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Dawn in New York has
four columns of mire
and a hurricane of black pigeons
splashing in the putrid waters.

Dawn in New York groans
on enormous fire escapes
searching between the angles
for spikenards of drafted anguish.

Dawn arrives and no one receives it in his mouth
because morning and hope are impossible there:
sometimes the furious swarming coins
penetrate like drills and devour abandoned children.

Those who go out early know in their bones
there will be no paradise or loves that bloom and die:
they know they will be mired in numbers and laws,
in mindless games, in fruitless labors.

The light is buried under chains and noises
in the impudent challenge of rootless science.
And crowds stagger sleeplessly through the boroughs
as if they had just escaped a shipwreck of blood.
B M Clark May 2014
Let the haunted emptiness
Let it take me away
Carry me into deep darkness
Lift me out of this day

Close my eyes with nights caress
And sleep enclose and unwind
For the relief of my stress
And I float in a dreaming mind

The morphing shadows of black
Swirl in terrifying scenes
In fear I try escape back
To such a place without dreams

Now listlessly awake I lay
Tired, but unable to rest
Sleeplessly caught in the sway
To far gone, drifting in grey
10/13/2011
11th Grade
17 years old
I
Complacencies of the peignoir, and late
Coffee and oranges in a sunny chair,
And the green freedom of a cockatoo
Upon a rug mingle to dissipate
The holy hush of ancient sacrifice.
She dreams a little, and she feels the dark
Encroachment of that old catastrophe,
As a calm darkens among water-lights.
The pungent oranges and bright, green wings
Seem things in some procession of the dead,
The day is like wide water, without sound,
Stilled for the passing of her dreaming feet
Over the seas, to silent Palestine,
Dominion of the blood and sepulchre.

       II
Why should she give her bounty to the dead?
What is divinity if it can come
Only in silent shadows and in dreams?
Shall she not find in comforts of the sun,
In pungent fruit and bright, green wings, or else
In any balm or beauty of the earth,
Things to be cherished like the thought of heaven?
Passions of rain, or moods in falling snow;
Grievings in loneliness, or unsubdued
Elations when the forest blooms; gusty
Emotions on wet roads on autumn nights;
All pleasures and all pains, remembering
The bough of summer and the winter branch.
These are the measures destined for her soul.

       III
Jove in the clouds had his inhuman birth.
No mother suckled him, no sweet land gave
Large-mannered motions to his mythy mind.
He moved among us, as a muttering king,
Magnificent, would move among his hinds,
Until our blood, commingling, virginal,
With heaven, brought such requital to desire
The very hinds discerned it, in a star.
Shall our blood fail? Or shall it come to be
The blood of paradise? And shall the earth
Seem all of paradise that we shall know?
The sky will be much friendlier then than now,
A part of labor and a part of pain,
And next in glory to enduring love,
Not this dividing and indifferent blue.

       IV
She says, "I am content when wakened birds,
Before they fly, test the reality
Of misty fields, by their sweet questionings;
But when the birds are gone, and their warm fields
Return no more, where, then, is paradise?-"
There is not any haunt of prophesy,
Nor any old chimera of the grave,
Neither the golden underground, nor isle
Melodious, where spirits gat them home,
Nor visionary south, nor cloudy palm
Remote on heaven's hill, that has endured
As April's green endures; or will endure
Like her remembrance of awakened birds,
Or her desire for June and evening, tipped
By the consummation of the swallow's wings.

       V
She says, "But in contentment I still feel
The need of some imperishable bliss.-"
Death is the mother of beauty; hence from her,
Alone, shall come fulfilment to our dreams
And our desires. Although she strews the leaves
Of sure obliteration on our paths,
The path sick sorrow took, the many paths
Where triumph rang its brassy phrase, or love
Whispered a little out of tenderness,
She makes the willow shiver in the sun
For maidens who were wont to sit and gaze
Upon the grass, relinquished to their feet.
She causes boys to pile new plums and pears
On disregarded plate. The maidens taste
And stray impassioned in the littering leaves.

       VI
Is there no change of death in paradise?
Does ripe fruit never fall? Or do the boughs
Hang always heavy in that perfect sky,
Unchanging, yet so like our perishing earth,
With rivers like our own that seek for seas
They never find, the same receding shores
That never touch with inarticulate pang?
Why set the pear upon those river banks
Alas, that they should wear our colors there,
The silken weavings of our afternoons,
And pick the strings of our insipid lutes!
Death is the mother of beauty, mystical,
Within whose burning ***** we devise
Our earthly mothers waiting, sleeplessly.

