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Paras Bajaj Oct 2017
I am alone.
With just some people I'm moving on.
Some talk less, some talk a lot.
I don't know if they are friends or not.

I am alone.
With some fears I'm moving on.
Some are scary, some are not.
I don't know if they are real or not.

I am alone.
With some deep wounds I'm moving on.
Some hurt more, some hurt less.
I don't know if they will heal or not

I am alone.
With a fake smile I'm moving on.
Sometimes looks good, sometimes not.
I don't know if it works or not.

I am alone.
With some burdens I'm moving on.
Some are huge, some are little.
I don't know if I will repay or not.

I am alone
With some secrets I'm moving on.
Some can save me, some can lead me to death.
I don't even know my remaining breaths.

-Paras Bajaj #PoetrybyParas
Instagram : @mr.parasbajaj
Waleed Khalidi Dec 2014
Did you see the bliss
Shoot across the night sky?
Here then there so quickly
Like a blink could project its moment
Yet when crumbling
Into the quake of memory
It is the window's remaining rain
Trickling down so slowly after the storm
Until all that is left is its drying trail
Clear to see the tired clouds sink behind
A heart so weathered
Never truly sleeps. Never rests
The hallow beats manifest
Into the crippling visions of the night
Blanketed by such distress
Until the rising light does nothing
But awaken the regrets that were left on the nightstand
Like a book with one chapter
No where left to turn
Do you see the ache
Shining dim in the night sky?
Like a footprint in the moon's dust
As alone as one could ever walk
Do you see the shame?
Like forty dying stars
Their fiery, blazing eyes
Watching every paranoid jitter
NewCaleBoy Aug 2018
the extermination of the straight white male

soon we will be gone and the remainder carried over into zoos for
“safekeeping,” our DNA and ***** harvested for science purposes

you will be pitched advertisements

send $ to San Diego Zoo so they can save the few remaining
white rhinos (which they neglect to mention are in preserves in Kenya and the Sudan, but send $$ a way)
and the last three straight white guys
(surfer, techie, and an aborigine)
to preserve the species so the world can modify their cells
to stop sexism, racism and other male diseases
gonna maybe mate them with the rhinos,
which will be expensive cause of all the rhinoplasty,

so send me some
money, money, money

yup
gleck Jun 2016
He comes in with sword so sharp
Prying the princess away from the harp
She is bewildered by his arrival
Guards try to stop him in a fight of survival
Without mercy he chops them down
One by one they fall to the ground
All of them defeated
With the same sword I am greeted
So I break the castle to ruins
Killing all remaining humans
The princess is gone
This is all wrong
I was only trying to keep her safe!
Then the stranger came in thinking he was brave...?

Oh-
Oh no--

All alone now
Still in awe how
I now understand
The play is grand!
There was one more blank spot to fill in
My role as *the villian
Ken Pepiton Mar 2018
Anom o ly

Non-named, never imagined much less realized

The left hand can't know what the right is doing,
it's a brain matter, grey area, may be a way to
imagine your unique. task, yours, not doable from here

We can do things as us that we never imagine alone.

Is there a need to negate, wait, think,
must one do any act?
Now, I see, emulating Socrates is thought easier than
emulating Jesus. Christ, you know that ain't easy, eh?

Death is the friend of being. Things change from time to time
but, you know knowledge grows in two directions,
the dark part is not evil.
evil is as evil does. The roots that ever live in the earth,
those roots are required, requirements.

Left brain uses the right hand. Don't tell the left-hand
that nearly all it's skill in serving
and being used right,
is used up by the other side.
Right or wrong, is not a chiral question,  nor is good or bad. ******* Phillips's head screws with a butter knife is wrong.
It can be done right, but not if you turn it the wrong way.
Drawing on the right side of my brain has always symbolized a crossroads experience, in my mind.
I mean I draw, realistically, with my right hand, left brain.
Maybe, brains are no easier to analyze than time in an immaterial medium of messaging.

I am certain life wins.
Meaning everything you think life means.
Do you think evil is required as an activity for life to actively be?
I doubt that.
Death fixes everything. Fret not. Wait.

First make room, what was the Bronte word? Penetrium, no, cut n paste
[A]t once it struck me what quality went to form a Man of Achievement, especially in Literature, and which Shakespeare possessed so enormously - I mean Negative Capability, that is, when a man is capable of being in uncertainties, mysteries, doubts, without any irritable reaching after fact and reason - Coleridge, for instance, would let go by a fine isolated verisimilitude caught from the Penetralium of mystery, from being incapable of remaining content with half-knowledge.

