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O  my precious-
Leaving looms as a huge black vulture before me
And I am terrified.

I cannot buy him off with tears or with pleading
And I cannot hide from his seeking eyes.

All the courage I promised myself has fled me
And I tremble alone in my fear.

What will become of this raging inferno
When the winds of distance fan it.
Will it flash higher or gutter and die.
The colossal dark bird doesn’t answer.

He only stands watching
As uncaring clock hands
Drag me ever closer.

The world goes out of focus with my longing.
Just one moment more, a minute, an hour-
A lifetime would be not enough.

O my beloved-
I hear his wings flapping, waiting for me
And I crumble.

Somehow I must find a face
With some valor in it that can say goodbye
And not drown us both in sorrow.

That can watch you go
For an ever of evers
And not cry out against our very  God.

I am so small
And your gift is so great
How shall I conquer this parting.

In this, my hour of panic I would sell all of my past
For one half of its time in the future.
But the ebony bird isn’t buying.

He’s only beckoning me
And I must go
And I MUST go

O my true lover, I must go.

I had a brain freeze and attached the wrong title to this one. "Parting" is sadder and less angry sounding than "leaving". And I was absolutley crushed the night I wrote that and flew 6,000 miles away the next morning.
#separation     #parting       #sadness     #loneliness
ryn Sep 2014
Toting the mysterious bundle and sporting a sore back
I drag my feet up the last few steps, expended of vigour
I almost couldn't resist prematurely looking through the sack
Remembering the words from the wise old seer

Grimacing I walk a slow gait to get to the table
Set the bundle down and relieve my weight onto a chair
Parched throat but wait longer I am unable
Curiosity takes charge and into the gift I will tear

Blood is pumping along with an increasing heart rate
Fingers scrambling clumsily over the strings that bind
Nails digging frantically into this package bearing my fate
Gnawing thoughts of uncertainty flooding my mind

At last my fingers win the battle that lasted
The final string has fallen... Obstinate knots all undone
I pick the cloth by the edges to have it unfolded
The contents inside reach out like rays of the sun

Corners of the cloth open up like a fully bloomed blossom
Exposing the treasure that lay solemn and quiet inside
Common objects we'd normally perceive as random
Petty things now important as they attempt to guide

I pick up the first and notice an engraving on it's stem
Between my fingers - an unassuming feathered quill
Barely legible, such little space the words do cram
"Here is your sword... Draw blood and let spill"

More riddles, I sought to examine the next
A flat bottomed vial filled with jet black ink
On it is a label with scrawling of time worn text
"Here is your blood; let flow what you think"

Lastly, lay bound up sheets of yellow stained parchment
They reek of age-old herbs; intoxicating slightly
At the top of the first, a note scribbled not so recent
"Within these pages, you must bleed to find Sanctuary"

Staring down at the objects laid in front of me
In hopes of discovering something I should miss
Then finally it struck me, so plain to see
I'm using the instruments now, writing to find release...
See "Dear Mystic"
See "Dear Seeker"
See "Sanctuary"
Juhlhaus Aug 9
Some impossible goodbyes,
Like a farewell embrace
For a wisp of tobacco smoke
Or a parting kiss
From the vapors dancing at the rim
Of that favorite chipped teacup,
You carry with you wherever you go.
Juhlhaus Jun 21
Every now and then,
Someone lights up your world
Like breaking weather,
Scattering the clouds
And baptizing your soul
In a deluge of colors.

Every now and then,
Someone captures emotions
Like bluebottle flies
In a jar, only to release,
Too delighted ever
To pin them with names.

Every now and then,
Someone dares you to dance
With words or muscle memory,
And laughs with you
When flailing efforts prove
That you almost can.

Every now and then,
Someone glows like Traffic Lights
And points you to new roads
They've traveled on before:
Ways that part and meet again,
Every now and then.
Moksha May 2015
Memories flood these eyes


Until I let them flow down
into the part of me that I have now left behind.

Bittersweet goodbyes are not my thing
And I usually leave

a second

But today I realize

My life was made here

I owned every bit of it
With such pride.
EmVidar Apr 18
I don't know if it's because
we stopped caring about the truth
or if
we never told it in the first place

-em vidar
K Balachandran Jul 2018
Stepped in to the street.
Two rain drops fell on my face;
A cloud’s parting gift!
Nic Mac May 2018
love letters Unsent
because for you? they’re not meant.
though written in this language inspired by you.
this place discovered, with your hand, as it led me to.

but further, we were not to tread.
and some of these words, are not to be read.
thankyou's, are to be sent instead


for opening this door,  I could not find,
illuminating what lay behind
i to be seeing with eyes for the first time
that had not, and did not, see
what had been within my capacity
with shackles shook free.