       VII
Supple and turbulent, a ring of men
Shall chant in **** on a summer morn
Their boisterous devotion to the sun,
Not as a god, but as a god might be,
Naked among them, like a savage source.
Their chant shall be a chant of paradise,
Out of their blood, returning to the sky;
And in their chant shall enter, voice by voice,
The windy lake wherein their lord delights,
The trees, like serafin, and echoing hills,
That choir among themselves long afterward.
They shall know well the heavenly fellowship
Of men that perish and of summer morn.
And whence they came and whither they shall go
The dew upon their feet shall manifest.

       VIII
She hears, upon that water without sound,
A voice that cries, "The tomb in Palestine
Is not the porch of spirits lingering.
It is the grave of Jesus, where he lay.-"
We live in an old chaos of the sun,
Or old dependency of day and night,
Or island solitude, unsponsored, free,
Of that wide water, inescapable.
Deer walk upon our mountains, and the quail
Whistle about us their spontaneous cries;
Sweet berries ripen in the wilderness;
And, in the isolation of the sky,
At evening, casual flocks of pigeons make
Ambiguous undulations as they sink,
Downward to darkness, on extended wings.
there would be blank canvasses
empty words
silently echoing the pages of poems not written
of narrative never revealed
from muses overwhelming
spirits overflowing
onto sugar coated melodies
woven into lyrics that
pester and harass and permeate the sacred space of minds

there would be blank canvasses
empty words
of delicate curves or hips, wide like sandy beaches
immortalized  by brush strokes or camera shutters
empty panels of superhero legends forgotten

there would be blank canvasses, empty words
of no church praises hollered over holy rollin piano riffs

but most definitely, most importantly,
there would be blank canvasses, empty words
and
hands that never itched
to craft golden scrolls onto the haggard loose leaves
residing in sharpie stained notebooks
and great wisdoms never told which ****** great minds
moves great minds
with melodious lyricism
which haunts souls
taunts souls
with the burning questions of shoes and ships and ceiling wax

there would be pens never emptied dry
cultivating piles of paper ***** with half *** rhymes, rhythms, and washed up metaphors
muses would never possess individuals
sleeplessly seeking to fill up forests worth of leaves
after suffering from the doldrums of writers block

blank canvasses, empty words
in a world without art
Mel Little Oct 2015
Dear 17 year old me,

You'll fall in love with a boy this year that will bring you as much happiness as pain.
You'll fall in love with his eyes, and the dimples in his smile,
And dear girl you will cry when the loneliness of his departure makes the innermost of you empty and aching.

I would tell you to run now, that when your friend tries to give you his phone number, to turn her down.

But in this pain, five years later, five years of the highest highs and the lowest lows, as I ache from the innermost of me and feel empty, in this pain I tell you do not run.

Without him, you will not have a million poems, you will not have some of the best nights of your life. You will not sleeplessly wonder what you've done wrong, or sleepily whisper your "I love yous" into his ear.

And what is love without heartbreak?
What would I be without him?

Humor me, little past self. Fall in love with him. Write poems about his eyes, write letters to him with no end. Love him. Lose him. Fight him. Love him again.

And then come back as me, twice as strong and twice as weary.

You won't regret it.

Love, you at 21.
I frequently write letters to myself, but this isn't the usual style.
michelle reicks Aug 2011
this large empty bed seems like
a c r e s wide     without you here in it.
I want to hear you laugh
and taste cream cheese wontons
on your tongue.
and when we wake up, you will smell musty and sour
like our tent of *******
always smelled

         I want to hear the funny nose whistle you make
I need to clutch at your
chest and gasp

                                              beg you
                                                   for release



but for now i will lay
naked, alone
in my football field nest of pillows

and dream, sleeplessly
of your sweaty brow
Kiagen McGinnis Sep 2011
there is still jalapeno under my nails,
                                                            i know because i bite them.


i feel microcosmic
i feel macrocosmic
i feel that the night i knew you were > all the deadend wannabe artists with groomed hair and a knack for saying the wrong things at the right times

the moon was full as a curvy woman's hips
and i sleeplessly felt its caress through the sky the roof my heart
it carried me pieces of you
and they fit

people ask me if i'm madly in love with a smirk
people ask me what happens when it goes wrong
first loves die hard, they say
i don't know what happened to make everyone assume that
love is destined to be a ship lost at sea

my mom raised me to be tenacious
and darling,
                              you know it's true
Jaymisun Kearney Dec 2013
5a.m. for the fourth day in a row
ruby red filigree in my eyes glows
sleepless fissures reflect in the window glass
and
I ride this train again
and I
still feel
nothing

6p.m. for the fifth night in a row
snuffer of light continues on his show
sleepless pursuit demands another dosage
and
I ride this train again
Focused
I feel
Nothing

12 o'clock noon for the tenth day in hand
lunchtime finds me at an old street side stand
hypnotized, eating, still entranced by a man
and
I scan his dossier
and I
still feel
nothing

2a.m. neon tracers over dance
undulating bodies keep up to task
sleeplessly bound for fate encounters of chance
So
I stand in rain again
Lonely
I feel
Hopeless

