SOME may have blamed you that you took away
The verses that could move them on the day
When, the ears being deafened, the sight of the eyes blind
With lightning, you went from me, and I could find
Nothing to make a song about but kings,
Helmets, and swords, and half-forgotten things
That were like memories of you -- but now
We'll out, for the world lives as long ago;
And while we're in our laughing, weeping fit,
Hurl helmets, crowns, and swords into the pit.
But, dear, cling close to me; since you were gone,
My barren thoughts have chilled me to the bone.

amanda May 2013

i am plagued with a heavy sense
of the meaning of things
and it is too much
for me to bear.

Amanda Jerry Apr 2012

My dreams
don't have to occur in a frigid state,
where the wind blows across the Great Lakes and straight through me.

I
would rather be warm and happy
than cold
and admired
and
miserable.

Amanda Goodness Aug 2013

Confession time,
Where's my priest?
When I was little I had it all planned out.
"In the name of the father and of the son and of the holy spirit, Amen.
It has been six months since my last confession and these are my sins."
I fought with my family.
I swore.
And I lied.
That is what I said for seven years.
I loved to throw a wrench in the machine.
When I was fourteen I added in a little tid bit to my routine.
"I am gay".
It was the longest pause I had ever heard.
And then it went completely ignored.
How rude of me to try and provoke you, father.

Iris Rebry Aug 2014

We both have felt like charred trees,
Tearing out each other's roots and
Setting each other's roots on fire.
We've fought
Tooth and nail
Clawing out each other's eyes,
So we can't see.
But today you smiled.
And for once I felt bad.
You were alone friend.
And yet I left you.
I meant to be nice.
But what to say?
Reconciliation.
We need to replant our
Scorched roots
And hope that the seedlings
Sprout in the wake of our
Beautiful disasters.

Johnny Raven Sep 2015

This rope I’ve climbed for decades now
Has frayed from falls
From jagged rocks and
Bloodied blows of dialogue
Their firearms half-cocked
Breathing in this bile, this bog
Sinking slowly towards the
Unknown inhaling/breathing
People’s poisons I’ve lost my
Purpose, and I’ve never had a
Place I could ever deigned to
Call My Home
Beyond the veil, the hidden site
Have I once again gone mad?!
The faceless forcing wrongs
Twisting the twisted,
A manufacturing of tortured consent,
Blinded by a
Facade of Masked Wrongs passing off as a
Right - Evil gifts from the gifted
For the dead, for the fractured
Inbred screaming and screaming,
Confined in a cube of lead,
Paranoid delusions
Secretly inside am I just dead?
A walking corpse, decaying by
Days...am I lost, I’m just an
Ignorant intellectual
Pushing back the bounds of
My own Stupidity, a silent lucidity
The death of hope or stripped of
Everything, Everything, Everything
Even the hidden hand, ever so
Gently holding onto that one
Impossible fraying seems.
Too afraid to speak, when spoken
That cultivated dreams strengthened
Over the years through nightmares
And a sea of pointless pussy
Trying to force those pieces into
That missing space,
Some coming close, but never
Ever measuring up to you, my dream
Your emerald eyes, your beautiful face
Whom you brought into my fucking
Life, a dream turned nightmare as I set ablaze what we were
You wisely walked away...and left me to my dreams….

When she spoke, my heart would skip it’s beats, I’d lose
The power of the English language
I'd lose the power of fucking speech….
And now that dream
Has come again…close enough to smell, close enough to make my Hell a little cooler, the shadows brighter, the burning soothed…
And yet…and yet…I cannot even tell
My Emerald Eyed Valkyrie,
My Heart,
Has always belonged to her.
There have been other women of course,
Carnal place holders, temporary sometimes pleasant company,
But in the end…NOT My Valkyrie, My Heart,
My Love, the only woman who ever made me feel and after Knowing my graveyard of a world shattering secrets…she still
Loved Me…
Me!?
Really?!
She still loved me…can that Dream, so fragile, when spoken it would Shatter into a mist of 'could have been?'
I held so gently that Dream of Old
Hands outstretched, crucified asphyxiation - anticipation
A Hope, A Dream, for Reconciliation...

