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My moon drips silver;
Gliding from its craters, flown
Across galaxies

Alien beings
Stare at its state; leaking a
Peak at what it is

But the moon's just the
Moon to us; nothing more than
A dab to the sky

How I wonder the
Way y'all see it tonight; can
You find the beauty?*

~Or is it just the moon?~
I feel sometimes I underappreciated things I never really seem to think are so incredible...
All feedback is welcome :)
jane taylor May 2016
my heart breaking
into a thousand pieces
i fade away
looking for a distant wall
to dissolve in
and evaporate

unable to vanish
i slowly gather the shards
ground fresh and smaller now
i gently blow them
and watch them magically disappear
into the night’s silver moon

©2016janetaylor
bones Mar 2017
She loosens on tiptoe
the latch of her window,

slides upward the sash
and the shine of the moon

pours over the sill,
like it's rushing downhill

like a silver stream,
flooding her room.
Heart of Silver Jan 2018
...

I sit by a silver pool


My legs dangle in, just below the knee
so that my steps can remember where I've been
but my eyes dont have to see

And below the surface swim fish, lazy
each one holds a memory
unluckily, or lucky, they get a little hazy

I grasp at them, they swim further away
scales grazing fingertips, I watch in dismay
cause the only ones I seem to catch and devour
force my thoughts into such a disarray

I sit by a silver pool
eating painful memories
oh god, I'm such a fool
Fishes ****.
If you cannot be outraged into disbelief
No matter how evil the matter reported
How can you believe in a Good God?
Do you not say to yourself what kind
Of a god allows this-Not Mine!  Does
A loving parent no matter how liberal
Ever knowingly allow his child to do
A grave injury to his fellow people?
I think not.  Freedom has its limits
That our true nature is grateful for.
Let me ask would you prefer that
There were no Holocaust deniers or
That there we no Holocaust.  I know
The Argument that we must Keep
Evil in our memory so as prevent it
Ever happening again.  How does
The saying go: No news is good news-
But it doesn't sell papers. I am not
Against fiction just glad that it is
Fiction.  But you say: What of the
Truth?  When Pilot asked Jesus
What is the the truth? Jesus made no
Answer except by His silence.  Yes
Silence is Golden. He did not answer
Neither should you or I.  I know this.
Bu we know in our hearts what Love
Would have  Be.  Thy Kingdom come
Thy will be done on Earth as in Heaven
That is Our prayers that it be so Forever
Oh God  Help Us to Lift up our hearts.


And When have we ever been prevented
From doing wrong by hearing about it
.its just
Plain wrong.
writerReader Jan 2015
sometimes I
reach within
the fragile paper of
this book to
glide
my fingers through
your silver
hair
Poetria Jul 2015
Her eyes so bright;
Do you ever wonder where the sun goes at night?

The rain, dancing on the pavement
in no specific arrangement.

Luminous flames eat away at sharp skewers,
Her eyes silver-grey, clashing with the tables of steel.

Barbecue roasting, impaled through the middle
The pain paled in comparison to watching you smile.

A toast to me, myself and I, a glass of sweet solitude.
I watch tall wine glasses clang drunkenly together, alone.

A pin drops in the distance; no silence to accompany it.
Unnoticed it goes, by the arrogant lords and goddesses.

Pick a flower, compliment her hair; devil may care.
She's walking away, I tell her 'Ma'am, have a nice day'

Left alone to stumble back home,
sipping champagne royally; Mockery.

Spilling champagne and it swirls down the drain
I tilt my head back, laughing carelessly all the way.
Jeff Gaines Apr 2018
She thinks that she is only silver.
Second place, forever and again.
But this girl ... she is so, so much more.
She is my dear, dearest friend.

Her soul, while brighter than the sun,
is tortured by confusion and things in her past ...
lofty goals that would thwart even the toughest
and a lifestyle going so fast.

Courageous ... and meek.
A warrior ... and a flower ... all at the same time.
Legions of followers, those who look up ... never to see,
the little girl who roams in her mind.