Would waking correct me
I'd kneel down, delighted!
Fall softly to sleep
under these streetlights.
Would my call permit me
I'd retreat in belief
that all will be well!
Under these blinking white streetlights,
under the cosmos
but my work commits me
to wakeful burden, to half-light alley-
ways in Hell
NicoleRuth Sep 2016
We ran across streams of moonlight
Racing each other in a childlike excitement
Mine stemming from the newness of this
Yours from the injected high you gave yourself

Through the woods, we raced
The moon playing hide and seek with our eyes
With every step, we learned more
Lacing words together you gifted them to me

We stopped just short of the deeper end
Stepping into a shimmering pool of moonlit rays
Clearing our minds of doubts and inhibitions
You stepped forward and offered me your hand

Your fingers hung in front of me
A hopeful promise of something…. More?
But I took a sudden step backward
The claws of my dark past holding me firm

You pulled me in though with determination
Letting your lips rest against mine in hope for a change
But with controlled fingers, I pushed you back
A smile gracing yourself as you let me go

“I will wait” you promised
Unknowingly binding your soul with mine
We walked back calmly now, more aware of everything
Arms linked and words shared while I struggled to still hold back

Next morning I woke up in a hasty excitement
Last nights hesitancies left behind in my dreams
Walking up to breakfast trembling in a crazed nervousness
Yet once again, fear seized me and I stayed away

This dance continued, endlessly
One reaching out to the other desperately
Searching for a reminder of that moonlight run
Sighing in regret at our human insecurities

Tired of the worlds of confusion we brought alive
We stepped away, never giving hope to a dream
One we both once dreamt in unison
Tracing it across eachothers' arms with starry promises

It was too late we reasoned
The world after all, didn’t give second chances to such wishes
Shooting stars avoided us as a sign of our failure
So we scrubbed away the burning fires we had once traced

Now, we lay in the arms of others
Looking up at plain ceilings in search of our lost stars
Wondering the dreaded ‘What Ifs?’
Sleeplessly racing back to our dreamy havens of you and me

So close but barely meeting as we stumbled through life
Holding close harsh rocks that couldn’t compare to our burning stars
Forging forward in a crazed determination to forget
Only at moonlight looking up to secretly whisper unheard confessions

A gentle whistle of letters let flow
Ignored by the trillions of slumbering bodies
Only eavesdropped upon by the creak of sneering branches
But lapped up by the moon in an endless waiting of..
Chalsey Wilder May 2014
When lamination slowly starts to creep
We weep
We seek
To release
We're meek
Helpless
Sleep sleeplessly
Terrible dreams
We seek what they mean
Froze
Stuck
In our lamination
Paralyzed in our dreams
Rainbows and unicorns were not in them
And if they were they were what led me to these nightmares
Nightmares when I try to run
Try to scream
Try not to stare at the rising sun
My lips blue
lying on the beach
Skin pale and sand smeared lips
Eyes unblinking
almost vacant, but not quite

There's still life!
My body rarely barely breathing
So still that it's eerie
My brown eyes almost vacant and unmoving
I know I'm there
I can hear the ocean
I can feel the morning breeze brushing my sand covered face and the strands of my hair
The problem is that it isn't me
There's no way I'm this beautiful or pale
Yes, I'm almost dying
But she's not me
Her skin is a white porcelain
Her eyes are the only thing of mine that's hers
Her hair brown
Her figure slim yet curvy
I'm in her body
I remembered
My body changed
But not my soul
This is me
The opposite of me
In a parallel universe who almost succeeded in what I did
*My soul was showing me what my other me did too
i had a dream and I still remembered it. It was me, but it wasn't. It was my other me. That's what I believe. The weird thing is that I was watching myself and I was in my body at the same time.
The night had been pretty obnoxious,
twisting and turning sleeplessly,
various jagged up thoughts provoking me in,
i rubbed my eyes,
constantly

washed my face
to get a more clear picture of myself,
****,i still look the same,
the same old me,
ugly,
scarred,
bruised,
weird cheeked,
abnormal finger shapes,ugh,
everytime i look in the mirror,
i hope to see an improvement.

but i fail,
all the time,
i mean,
just for once,if i could be
satisfied.
for a minute,
and still tell myself,
"phew,you did look alright than before,though for a few seconds, wow,"

NO.
doesnt happen ,now.
i try to  be  as positive as i can,
only if it could re-create my distorted face image
and i could confidently talk to guys or anybody else,for that matter,
eye-to-eye.

if i could be confidently walk without hiding my scars from people,
who might just crack a joke
or prank up
or ***** on me

i'm
sick and tired of all of this

Help me now, or watch me leave.
that shall happen,v soon.
i'm pretty ******* up. the more i try to look good,the harder it gets and the more impossible it seems. i'm tired. i wait for miracles or i shall trouble myself more and more. :c