From <https://www.etymonline.com/columns/post/cloud-of-uknowing>

Happiness demands an agreement
Joy is in process, I agree, I am happy, haps happen and I notice

Note: Bronte was one to tweak fine puns with the word Penetralia: 1. The innermost parts of a building, especially the sanctuary of a temple. 2. The most private or secret parts; recesses: the penetralia of the soul. See Chapter one, Wuthering Heights.
----- From
bronteblog.blogspot.com/2006/03/emilys-penetralium_03.html
I checked 13 months later:Before passing the threshold, I paused to admire a quantity of grotesque carving lavished over the front, and especially about the principal door; above which, among a wilderness of crumbling griffins and shameless little boys, I detected the date ‘1500,’ and the name ‘Hareton Earnshaw.’  I would have made a few comments, and requested a short history of the place from the surly owner; but his attitude at the door appeared to demand my speedy entrance, or complete departure, and I had no desire to aggravate his impatience previous to inspecting the penetralium.
Xaela San Oct 2018
Slowly

you

became

a

complicated

riddle

forever

remaining

a

mystery.
Timothy Jun 2013
Withered flow'rs from long ago preserved still,
Though long since dried they contain no perfume;
Gone is the loved one, lingering at will
On the memory and within my room.
Withered thou might be, but I love thee best
As thou wert, but now within my frail mind;
I see thee as yesterday, but thy rest
Among the angelic choirs I shall find,
Thy form once more as that delicate flow'r.
This cherished thought shall always be within
My heart, and henceforth each and ev'ry hour;
This is my love and it shall never end.
Throughout all of these—my remaining years,
The memories of thee, shall rain as tears.






**~Timothy~
© Timothy 3 June, 2013.
kgl Dec 2014
it's becoming easier
to hear your name and feel nothing.
Head and Heart fought a battle that only ended
when the Heart swelled with a Love that hurt to hold,
until the Head's gentle reminder
that this was not Love,
it was Pain.
blinding Pain.
but like all blows to the body and mind
Time crushes Pain into a dull ache, a numbness remaining
long in the Heart after the feeling has gone.
but the Head holds the knowledge that this was not Love.
it was Pain.
blinding Pain.
and it's becoming easier.
Eunyeong Jun 2018
Looking out the window with a blurry sight
It is another hazy Wednesday afternoon
Although it is not time for midnight
I could already see the faint silver moon.

A beautiful June day is back from the past
For her resting summertime dream
The sun has rose to the mountaintop at last
Softly drenching us with his golden beam.

I could smell the wild roses of desire
From the garden of heaven above
They are colored in the shade of pure fire
To symbolize their sweet summer love.

The fragrance of afternoon is in the air
Like the cool freshness of pouring rain
The silent darkness is just and fair
I can hear his footsteps coming again.

The seeping shadows will come with time
Soon everything will grow mature and old
I will count the remaining days of mine
What Mother Nature has given us is gold.
Terry O'Leary Nov 2013
PROLOGUE
The Flame, aflicker, licks and flays,
illuming evening’s negligees
With braided curls she swirls and sways,
and flits and floats in light ballets

           APOLOGUE
A Flame, to conquer creeping fog,
flew dancing towards a random log
Her flight perplexed a leery frog
beside a silent somber bog

The Flame, a ripple, all alone
alit on leaves where birds had flown
The aching twigs began to moan
A rising breeze began to groan

The Flame arrayed an ancient oak
with torrid tongues and veils of smoke
A ****** bailed, the dam had broke
The leery frog soon ceased to croak

The Flame uncoiled and lashed midair,
consuming crowns with utmost care
A crazed coyote fled her lair,
left in the lurch bewildered bear

The Flame, unfurled, went wild and grew,
enkindled cats and caribou
Remaining... not a residue,
as reeking vapors bade adieu

The Flame revealed her strength unshackled
Flora, fauna crisped and crackled
Fire Witches clucked and cackled
One more forest stripped, then hackled

           EPILOGUE
The arsonists were well aware
the Flame would travel everywhere
The weirs are gone, the land is bare,
and soon you’ll find a city there
ryn Sep 2014
Doom train hurtling along
Through the fog in my mind
Towing freight, rectangular and oblong
Dim headlights, you're travelling blind

Five carriages long, excluding engine and caboose
Metal against metal, spitting sparks on steel
Undetermined path, rails will choose
Chugging along on dirt covered wheels

In the cabin, I see the light
Emanating from your furnace
Swallowing up coals in your gaping bite
Tongues of flames licking the surface

Fire breathing, spewing thick black smoke
Almost unseen, against the dark of night
A long plumy arm as if extending to choke
And plug the remaining sources of light

Meandering precariously on tracks that weave
Over uncharted, unfathomable terrain
Your store, so reliably you heave
Worming your way through my brain

What's in that cargo of yours?
What lies within those boxcars?
What drives you to diligently run your course?
What fuels you to travel near and far?