this rusty heart begun to speak
within the flow of my ink
as paper below allowed words to sink,

but to send..was not on the agenda
you cannot hear what I shout
as past fears on ears pound
it’s not meant for you and me
not to be truly or deeply,
was it not the reason fate had written?
our stars were those, that would simply, find each other,
to find ourselves.
Jane Bell Nov 2018
My heart is racing
Was what I just said okay?
Are you okay?
A moment that would never end.
I’m just a concerned person
To you I tried to hug you to
To me I was blocking you from the rain on our smoke break
I’m sorry it was my idea to come to this place
And you hunny studs couldn’t talk to me much
Because I was always looking at something else to do
Every glance away from you I had
I’m scared and you don’t understand why
But I understand why not so when you said “I’m going home”
Just because you didn’t want to deal with me as the worst of plenty before
I was concerned you don’t like me
Even as a human being..
Convinced you don’t
So before we parted in the dawn before a new day,
a rootbeer lollipop in hand you said goodnight and I said goodbye . -Walmart employee
It’s not your fault, im just so over my social anxiety.
Knit Personality Aug 2018
An evensong was sung last night
     In parting by July;—
Was sung through fading sound and light
     A charming lullaby.

As August, crowning, lifts his fire
     Unto the eyes that wake,
I think of her, and die with desire
     From heartburn and heartache.  

Athena Feb 8
We are all united
as a single soul
bent on making claim
to our individual recognition
constantly fighting
to be separate and apart
but always jointed
as we fall dead
on the field of blood
that we made
King Panda Nov 2017
I see a ****** of crows
parting the sky with
a ******* V

it hawks and blecks
down as if to say
good afternoon
to the child wheeling
across federal
on her
pink bicycle—

a travel
that rots and witches
the sweet, grey air
sailing into clouds
of pounding tide—


and divorced
across the
pearl of
missing you
HTR Stevens Aug 13
A lying tongue and smiling lips!
Blood dripping claws at finger-tips!
To find my friend and foe are one;
The truth drops on me like a ton.

First, come the shock and disbelief –
Then acceptance with flowing grief…
Then anger wells up in my heart.
The mole has changed into a wart!

Betrayed by one who calls me friend,
What foe will to such depths descend?
A coiled serpent beneath the grass…
I cannot simply let it pass!

I must blast it to kingdom come!
Treachery is a game to some!
I want blood, as my blood’s been drawn;
Shock has changed into hate by dawn.

The hate on my face must not show –
While I plan vengeance sweet and slow.
Death is too quick for treachery!
This foe must waste away slowly…

So shall justice be metered out…
Betrayal one jokes not about.
Here my words come to a rude end.
Be the same for my so-called friend!
CK Baker Jan 2017
cedar planks line the dim lit hall
morning snow begins to fall
sepia print in a chip wood frame
embers spark from the franklin flame

rustling sounds from bunks below
records play in a tight alcove
bacon grills on the iron sheet
gloves are warmed by baseboard heat

bean bags tossed on colored ****
papka placed as a punching bag
red brick wall with mounted poles
windows filled with glacier bowls

whiskey jack on the southern rail
a frozen patch of wine and ale
pine cones fall in gathering white
brothers bathed in firelight

sleighs are on the table top
canyon road is at a stop
northern winds that bite the face
lines are up the gondola base

cornice clipped on gully goat
the rubber man appears to float
alpine depths are on the rise
peaking sun through parting skies

triple ropes and nordic luge
honored guests from baton rouge
gelande jumps on rainbow drive
nostalgia’s light and warm reply
aj Dec 2018
I just said goodbye to us as we've known it
I don't feel like I did it right, the goodbye
It wasn't soft or spiritual
We never locked eyes
You just hugged me tight as we both pretended to be fine

Then you kissed me
and turned around and left
no glance back

it was a simple goodbye  

Not five seconds out the door
it took me one moment to realize
that I had just said hello to the end of us without even looking you in the eyes once
last night my mother
held my face in her merciful hands
and told me to smile.
i looked into her eyes and saw
so much worry, my heart sank deeper

for her sake
i lifted the corners of my mouth.

"there," she says, "this is not the age for sadness."
she kissed my forehead, parting with a blessing
          may the night pass over you well."
the night shall pass, however it does.
but mother, dear mother,
      how shall this sadness, for sadness has no age

Seanathon Sep 24
The rain unsettling shakes more than me
It shakes the summer out of the pensive trees
The quiet out of the evening still
The confidence out of the newfound skill
And more so than the colored leaves
Which newly rest on dampened ground
As the sorting of the rain gives way
Resulting in a plethora of familiar sounds
All merging beneath and moving fast
Like a symphony of cicadas in the summers past
Known only to one in time as the same  
As the parting whisper of trees in the rain
Written on a whim tonight, when I first heard the rain greet the evening trees and their fading leaves. True story, the idea behind this is that the trees part ways with their leaves, just as we human beings will one day have to part ways with our children. Slowly, steadily and with a whisper.