©Complicated charmer 2013
Michael Ryan Nov 2014
Sleeplessly I stumble the side walk,
A man.
No, I was something other than a man.
A man would hold their head high and sing songs of glory.
Deep bellows would slush around his words.
Dominance would gush.
Strong and unburdened.
Shoulders wide and broad.
Just like the horizon that rose for him.
Setting ablaze his inner beings.
Tempers unable to be tempted.
Slightly tipped to one side.
Animosity of being such a way.
Strongly glaring at the world.
A mold that doesn't fit whom he should be.
Never told to be a man.
Because that's how he always acted.
Edgy and living up to expectations.
Male companions never wavering.
Unable to shed this masculinity.
A stage set for man.
Started when he was a boy:
Pick fights,
Be tough,
Never shed a tear,
Do not show weakness;
When brought to your knees, that could never happen.
A man never falls down.
Never sees darkness.
But the wholesome sun that rose for him.
It's the way everything started.
It's the reasoning behind his ability to batter and abuse.
It's why his lovers always felt the strength of his hands.
Why his brothers in arms never said a word.
It's the same reason I walk the streets alone.
Never able to ask for hand with a closed fist.
And never taught to open them.
Only taught to beat yourself dead.
No longer able to continue life as a man.
That's why so many of us end up dead by our own hand.
How boys are raised to become monsters and how the world creates a continuous cycle of pain.  A world of people of accepting inequality.  Men and Women created this world and it will take men and women to both change to make it better.  No one is greater or worse than the other.
Tommy Jackson May 2016
In vicksburg national burial place of the dead

A silence cradles the land
Voices of the cemetery
Loudly utter, words
Stroking butter

The sound is not
Bland.

The union sleep
Still awake in their beds
The rain never falls
The rain is just as dead

The civil war hasn't ended
Cry the tears of seventeen thousand ghosts
These souls are remembered
By the vows that they took

Sleeplessly haunting
The visitors to their arrival

The dead more than living
Are awake to the grassy place so vital

The war still goes on
Though to us it has ended
These men are still seen in their
Clothing unattended

Their plans ended shortly

Their plans unamended

This place awakes the voices
Of the wars recommended
Alice Burns Jun 2013
Once again I pass the night sleeplessly
This repetition is almost military
They crack their whip and I attempt rebellion
Unable to keep me in the line they have me running laps
Chasing me, feigning amusement with cheers of excitement
But I know I tire them as much as they taunt me
These mindless shadows never break from routine
Unable to forget, incapable to remember
They start their terrorizing each night with inhuman enthusiasm
Commenting on my actions and thoughts with shock and surprise
Do they not remember I have heard this all before?
The fear within me grows as each day starts and repeats
Fear that they will never tire, that I will never rest
But I can choose to forget
And in memory I remind myself this-
Though my mind grows weary in their communist regime
And there is yet a hero to overthrow their ghost king
I learn in repetition, and will continue every night
Maybe I will become worthy one day
And call all to revolution.
Austin Heath Mar 2016
Hexagonal yet
fashioned into a pattern;
process of dying.

Sleepless before day.
"Sunlight"; a curse for vampires,
not wretched function.

-Not impurity,
the presumptuousness of
those who point at us

and call us sinners.
They pray and sacrifice their
children [pentagon].

-We preach free speech, but
stab the tongues of fascism
deliberately.

Gaslighted by a
genocidal culture, we
fight back [pentagram].
~
Carving sigils in
frantic vanity eating
death incarnate, whole.

Hell is paradise,
and here we relish the filth
built up in corners,

where history fears
to show it's face and be struck
back into darkness.

Back into process,
simple pattern of dying.
Machines that grind flesh.

War machines by name;
"Liberty", "Freedom", "Safety".
Sleep can be wicked.

Where it interprets
the death of the innocent
as "necessity",

or claims tradition
is inherently wisdom;
"That's just how it is".
~
Sleeplessly in night,
I tap my finger against
a cold damp window.

Mass paranoia
for doomsday ticking downward,
not to zero though.

We wait for midnight.
Perpetuation of fear
is hexagonal.
Sydney Gretha Sep 2018
my entire life i've run away from my mind
fearing it's demise could come at any time

as a little girl id kick and scream
trying to run away from my daydreams
every thought i had, bursting at the seams
as i lay in bed ; sleeplessly

but now a funny thing
i find myself embracing how i think

perhaps thats a good thing
maybe, im just deranged
but for once in my life, maybe both are the same thing
Olivia Mercado Oct 2013
The sweet song of the humming computer
Follows me into the corner of the room in my dream
Where I curl up and wake
To the softly rising sun in the west.