-  Johnny Raven  ©2015  (September 16th)

This poem is about the first woman I ever fell in love with. I had never felt anything. Nothing. Happiness nor anger, nor sadness...nothing. And the day I met her something happened. The more I spent time with her and the closer we became as friends, I slowly developed emotions and began my journey on becoming a better man. She discovered some things about me after we had a long talk about what she helped pulled me out of. She save my life, but she wasn't quite 100% aware of how much danger she had put herself in by doing so. That and the intensity of my love for her frightened her beyond the pale. It frightened me too. It was overwhelming. So, like an intelligent woman, she left because she was not able to handle that kind of madness at that age. I hated her for years until I grew the hell up and realized that she had done the right thing. She is and shall always be the woman I hold all women I date up to. I know that isn't really fair, but lets face it. We all have checklists of what we want in a partner, mine just happens to not be a checklist, but an actual person. Now all I want is to rekindle our friendship. I really screwed everything up back then and only recently she has began to communicate with me again after years have passed. So at this point, I just would like nothing more in this world than to have that friendship we once had back. She is and shall always be an inspiration for me on a great many subjects and character aspects. She truly is a wonderful woman.
murielle lemaire May 2014

coffee.
we meet at starbucks and i can almost pretend nothing changed until i feel the distance in your voice.
i am calm and quiet. i did not expect this
yet here i am sitting in front of you as you explain how you feel (a rarity).
and you and i are alike in more ways than i realized before.

cantalope.
flying through the young night air
i feel alive and free and happy again.
i meet theresa j hanson. dancer, 19, long thin hair and long thin body.
she says she's heard a lot about me and i am surprised and i like her very much (or my first impression anyways) even though you told me that one time that you had sex with her and other girls would probably instinctively hate her. but i can't. she's just so nice and anyways that sex had nothing to do with me.
she gives us cantalope and me ice water.

cigar smoke.
we go out on the little apartament porch and you smoke the cheap cigar, the kind your grandfather smokes. get a red solo cup for the ashes and i found an old dirty butter knife out here. and we sit. and unexpectedly you say can we start over. and im shocked(you've suprisde me so much tonight) but so grateful and of course we can. you blow smoke rings and when you say whooo are youuu i cannot help but think of alice in wonderland and you are the smoking catepillar who asks life's hard questions and am i alice or the queen or the mad hatter or lewis carroll

coming back.
we reinact a a scene as if we just met and i kiss you as if it's the first time and that is how you will remember me and my lips are cold and your mouth is full of smoke and the kiss is fire and ice it's a wonder we did not steam. something so you'll remember me{i will never forget} and i guess we'll figure out on the way.

Denel Kessler Nov 2015

Each curl of conversation
stills my tongue, half-sentences
stranded in the mire
of biting reason

words silently form
protests, defenses
reasons and intentions

worthless to ears already fed
with the insistent conundrum
accompanying every attempt
at reconciliation.

Pink Hat Apr 2014

Gentle is the heart that weeps
Mournful is the soul that yearns
Gorgeous is the memory that lingers
Joyful were the hands that held
You

M Feb 2015

I've never known how to apologize
not even to myself- much less to God.

I lost myself in boredom
Lost myself in the bitter and sour patches of life
Ripping myself free from the death grip of the vines that hold me down
I can see the sun shining through the leaves and thorns that cover my eyes
My sad, torn aching flesh screams out as the rain softly falls on it
Stinging the gaping open wounds as I search for reconciliation
As I slowly stumble back into my reality
Rediscovering my inspiration, surprise and happiness
I have come to my crossroads once again
Not looking back, I proceed on my path of hope
Living like I am dying and regretting nothing I have done
I may be scarred from my battles but that does not mean I have lost my virtue

From: Talk Dirty/Breathe Easy
© Khrystina-Lee 2010
Mollie Grant Apr 2016

I want to know
what it feels like
for reconciliation
to wash over
my fault lines.
Take my cracks
and paint them
with gold.
Let me glimmer,
                   gleam,
                           and glow
redemption.
Illuminate my mistakes
and let my skeleton
frame out a museum
of triumph

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