She will get were she is aiming ...
my heart believes in her so.
She is strong, stubborn ... so very brave,
and this child inside her grows.

Now distant, I'll still watch her life
unfold

from this abyss, for reasons that may forever remain
untold.

She is far more valuable than any silver, precious gems ...
yes, even gold.

No object d'art or more costly antiquity ...
has ever,
ever been sold.

I only wish that I could have somehow ...
somehow
made her see ...
that as my friend ... she was so, so much more ...
than merely silver to me.
What can ya do ... What can ya say ... when someone just doesn't "get it"?
NA Sep 2018
And so, I awoke
Where no sorrows are awakened.
Distant galaxies sang, pranced, and danced in the glee of the night
Eon long, lost constellations realigned and with joyous relief
Whispered beneath the chill of the autumn air,
“Oh, sweet child o’ mine,
He has moved your soul to happiness.
He has given life a new understanding,
Love a new meaning.”

Undoubtedly, that was true;
For thine words are so sweet,
So kind,
And so pure.

And though the future is uncertain,
To awaken to your bliss…
I cannot imagine more heavenly than that
And in those moments of realization
My heart,
I promised to you.
To my forever.
Cassia Jul 2018
Do you see that girl with the silver eyes
Who walks that hallowed road?
She loves to speak her softened words
And knows she's not alone

Do you see that girl with the emerald eyes
That are bright despite her pain?
With a darling smile upon her face
She dances in the rain

Do you see that girl with the hazel eyes
That loves to write her words?
With a forgotten smile on her lips
She dwells on other worlds

Do you see that girl with the steel blue eyes
That conquers all she sees?
She has her friends all standing by
What a lovely sight, indeed

Do you see that girl with the chestnut eyes?
That ignite with passion's flames?
She sings aloud her hopeful song
And her heart never complains
دema Mar 16
You gift me gold,
bringing back old habits,
remember though that
I never aimed for the stars
nor the way they shine,

I wear the gold around my neck,
with no sparkles in my eyes,
wishing it was silver instead,

you see;
gold bends and stretches,
but silver reflects and deflects,
it can handle reality,
even when things heat up.
remember that personalities shine brighter than any star
Silver Nov 2018
On the drive home from Dahab, Mostafa wrote beautifully of the breach between Sinai, mountainous region at the border with Israel; and the mystical Sina, a land of leisure where time stood still, as sea and sand swallowed away the worry.

On those slow summer evenings, we drove to the lagoon, parked hazardously on the dune where Salma sold juice boxes. She carried the Sun in her hazel eyes, its rays burning soft ochre strands into her hair. She could not have been older than nine, yet there was a sharp wrinkle in her brow, a tension far beyond her years. I wondered if the sea had swallowed her worries, too; whether the mountains had echoed them back into her ear.

“My name is Salma, if you need anything, ask me and no one else.”

Salma was one of many beautiful Bedouin children, who stood selling their merchandise on the beach. They lived a life alien to our urban eyes, who would find them daunting the rapid currents, jumping onto moving trucks, heels scraped and calloused from arduous barefoot climbs. Many a writer have written their stories, in the voices of villains, victims and fantasies; many a traveller inhabited their homes, spoken dearly of their huts and nightly bonfires. I will not count myself among them.

I know nothing of Salma’s story. I do not know whether her father smiles at her kindly, whether slim fingers have ever braided her hair, wrinkled hands ventured onto her thigh, or henna patterns painted her arm. I cannot say whether she shies away from cameras pointed to her like pistols, or stares gravely down the barrel. I cannot say that a green passport would ever soften her sharp features. I have no right to speak for Salma.

