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Paul Hansford Jan 2016
The oxygen that we breathe
in
and
out
every minute of every day
is not lost
but shared
re-used
recycled
recirculated.

If we are in the same room –
or sealed hermetically for hours
in the cabin of a plane –
we breathe continuously
the same air,
the oxygen goes from me to you
and back again.

But air currents,
prevailing winds,
the jet stream,
cyclones and anti-cyclones,
all move the atmosphere further
and further still,
so that even if we are
on opposite sides of the globe,
separated by oceans,
it is a statistical certainty
that I still breathe in
atoms of oxygen
that were once
inside
you.

Do they carry your thoughts,
your feelings,
your poetry to me,
or mine to you?
Who can say?
I can but hope it,
as I thank you
for keeping me alive.
Kathryn Maurine Mar 2017
How horrible it was
to wake up to your cries for help.
I came to find you had fallen,
your oxygen disconnected,
the clear tubes lying in a tangle
on your bedroom floor.

At first, you had been conscious,
your beautiful brown eyes looked up at me pleadingly,
and then you were gone.

I was alone and terrified,
having dealt with this before
I couldn’t say it was anything new,
but this time was different than the script of
past events.

Wishing I could escape like a bird in flight,
I knew I had no power to save you,
The harsh truth of my reality
suffocated me. My walls closing in
as I realized what was happening
in this moment.

Prior to this,
you had always made it to the hospital alright,
arguing with paramedics,
but this time,
you were motionless and cold.

I’ll never forget the blue stillness of your lips,
or the way the light left your eyes
as you departed the material world
and finally found peace in eternal rest.
6.13.13
requiescat in pace
N Oct 2017
when i get this bad i feel like i'm trapped in a room and i'm running out of  oxygen.
my breathing gets faster and shorter.
the walls close in.
my chest fells like it has 100  pounds on it  forcing my ribs to cave in.
sometimes i feel like this for a second, other times days.
but then there's certain people and they 're like my oxygen .
they help me breathe.
it's hard when they aren't around.
i need them.
they're my oxygen.
i'll die without them
lX0st Nov 2014
I'm drowning in your moans
Every word that melts from your lips
Floods the room about us
Suffocating me into believing
That I would be satisfied
Spending my last moments
Staring into your eyes
Breathless
Ashari Ty Sep 2018
come closer

i can't breathe

i need your scent

your fragrant flesh

keeps me alive

barely walking

let me crawl

on you
Mohamed Nasir Sep 2018
In an aquarium
I've seen fish sleep. Suspended
as though in space. Yet I've never seen fish
yawn. I guess they funnel enough of tiny bubbles
of oxygen that allows them to frolic among the corals.
And under the giddy lights of the casino the gamblers too
carried away at the tables too wrapped up in placing bets
or plunging down the arms of bandits unaware oxygen
slyly pumped into the hall kept them awake to swim
as fishes in their glass world. Oblivious and
never wiser. Gamblers never gets
richer only poorer.
Hussein Dekmak Sep 2018
Be whatever you want to be, as long as your heart beats to the tune of love !

Hussein Dekmak

Copyright
again i find myself
drowning in you
****** together
like waves on the shore
i'm ready to go under
and feel you fill my lungs
you are my oxygen.
- you're the only one who can push and pull my tide.
King Panda May 2017
Core—molten caramel center but
dead. dead. dead.
Hot.
Bleeding.
Then cool, small and massed. A
little red

button in the sky more than 400 times
the diameter of—I snap
my fingers.


Magician

star
gives birth to carbon, oxygen, and contract
gravitationally toward
the black clasped to
nowhere—an end melting
rock, evaporating ocean, stabilizing
expansion caught in
helium

flash—the metals of yesteryear
believed to exist inside
of you.
Andrew Aug 2017
We're in hell
Can't you tell?
No you can't
You only listen to the teller
All other voices are drowned
Because he's a yeller
For the useless things we're bound
That fill up our cellar
And our living room turns into a dying room
When the seller is the jailer
And salvation comes from tailors
Who can cover up the pain inside
With all the comfy clothes we buy

Money is the blood of our society
It's circulation provides oxygen
But we spill money into spilling blood
And we're funneled into killing love
So we can concern ourselves
With people not getting things they don't deserve
Rather than people getting what they need
Our blood starts clotting
In the fortunate arteries
As the rest of our body goes numb
It seeks medicine for healing
And drugs become our autoimmune disease
Redistributing blood to the suffocated areas
An unfortunate recompensing for injustice
When the persecutors
Become the prosecuted
Lives are exploded
Like Afghan villages
Lives can grow back
Like poppy fields