The sun gives no light;
It can’t decide whether to sing or not
Can’t decide whether to be real today.
I look to the half-light of the West
And back to the door in the corner of the room in my dream.

The door is black and deep and dark
And warm and inviting
With the smell of comfort and mystery
In air that I cannot breathe.

I follow the open door
And don’t amend the smell –
The smell of the nonexistent air
The smell I follow through the doors of my dreams.

And I follow and follow
Up stairs and through long halls underground
The feeling of the substance around me, the substance of the dream
Calling me to my friends and the memories in the future
The memories that are falling asleep, the memories
I want to wake
And drown with the light and rush of my lungs this morning.

The morning doesn’t exist.
The morning is afar away, in a different world, that a different me
Will never see again.
The morning is coming far too quickly,
But it doesn’t exist, and so I fear not and follow the door.

Think not.
Breathe not.
Sleep not.
Amend not.

I follow. Sleeplessly, feellessly,
Like a ghost in the corridors of sunless memory.
There is no dark.
We are lit by the days that are
In the air
That is not air
The feeling, the smell, of swimming
In body-temperature water
There is nothing to feel
To breathe
Or smell
But the dream around you
And your soul, at home, holds you back from breathing in too deeply.

A new place, slipping into the water
In a different form this time
--- but I have no form
I am all forms
The seal, the otter, the water-air around me
Swimming through and catching the flashing fish
The silver, sweet, tasteless, flashing fish
Imprints of glittering eyes that I dart after in my dreams.

A person.
Standing.
In the background.

Hello. I can see you.
You are blind?
Ah. We are all blind here. I see you in one guise, you see me in another.
I am the air.
I am the water.
I am that smell, that feel of feeling the dream
The clear mist around you
A bubble of translucent warmth without temperature

I am your silver flashing fish
I am your breathless dawn
I am your setting, rising sun
And I would give anything
To know who you are.
mosquitoism Jun 2014
sleeplessly
embracing
you
Alt-J's new single Hunger of The Pine.
tranquil Feb 2015
“I want to feel weightless. Warm too... like this foam”, he added looking down as he dabbled his feet in water.

She saw him with an amused expression.

“Do you come often?”

“Yes. At nights. Alone. Whenever I'm too tired to sleep”.

“How can someone be tired and sleepless at the same time?”

A smile lit his face, “Can be. Look ahead”.

“The ocean's tired of gathering all of river's salt. Still tries to push it to the shore with its waves. Sleeplessly”.

“But why?” she asked, clearing strands of hair out of her eye. The cool midnight breeze carried salt in the air on a quintessential moonlit summer night.

After holding a pause, he added, “Maybe the ocean has no choice”.

“Why not? Who's stopping the ocean from resting down in peace?”, she questioned.

“The same melody to which all life must dance”.

She looked at him with questions in the eye.

“And what of these waves which crash on feet of rocks? What pleasure does such dance bring? Everything just dies eventually. This can't be a melody.” She was curious to hear from him now.

“Not all silence is death dear. Not all ends are the close. This.. and not even a trickle of water which lets loose from sky leaves its place without a reason. That rock has a reason to be. That wave needed to die for a reason.”

“What's all this thing about silence and death then? There's no melody in silence, or is it?”

“If there can be a music in sound, why can't there be a music in silence?”

“Now you're not making any sense. Silence is the lack of sound”.

“Not quite. Sound is the absence of silence. Sound is a cloak which hides the real face of being. Actuality is not sound. It is silence. And in this silence hides a million possibilities of being. Including this crash of waves... this tumble of the midnight tide... of you and me.”

“Hm.”

After reflecting on it for a few seconds she asked, “So end of things is just one possibility? What are the other possibilities then? Immortality? Isn't death unavoidable?”

He tried to lay it plain now. “Look at the chances of you and me being here. Right here. This moment. Sitting on this rock. Few months ago we didn't know the other of us even existed. What could be the possibility of this happening? Life is all about one possibility growing roots into another. Of chances forming relationships with each other. It all forms a web of instances which we connect with. Which we remember as life experiences.”

“But ultimately, we do have to die, don't we? We need to stop somewhere”

“Yes but what suggests that possibilities of existence end with death of body? The wave doesn't really die with a crash. See? There it came again,” he pointed with a smile.

“That's not the same wave...”, she was quick to revert.

“No that one was bigger. but”... “yeah i get it”, she interrupted him

“Its a part of the same thing. Same ocean i mean”, she said.

He smiled and added, “Also has the same rhythm”.

She smiled back, “So everything is brimming with life then? Skies and seas, plants and rocks.. all of it? Sounds like something out of CS Lewis' fiction”.

“Mhm”

“Guess everything could be as fictional or as real as it can possibly be then. Depends..”, she said looking at the midnight sky.

“Totally.”

“And this applies to everything, hm?”

“Completely.”

“What's real then?”

“Redness in your cheeks when you smile”.