What I do know is that my readings on gender analysis will make no mention of Salma. Those who do will merely cite her as one of many stateless women, fallen between the cracks of national borders. But Salma has not fallen anywhere. She is still standing on the glistening dune, with a dozen juice boxes, and the Sun in her eyes.
Logan Robertson Nov 2017
there's a lone seal swimming by the sea
hunting for silvers with heartless glee
a fish shy there, another one wiggling there
who really cares
for his table always set for one
darkness his day in the sun
still he takes to the rolling tides
lone, but ******* in his pride
one day his eyes pique a double look
as a mermaid pops out of his storybook
stunning as a little light filters in
as she swooshes by, waving her fins
she's a sparkled beauty from head to toe
her consonance and shine, lighting his mojo
growing hunger and his drive keep following her
on the ocean floor she shimmers
between the rocks she dances
one step she be in harmony to his glances
he drives a barked out calling
so raw and appalling
shivers crawling down her back
as he arf, arf's another attack
alarmed with his lack of renaissance
like she should be, she didn't offer a response
as she keeps shimmering past the rocks
racing, racing away from any further talk
broken, he retreats to his mind
the missing piece he'll never find
there's a lone mermaid swimming by the sea
and a lone seal barking of what could be

Logan Robertson

11/13/2017
This could be the story of my life. Some say my delivery is bad. My tone is worse. Ha. I'm just a seal that loves bobbing a ball on his nose.
Skaidrum May 2015
-
And it wasn’t nearly reality enough,
    So I skimmed this water of bone
Hoping that the blood beneath
    my fingers would only be temporary.

    

        But you can’t promise on broken love,
    Could you believe me when I say I’ve known.
        Lie behind your cheap lips and teeth
    Cross your heart and hope to die yet on the contrary.


Your empty threats of wishing to **** me,
    But darling I’m already dead.
You can hope on deeds of darkness but not anymore,
    It’s such a shame a poet must draw her scythe.


        So take a deep breath dear, inhale slowly,
    And don’t worry there’s nothing wrong with just a taste instead.
        I can’t help but smile as the ashes flood the floor,
    Such a beautiful way to die, letting a poet take your life.


Tonight she sleeps with the lions and like before,
    Dark as it may be she laughs when one offers her light.
“I sleep with demons roaming my skin,”
        “Beg your pardon I don’t need this pity.”


            And the truth was not a sin, she really had to pay for.
        A century of this and that really left without a fight.
    I haven’t decided on which degree of hate I let out and in,
But tell you what I digress this country and this rotten city.


    Mistake me for a witch, and how many friends will I lose?
I can hardly tell with all this nihility I now hold dear to me.
    Keeping words on chains, imprison me why not.
A bucket of silver is all I hold in my eyes.


    And keep the hounds in hell dear,
            Just let me say you are quite lovely,
    What can you teach me, what have you taught?
        Beware of the silver in the bucket child...

                      

Beware the poets eyes.
-
Letters to myself,
are bittersweet &
deadly.

© Copywritted.
acacia Oct 2016
Leagues aren’t real,
levels don’t exist --
let me stop myself before I go too far.
It’s really out of my control
if I’m less than silver
or more than gold.
I'll still try to believe you! :D
Morgan Jan 2016
Your sound is a vertical line behind my right eye
extending upwards
and downwards
infinitely
Alexa Sangren Mar 25
Why am I always
Silver to her gold
The subtle, not the bold
Second in your heart
shamamama Jun 14
there is a richness

        in not knowing the future

and believing in love,

trusting in the universe;

even though

        the weeds are growing strong

the clouds are dark

and some of these thoughts

are not the seeds I planted.

        remember the silver lining

sewn in the seems

of all clouds

and the gold in the

seeds I have planted...