Loads of self pity, self loathing and self reproach
Snaking your way to an unknown destination
Screeching brakes as if a stop you approach
Herald the train of dubious intentions

Light is upon you, dark will dissipate
Your plumes starting to lessen from your stack
The dawn breaking horizon you didn't anticipate
To see another charging towards you on this very same track...
See "Light Train"
See "Collision Course"
A Jul 2018
We laughed and we cried,
We talked through the night,
We stayed on the same side,
We fought to make things right.

Remember when I'd fall?
You'd tell me I could rise,
I'd stand back up so tall,
I'd grown, I was more wise.

I was there when you'd need me,
I'd hold you to my chest,
You'd have me completely,
I'd make you see the best.

Somewhere along the line,
You started to drift away,
I wanted you to stay mine,
So I tried to make you stay.

You told me it wasn't me,
And so that's what I believed,
Your words they came easy,
It made me feel relieved.

But everything was a lie,
Times became so tough,
And I'd ask myself why,
Why aren't I good enough?

You think you can do better,
You don't see me inside,
My eyes become wetter,
As my confidence has died.

You'll keep searching for more,
While you crush my heart with your fist,
Find what you're looking for,
But perfect doesn't exist.

There was something wrong with me,
There'll be something wrong with her,
Consumed with vanity,
Consumed with what you prefer.

I can be a perfect size,
I can match what you desire,
Capture attention from the guys,
Be the one they all admire.

I'll learn to love myself,
But in a completely different way,
Won't place others to the back of the shelf,
Appreciate them everyday.

You'll keep on judging,
Remaining forever shallow,
Their confidence you'll keep nudging,
But one day you'll sit and wallow

As all the good ones got away,
The best ones you've ever known,
See you didn't let any stay,
And now you're all alone.
YEP
Kenya83 Mar 2017
Oozing charm and fluency, over exuberantly, without vanity or pride or an arrogance of mind
remaining humble and kind
looking just fine
Not with the fittest physic or perfect teeth, manicured hands drenched in gold leaf
Or a sharp suit and tie which underneath emptiness lies
But a beauty that shines bright like a beacon
signalling hardship, success, failure, determination
Strong and truthful
Unapologetically flawed
Lost youth and adult gains
Ageing memories and hunger pains
slight wrinkles, cheeks with dimples
passion,
it's quite simple
perfection is meaningless
It lacks personality and taste
Humility, humour and good grace
The hard times you stared point-blank in the face
However, on the other hand
It's like you're from another land
Im lost
In your perfect imperfections
Filters and airbrush aren't a true reflection
Of the life you've lived of the story you've told
When you've been weak when you've been bold
what made you happy or caused you stress
How you like to chill and rest
Or put your mind and body to the test
I want to see what makes you, you
I long to see it all
For its what makes you beautiful
Nat Lipstadt Dec 2018
Her Name is Woman


~for Woman~

The body replenishes, even the signs of decay
that come for reparation,
Positive confirmation
her organism survives, alive,
tree circles yet measuring time,
Till a devitalizing time comes, when,
this cellular process concedes degeneration

Then the wondering shifts; new facts sifted;
now the reckoning is not a calculation of
Mortality but of her living immortality;
dive to divine neath her black cloaking, reading
Wounded word revelations, her own Bible stories,
giving nomination to Woman-name

The long shadows that her souls excavations cast,
costs of her stories individual,
Highwaymen robbed her with glass knives
but each remaining black hole lights a story, lost, but
Burning icy inviting, pulling us into book boxes inside,
compost of sheets of composed white clarity

Care not that each riddling reference is obliged to be
oblique, inexplicit,
Woman her name, all encompassing,
her views codified in lines of faith,
Woman, is that not
a mining, and a manifest,
of hidden birthing,
comforting us in warm shades of
Human courage


12/26/18  5:51pm
For the poet Woman
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