeway
vehicles begin to fall apart.
I walk a labyrinth alone,
shuffling my steps
to follow the intricate inwardness
of the path, skeleton of the divine circle,
maze of the praying soul.

It is a pilgrim's progress
toward the center, where the last line
abruptly ends, indifferent to whether
your prayers have been answered.
The journey curtails, moving around
and around, the finish found
before the beginning begins.

This decorated circle of communion
subdivides into monastic cells,
the walls permeable to the Spirit,
impervious to doubt. The circle pivots
on its axis, perfectly aligned
with itself, perfectly identical
to itself. No cycles to bring change.
No mutation of form. Only
the mystifying distance of pi.

The labyrinth looms like a celestial
formation encircling heaven and Earth.
Dante walks it, with Beatrice by his side.
A circle of new love, new life.
Every next step encircles the entire journey,
enlivening the heart. Agape outruns
Eros in a race of heavenly calm.
All prayers divinely divisible by pi.
Joseph Zenieh Sep 2020
WILL OR STRENGTH?
I esteem those who accept the truth
and admit they are too weak for life.
They explore how they can give much more
than those who speak much just us to bluff.

They reflect on where their land is strong
and install their tower that goes high.
They can see what comes from far and near
and defeat blind force that sits to sigh.

No one may accept that the tortoise
outruns the rabbit which can run fast?
Power is not all when mind is strong.
Will is the great winner that laughs last.
BY JOSEPH ZENIEH
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
____________

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