         weave the silver from the sky

to the gold from the earth

hold this fiber

to my heart

          and let the drumbeat of

love inside

synchronize

to the future outside
Sometimes I have to dream way beyond the potential hypnotic day  and spin magic to muster up the courage to face the future
Warren Apr 2
Just trying to get past yesterday before dismay leads me astray ,
Im struggling to get away from all these twisted games you play,
Its manipulation by interrogation it’s your medication for my segregation,
The explanation of your dedication is a demonstration of your reputation,
It’s mental torture,
Pure abuse that slowly tightens like a noose,
Its a pain that hides beneath the nights of tortured lies and vicious fights,
You have the power to articulate which allows you to intimidate,
But you manipulate to illustrate that I’m the one that’s ill of fate.
It’s survival in a hated state,
Using me as tempted bait,
You have to know it’s time to go,
Before it ends up being too late.
Lyn-Purcell Aug 2018


-
My silver Knight,
shining with angelic splendour has sailed
towards the outer regions of my Kingdom
to lay waste to all my enemies. My heart in
hands, my hands are clasped, brought alive
with love, with light, with prayer.
Please, come back to me.
As I think of arrows piercing his breast,
or swords, or warhammers or even axes
I cannot, will not ever dance to the songs
of war.
A fire that claims souls, the earth that drinks
blood, a sight that makes my stomach turn
To see men fighting for a cause or no cause
at all. For war rapes all of happiness and loved
ones.
Oh! Begone tortuous thoughts! Revolting facts!
He will return. He will return!
For my nation prays with fervour, but all have
bleary-eyes, no more than me. He's gone to brave
the dragon's dawn - of men branded, fuelled by
the flames of war, riding into the fields on their
snow kissed mounts, roaring and clashing under
a broken sky; the kiss of steel, blades that dance
between life and death and give any and many
the kiss of Eternal Sleep.
The harp of his silver tongue plays soft, gentle and
true. Hand in hand, we walk through fields, of my
dreams divine! The ambition, the care, the charm
glowing in your eyes to be something more.
To you, I was a muse to climb and soar though the
heights, and you spoke so highly of my golden
sapient quill.
My heart, heavy, full of woe
As sleep has not come smoothly to my face,
my body, my heart, my soul.
You promised me, 'I will return to you.'
  'I will return to you,'
how your voice hung so sweet in my ear,
ripe with love, vibrant with hope, certain as the rising light
Please do not fade away, I could not bear it!
Please don't fade away!
Bring unto me that gold and joyous hour!
Fair the storms and roars; overcome the shores,
slay and return to me from the dragon's dawn,
unscathed and with a smile on your handsome
face.
-


A continuation of my 'Silver Knight' poem!
Lyn ***
^-^
Shofi Ahmed Apr 2017
Open your heart paint your dream.
Do it in the broad daylight,
it’s your colour scheme.  
If the twilight falls on your colour plate
before you’re done painting the noon,
keep drawing down the moon!

Breakthrough at the first light.
No sunrise is any bird’s sleeping pillow.
They are on their wings, out and tweeting,
singing on the past night’s dreamscene.

Any of the fair duo, the Sun or the Moon,
sleek sunny golden or the silver line,
neither one of those can you catch.
They know their science  
like you count your time.

You can set your mind any time,
pick any number to count your time,
but you won’t have the last one.
There isn’t one, the mind is spotless fine.
But if the solar-lunar duo can count the last:
ask them to stop the time.  

Be truthful as you speak.
Open the heart into your eloquent word.
Never think you are alone, you are
complete with the complete world!
Lyn-Purcell Aug 2018


  I watch you from afar
my greatest love in argent-kissed armour
He who dreamed of being greater than
a mere fighter, stronger that a solider,
wiser than the Kings who pass and come
He who is born with an angel's allure,
he who unites all from all walks of life
I feel your vesper gaze upon me,
ambitious, charming, wise and poignant
With a charisma, a light that outshines the
very sun, a heart warmer than gold
and softer than cotton.
I pray you will succeed
That you will find your way
For no matter how far you wonder,
and how I think of you in yonder
I know in my heart,
You will return to me once more...  


Something a lil different.
I think I'm gonna take a short break from the Epulaeryus lol.
Don't worry! I got more coming, it's just I need to gather my thoughts!
My sweet tooth is strong and raging!
Lyn ***
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