A giggle followed to which he pointed his finger at and remarked, “As I was saying...”

“... stop it silly”, she interrupted him grinning.

“I meant what we see and feel this moment is real. Feeling is real. Maybe what we felt yesterday was real then, but we can't feel it now. We can't feel the first rays of dawn yet, so future is not real either”

They faced midnight's horizon. Immersed in placidness, pondering upon the gaze of sky and water with something which connected them both incomprehensibly.

“I think I can feel hearing to the sea now. Its refreshing.”

“Sure is.”

“To the silence of sea now, I mean.”

“Yeah.That's what I always come here for too,” he mumbled slowly.

"And to see the waves break themselves on feet of rocks with longing, while the rocks are deeply immersed in hearing the silence of their being in tranquil quietude".
first attempt at dialogue writing
stiletto quill Apr 2019
combustion was concealed
as flashes of despair,
created plaque throughout
bruising memories.

catastrophic events
euthanized rational thoughts,
as grinning cheeks sparkled
upon dawning drizzle.

dejavu sprinkled sunshine
on a fainting glow,
as the moon smiled in
devious nightmares. .

pergatory a permanent domain,
sleeplessly engaged with ghosts
haunting her final dormitory.

life embezzling imperfections,
death welcomed infectious diseases.

limbo remained faithful
between pulsating beats,
while inhaling peculiar oxygen
embezzled immortality.

pulsating heartbeat expired,
long before the coffin nail
unearthed its final target.
qu
At night, the house
in darkness,
the sleepers
restless, at the mercy
of their dreams,
or no dreams at all,
sleeplessly wandering the halls
like Father Christmas;
a sip of whisky's better
than cookies and milk,
still, it won't work,
problem is, under the tree,
there's a present
with your name on it.
Amanda Jean Jan 2011
Is she mad?
No, not mad...
DESTROYED.


A dark shadow; hidden.
Only an outline can be seen, a figure that looked nothing short of deadly.
Stalking her target as a cat would stalk her prey.
Observing, plotting, waiting...
She sniffs out her victim.
Enlarging her pupils to an inhuman degree.
Quickly, she changes vantage points as her object of affection slowly faded into the night.
An evil grin overtakes her face and distorts her features.
She admits a low chuckle.

Her rage and desire for revenge was all she had.
Everything that made her who she was snatched from her under the cover of night.
Visions of his lustful eyes still sting her skin.
Sleeplessly, she lies there. Eyes wide.
A tear slowly curls and pools in the corner of her eye.
The nightmares and flashbacks never fade.
Lies were all that bound their love,
Her truth and her truth alone could not withhold him.
The color in her face diminished,
The twinkle in her eye did not shine any longer.
For she only allowed her beauty to be found within him.
But now....
He was gone.

She gazed at the bruises that seemed to crawl up her arms,
Pacing back and forth for several hours at a time....
Her feet grew numb and mind became cold.
No light ever reached the room where she resided,
No sound entered, nor departed.
Her existence was far from reality.
Two lost souls
in each other found
but for only a moment
fleeting and cruel
for nothing in this life shall last.
Each time I am punished
for sweet folly
in which I know I am
reckless to indulge
but hope is my poison
and a high I cannot forfeit.
I trick myself to escape
regret over the walls,
once my steadfast fortress,
which I let crumble and decay
so that I wear my pain plainly
as testimony to my recklessness.
My tears fall, not only for the future I know
we no longer have chance to possess,
but also for the past:
a time in which I felt I was enough.
Maybe the flaw can be found
within my own nature,
a restlessness only a gypsy soul
will ever know
married to unwavering expectation
that the standard by which
I conduct my own action
is fair to desire in return.
All of this I think
in the dark hours
of midnight
as you sleep soundly, my love,
while alone I sleeplessly weep
with the realization of the fact
that all you will ever give me of love
is the same I've always known.
Harrison Jude Feb 2015
the ways that the candlelight
would illuminate the rises of your cheeks --

soft, sullen, sunken,
stretched, silhouetted.

the ways that my fingertips
would trace the point of your nose,
the fluttering frames of your eyelashes,
the ever-running ridges of your spine.

how you would speak to me
about far-off lands, gods and Greeks --

singing, sighing, searching,
sleeplessly, sightlessly.

the ways that your nails
would ebb and flow over the distant
distinct disconnected dashes of those
that dared to walk before those like us.

meager.
minuscule.
misplaced.
Another dawn breaks,
“Again the chilled border,
Has gone red with terror”
On my TV screen Olive green
Uniforms shaded in brown,
Lied on the stretchers,
Some still, some wriggling with,
Pain creeping to the core.

You and me being safe at home
Fought with each other, over
The extra cube of sugar,
That spoilt the taste of tea.
We always grumble, castigate,abuse,
Inside the safe walls of home.
While those fearless men,
Sleeplessly guard our borders.