That's the score
And it makes me want to score
Until ****** drips from every pore
And ******* fills me to the core
I could just live at the liquor store
Where benzos are my father
And **** my mother
So I can ignore the death of my brother
My family is in trouble
Our society is in rubble
I have never seen your face up close in real life
Nor do I know how your skin feels touching mine
I can only imagine the smell of your hair and the feeling of your lips

I want to know how it feels like to have you in my arms
I want to know how it feels like to hold your hand for longer than ten minutes
I want to know how deep I can look into your dark eyes
And know how long it would take until you looked away

One a I'll hear your voice
One day I'll read my poems to you; and
One day you'll sing to me

But
Not
Digitally
samara lael Jul 10
the calm synth exhales.
i close my eyes as the rumble of the wheels turn.
palms face up on my lap, i pray.

señor, cuídame en este viaje.
estás conmigo.
inhala; exhala.

my stomach dips with the beat,
the bass picks up & so do we,
right on cue in perfect harmony.

i’m not scared of flying.
i found a peace in that moment
where the song, the sky & my soul
snapped into sync so smoothly
that i sighed in serenity.

i’m not scared of flying,
but sometimes of where i’m going,
& of what lies ahead.

but let me have this moment,
where daniel & kali
soar through the clouds with me,
where everything seems to click.

let me breathe,
despite the lack of oxygen outside.
& save a seat for Him.

~ pilot of life, perfect attendant & guiding wind.
Madison Feb 21
I want your lips to long for mine
the way your lungs ache for air
after holding your breath all day long