In here
In my world
Ever since you
Slipped out of my sight
Out there in the
Distance, away
With thy

That shone
Bright to my
Wild blue yonder
Like rays of sunshine
Parting glowing
Clouds on a

Which I
Will always
Crave perdurably
Whilst incandescent
Stars seldom dost
Shine athwart
The night
(A Series Of Ninette)

A ninette poem is a poem made up of nine lines, each increasing in one syllable, then at the mid point, decreasing again. The first and last word may be the same, antonyms or synonyms.

Its structure is 123454321 syllable format
Paul Mar 13
Over the bed, a ceiling fan revolves
elliptically. The yellowed walls speak
of anxieties archived by the lungful.
From his fingers the snaking upward blue
smoke of burning tobacco describes tumult.
She has gone back into the world. Alone
in their aftermath he inhales like a figure
growing distant in a cinema purged
of heroes. The worn sheets rope about
his ankles and recall an inmate’s noose.
She'd been inside. And for years. How she assumed
her role in the act, face to the wall, silent, work-like.
It was a thing they laughed about. Her parting
glance was inscrutable.

He drew deeply, and a ring
of orange fire bloomed, briefly proclaiming love
remained a chance. Who could know? The arhythmic
rocking of the fan beat the hot air back
onto him, the lone smoker, smoking blankly.
The curtains billowed into the parking lot
like some great tongue, wildly, mute. And under
the window, in the shadowless heat, a dog,
limp with thirst, laps at the drips that drip from a pipe.
a re-write and re-post. I've strived for meaningful enjambments and a sense of metre while attempting to sound contemporary
Benton James Oct 2018
My darling,

Though our time was short, it was the happiest of my life.

The time has come to say goodbye. Until the 16th century, “God be with you” was the phrase people said, and I imagine it had special significance with those in love.

So, God be with you, until we meet again. I will miss you terribly during our time apart, but the bitterness of waiting will make our reunion so much sweeter.

I love you.

Yours forever.
I wrote this a while back when I was dealing with a breakup. I didn't send this to her.
pitch black god8 Apr 2018
”good night, good travels, pitch black”

depending on how one counts,
cause size matters,
do have I
one small blessing

though little do I get, more-less,
in each twenty four measuring cup,
when the sleep gas has come-for-inhaling,
lidded heavy with greatful/tearful anticipation,
it’s less than sixty seconds till
dispatched to where all poems
plead like unborn angels for
good parentage

the spoken good night ritual signaled and completed
with a perfect half turn skating axel onto ones side,
preceded by, a single solid smacking of
an innocent but flaccid, equally tired pillow,
then lost in pitch black galaxy travels
with other sleep-drunk little princes

instead of the wavering, singular word,
a traditional goodnight,
a parting and a haling simultaneous mumbling issuing,
undebated and a wish shot to all within dream-shot, a title,

“good travels”

to places where ferment the aging words under
the winemakers watchful caring eyes opening,
names or titles, same difference, for the newborn babes
and they escaped the weight of darkness peering over their shoulders
where do these people go,
what belongings do they pack
is there a limit on the heaviness of ones’ soul
Can they bring love
as parting gift?
Hide it in their handkerchiefs, and then go
Breon Oct 2018
Another night staring skyward where
          Every creaking shift fills the world
                    And the ink-black sky's toothless maw,
Shocks and aftershocks of sound
          Where a moment's discomfort swells
                    To a frenzied crescendo, incessant,
Pressing against skin from within
          Until a saint's patience would break
                    Like lips parting for a stifled sigh.
Midnight falters and fades to dawn,
          Surrenders to the unconquered sun
                    Who, grinning wide as the horizon,
Watches the twisting, turning world
          Tear away from night's dreamless womb
                    Sleepless, stumbling away in a daze.
Pagan Paul Feb 2018
She walks the castle walls at night,
with a rose held fast in her fingers,
the mist rolls away across the land,
the memory of her lover still lingers.

Cold flagstones beneath her slippered feet
hold the histories of the aeons tight.
Old battles, wars, and terrifying sieges,
ghosts of ancient warriors wail in the night.

And still she clutches his parting gift,
she wears the bond burden of his ring,
his love weighs upon her broken heart,
tears flow free with a melancholic sting.

They fall upon the stones and disappear,
additions to the heavy tomes of history,
little gems writing sadness in a story,
as she stares into the distance so wistfully.

© Pagan Paul (10/02/18)
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