Salute to those brave men who,
Forget their love and life for us,
And go back home in coffins,
Covered with a nation’s pride.
Bullets pierced their body, splashed
The warm blood, from their hearts,
Flooded in the memories of their
Loved ones, all far off.

Salute to those mothers, sisters
Wives, daughters, sons and bros,
Who surrender to their loss,
And say,” I love my nation,
And I‘m proud, that my son,
My brother, my love and life,
My dad, lived for this nation,
Lived for each one of you…"

Let’s pity ourselves, you and me
For, we forget them in a day,
Sitting in our cool, cozy rooms,
And argue over mean things
Because we have no worries,
When they are there to die for us,
Not letting us to surrender,
To the terror, fear and worry..
DEDICATED TO ALL MEN AND WOMEN IN UNIFORM AND THEIR FAMILIES
EJ Aghassi Aug 2014
after a night spent tossing
& turning,
sleeplessly overheating
& burning
i wake now to you
seeping through the open window

enveloping my body
caressing my skin

implanting the dire
hunger within

it all feels so out of place
but you-
this electrifying cold-
have found home with
me here, in
the room of the misfit,
as he once more strains
to open his eyes and
absorb the external

don't leave me, there's
no reason we ever have
to leave this bed again

our story is written
in the stars
clearly and beautifully

there's no reason to
leave this bed again
b e mccomb Nov 2016
i guess mark and linda
drive a range rover now
because i saw them through
the windshield turning the corner

i'm choking in the
heat blasting from
the vents of the van
and sleeves of the past

i used to wear scarves
to infiltrate them
but then i found we
were still sharing shirts

(i'm keeping the scarves i
never wear so that someday
i can tie them all together and
hang myself from an upstairs beam
but if homocide were more
my style i'm unsure if it
would be more a matter of
revenge or personal tastes)


"you don't have any
reason to seek revenge
on your old church
or any other."

odd
that you no longer
want recompense
for the past

and odd
that one should
need recompense
from those of the cloth

i want to scream
that i need help
I NEED HELP NOW
but don't want to sound ridiculous

don't want to say that
i'm having nightmares
flashbacks
panic attacks

over something like
sunday mornings
sleeplessly reversing
to saturday nights

but on the other hand
i don't want to die of
whatever's keeping me
scared and awake

i just know that
the medication
isn't putting me to
sleep anymore.
Copyright 11/27/16 by B. E. McComb
Sophie May 2015
the leaves look so lively
with its birds resting sleeplessly
as I recognise the sun shines passionately
unlike my back of mind, deadly--
parting it ways from gay to blue, intensely
yet longing for no more, lovely.
Zywa Feb 2022
Was I waked
by rattling buckets
like ticking rain

against the roar
the whistling inhalation
and the musing sighs

of the ***** monster?
Curved pipes *******
into space, everything shifts

until I no longer have a hold
and my body dissolves in trance
between wringing sounds

Compact like a saucer
I swing increasingly heavy
through octaves of space debris

with withheld breath
looking forward to the redeeming
light of the eternally distant

gravity, which will
melt and burn me
if I ever arrive

A false siren song lures me
with harmonies in which
the dashboard lights up

my thoughts clear again
to chart a course
and go away

from this depression
as if there are destinations
Hope and desire

tumble through the stardust
like the splashing water
from the sources of the Moldau

The monster roars again -
Maddening at the risk
of bursting asunder

and dispersing
in debris, ticking
against the silence

like the end of a downpour
But after the calm masses roll
towering over it, ever

I float
between dream and deed
Sleeplessly

I babble a bit
wading in acquiescence
Songless
"Songlessness" (2022, Maxim Shalygin), performed by the Amstel Quartet (saxophones) and Una Cintina (*****), on February 5th, 2022 in the Organpark

Curved pipes: saxophones
"Vltava" ("The Moldau", 1874, Bedřich Smetana)

Collection "org anp ark" #188
Jacobo Raymundo Jul 2013
When I close my eyes I see you
So I wander sleeplessly
Until My brain shuts down
And I sleep without dreaming
Silent Solitude
Seema Nov 2017
For the people I have known
From my past to present, whom I call my own
Am I alive in their thoughts
Or just a buried memory, I hope not!

I always think of the one's I've met
The one's that are not easy to forget
These are the people who are now hard to get
Busy with their lives, I would most probably bet!

Yet, here I pen my write
Of these wonderful people that tagged along
Life was almost like a movie song
Until I was left alone to fight!

Walking alone on the rough paths
I often wandered about others
With whom I felt, now apart
In my own dark world, am going  end to start!

Everyday seems same,
As if the Gods planned a game
Betting on me, aiming at me
I do not utter nor do I blame!