kiss me as though my lips are your oxygen
your source of life

gasp for me
like you could never fill your lungs completely

breathe me
Nat Lipstadt Jan 2017
Yom Kippur this year was celebrated on Oct. 12th 2016.
Leonard Cohen passed away on November 7, 2016.


~~~

faint knocking at the door to the Tower of Song

the ministering angels, hearing a rhythmic, lyrical rapping,
sigh, thinking the atonement day,
the holiday/holy days, are supposedly over,
the human balancing act, the rush to judgement period,
all tallies totaled, the busy sale season for souls,
at last completed, each fate inscribed & sealed,
in the book of life^

but, always one,
the itinerant straggler, the last reluctant sinner, a judgment resister,
flaunting an expired coupon, trumpeting demands for a recount,
waving it, claiming it, the bearer, entitled to a mercy discount and
an extra 30 days

"who shall we say is calling?"

the Angels are stunned to hear,
a familiar raspy, growling, almost indescribable,
yet, stammeringly, beautiful voice enchanting,
equally asking and answering,  how both,
with a strident humility, "a man in search of answers"

this voice, instantaneous recognizable,
the asking superfluous,
all beating wings now, all in vast excitement,
this psalmist, long awaited, one of His best,
a chosen one, a courtly singer in the Temple of his people,
blessed with the curse of seeing and believing,
the comprehension of beauty of the human superior interior,
never being quiet or quite satisfied,
in capturing, its multifarious variations,
in every language spoken

this is the man who took ten years
to compose just
one song,
one poem,
one word,
Hallelujah,
whose faith was strong,
but still needed proofs,
whose every breath of oxygen inhalation,
brought more questions,
every exhalation, only releasing partial answers,
and yet, still, yes, yes! finding hidden verses inside

a simple, everlasting
hallelujah

the hubbub subsides, the man sings~speaks:
how came I here,
was I one, who by fire?
that fire afeared,  that my finality was spirit consumer?

one voice, answers,
in one voice, the swaying back-up singers answer,
not by fire, not by water, not by stoning or
even drowning
in tea that came from all the way from China

when sing we Angels, the Judgement Day poem,
we alone, on high and above,
we, keepers of the books and records of everyone,
are permitted this to query:

Who by Sufficiency?

you, the sidekick of the creator,
special commissioned by him, anointed to live a life of research,
record in word and song the mysteries of musical gene strings,
that intertwine the skin cells of man and woman,
man and his fellow us-human,
your soul commandeered, ordered, delve deeper,
into the consolable chasm tween divine and mortals,
all those who are poorly constructed
in his image

he, who has earned his place, his best rest,
his works adjudged sufficient,
he, who best answered
this judging,
this calling out,
calling in
incantation,

Who by Sufficiency?

now forward on, write only of answers,
wade in the troubled waters no more,
no more passports, or borders to cross,
no more measuring the days,
the last road trip finale
finished & feted,
fate meted

no more changing thy name, changeling priest,^^
sing songs of solution, salvation,
for the questioning hours of confusion,
the urgency of revolution,
no longer need a hallelujah resolution


                                                    ­| | |
Who By Fire                             Who By Fire, Who By Water:^
(lyrics by Leonard Cohen)     (A Yom Kippur Hebrew Prayer)

who by fire                             How many shall die and      

who by water,                                how many shall born,
Who in the sunshine,                 Who shall live      
who in the night time,                   who shall die,                      
Who by high                                Who at the measure of days,
who by common trial,                    and who before,
Who in your merry                            
                                                          Who by fire
month of May,                                 and who by water
Who by very                                 Who by sword,
slow decay,                                       and who by wild beasts,
And who shall I                      Who by hunger,
say is calling?                              and who by thirst,

And who in her,                           Who by earthquake
lonely slip,                                         and who by plague
who by barbiturate,                      Who by strangling,
Who in these                                    and who by stoning
realms of love,                               Who shall have rest,

who by,                                             and who shall go wandering,
something blunt,                            Who will be tranquil,
And who by avalanche,                  and who shall be harassed,
who by powder,                            Who shall be at ease,
Who for his greed,                           and who shall be afflicted,
who for his hunger,                      Who shall become rich,
And who shall I,                             and who shall become poor,
say is calling?                                Who will be raised high,
                                                         ­     and who will be brought low
And who by brave assent,                  
who by accident,
Who in solitude,
who in this mirror,
Who by,
his lady's command,
who by his own hand,
Who in mortal chains,
who in power,
And who shall I,
say is calling?




^From the liturgy of Rosh Hasanah, the Jewish New Year and Yom Kippur, the  Day of Atonement, there is this truly stunning prayer (https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Unetanneh_Tokef) in the Jewish liturgy. The Book of Life contents the fate of every sinner. From the first day of the new year, until ten days later, on Yom Kippur, depending on whether the sinner repents or not, his fate is sealed.
Yom Kippur this year was celebrated on Oct. 12th 2016.

Leonard Cohen passed away on November 7, 2016.

^^"A Kohens ancestors were priests in the Temple of Jerusalem. A single such priest was known as a Kohen, and the hereditary caste descending from these priests is collectively known as the Kohanim.[2] As multiple languages were acquired through the Jewish diaspora, the surname acquired many variations." Today, with no temple, the limited role of the Kohanim is to bless the Jewish people on the high holy days with a  special prayer with abeloved tune,  instantly evocative (see wikipedia.org/wiki/Priestly_Blessing) The Kohanim are still revered, honored, and always called up first to the Sabbath reading of the weekly portion of the Old Testament

A thank you to Bex for proofing and encouragement.
Part I of a trilogy
For a  more detailed analysis of the roots of the song, "Who By Fire," and its origins, see:
_____________________________________________
http://www.leonardcohen-prologues.com/who_by_fire.htm

He worked on the song Hallelujah, arguably his most famous composition, for ten years.
vanessa ann Feb 2018
brown-eyed boy,
you haunt my dream
with your golden gleam

brown-eyed boy,
i wonder if your touch is as soft
as the way you lay your eyes upon me
       [like i was fragile glass,
        and a simple whisper
        is enough to shatter me]


brown-eyed boy,
you’re neither the blues
of the deep abyss
or the viridescence
of oak leaves

brown-eyed boy,
you’re the soil nourishing me
all the riches of this earth
the oxygen i breathe

and brown-eyed boy?
loving you is like
overindulging in
honey
       [for you're so sweet
        and who am i to resist?]


-
because there aren't enough poems in this world about brown-eyed boys, whose honey sweet eyes bore into your soul
paige tenielle Sep 2018
why wont you let me move on?
is it because you dont want me to?
you dont want me to find happiness
with someone else?
or are you just plain sadistic,
forcing this pain on me?

every time i think i can breathe,
there you are again
with your hands around my neck
cutting off my oxygen supply
making me lightheaded.

every time i try to move,
i realize my arms and legs have been tied down
and there you stand
taunting me at the end of the bed.

why do you have to be so cruel to me?
its probably because you know i live for the pain.
not just a metaphor.
D Awanis Aug 2018
The worst thing about losing someone to death is that
you didn't actually get that chance to pay your farewell

When they leave,
they just left

Suddenly, their brain refused to consume the oxygen,
their heart refused to pump the blood to the veins
It was almost felt like all those organs and cells had conspired together and finally come to their final conclusion

There will be days when you feel like grieving
and mourning over them are as normal as breathing

And it's okay,
it's okay

No one will ever get over death of loved ones easily
mostly because the "what if"s and "if only"s that follows,
Because the most painful goodbye
is the ones that never got the chance to be said
i miss you Grandma. if i could only turn back the time, i'd love to hug you tighter that night. for one last time
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