Years have passed, am not the same anymore
Once a cheerful, now sitting a bore
With every part of my body full of aches and sore
My heart ripped off till the core!

I am alive, I live for each day
With open and close eyes, I usually stare
The paths on which I walk today
Maybe it's just a challenge to bare!

Tears do fall like rain
When no one is around to feel my pain
Each day my brain plups to stress and strain
Yet, I bury my sorrows and all my pains!

Now I rest my pen here
As tonight seems a night to sleeplessly stare
Creepy thoughts crawl as fear
Light at the end of the tunnel, in my sense...is rare!


©sim
Inspired by a facebook post.
Victoria Laws Jun 2017
Recently,
All I've wanted to do
Is bring a bottle of champagne
To your place
And get drunk under the
Yesteryear stars
Of you
And me
Yet, it's never that
Sweet and simple,
Is it?

My love was so pure
I didn't realize
I ended up
Following him
All the way to Hell
For nothing.

Recently,
I find peace in watching the sun
Sink behind the towering
City buildings,
When the noise of the city
Seems to disappear for just a
Few minutes.
With it sinks my
Incessant thoughts...
For just a few minutes

Today I realized
My life is nothing without my words
And he is everything I write.

Recently,
I shook hands with chaos
And we had a long chat
It said to me
"You've become the person
I feared you would"

Funny how he sleeps peacefully
As I sit here
Sleeplessly drunk on
The thoughts of him and me
Consumed
With the incessant need
To caress him
With my poetry.

Recently,
I've found serenity
In the green grass
And blue sky
And I will stay at peace
Until a storm comes
And takes these from me too

Recently,
I've been lost
juno Jul 2019
Good morning!
I didn't sleep at all last night,
it was hard to sleep.
I just lay there sleeplessly 'til the sun rose.

I took a walk this morning,
It's always good to exercise in the morning,
It helps me wake up.

I had fruit for breakfast.
Why?
I dunno,
Why not?
Emeka Mokeme Apr 2018
The morons have no heart,
they are heartless.
In the left side of their brain,
nothing is right,
in the right side of their brain,
nothing is left.
That's why they use their
stony heart to break heads
as Palm kernel nuts.
Oozing out of their mouths
are crafty cunning words.
A perverted truth.
With humiliation as their brush,
they painted and
disgraced our youths publicly,
the very backbone of their
ascendency to glory and power,
the very ones who sleeplessly
and tirelessly sweated day and night,
to make sure of their tomorrow,
the only heirs to our future.
You dashed their hope in the mud.
You paid them with your spit on their faces.
How can we not see it.
With illusion of magic
they confuse the minds
of gullible people.
Their lies stinks.
I weep for those who believe them.
©2018,Emeka Mokeme.All Rights Reserved.
#He called them lazy people who sits down and do nothing...
Insult on the youths who worked tirelessly to help bring about change, the change that never favored anyone, in a country of plenty...where everyone is going through a harrowing experience.
Michael Marchese Nov 2016
Abandoned, alone, betrayed by the light
Perspectives adopting a darker lens
Exiled, outcast, stripped bare in the night
Perceptions blackened by meaningless ends
Tossing, turning, sleeplessly devoted
To silencing monsters under my bed
Whispering demons often hath quoted
The skeleton closets filling my head
Awoken to share them as banquet toasts
To hordes of zombies' sleepwalking smiles
Welcoming Grim, my most gracious of ghosts
To feasts of brains and mindless lifestyles
Cast in this life as a man silhouette
Forever to bask in my final sunset
All of the miles before us unfold
Uncertainly leading to stories yet told
The pleasures and pains, the joys and the woes
Retreating and greeting wherever we go
The sun and the moon dancing by overhead
While we’re sleeplessly dreaming or resting our heads
Bringing light to the dark, bringing darkness to light
Sometimes chilling the day, sometimes warming the night
As we see what we feel, and we feel what we see
As we loathe what we have, and we want what can’t be
As we right ‘til we’re wrong, and we wrong ‘til we’re right
As we run from the battle, and rage in the fight
There’s not one of us perfect; not one of us made
To make all the right choices from birth to the grave
Sometimes we will conquer, and sometimes we’ll fall
Sometimes we’ll have faith, and sometimes we’ll lose all
But to lose is to win if we’ll learn from the past
Instead of retreating from shadows we’ve cast
Rising up from the ashes and shedding our skins
Though it feels like the end, it is where we begin
Finding strength in our weakness and knowledge in pain
As we unleash our courage, and fear we restrain
For the future’s unwritten…a past yet to be
And the only thing certain is uncertainty
Nely Mar 2020
Sometimes its beautiful outside.
The sun shines for miles and miles. The clouds swim without a current. The grass sleeplessly kiss my ankles. I can hear my heart knocking in my ears. I stand still & feel mother gaia cradling me. I think no moment like this will ever exist.

— The End —