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Fayre Jul 2018
In sable darkness and deafening sounds of her bedroom silence,
she found herself aching
in deep cogitation.

The full moons brightness had peered in
through her window pane,
but with its light
encompassed her with defeat
and decay.

Reality had settled in;
as she felt her body slowly submerge,
She knew
she was no longer her own saving grace.

She awoke in a place of death and morbidity,
But awoke in a state of contentment and comfortability.

Her agony remained; as the remembrance of today,
the ideas of what will come tomorrow,
and the hope of assurance to what she forebodes her future to be,
with the life she leads.

At last

the words had finally escaped.

“Bittersweet serenity.”
Sometimes I write at night.
There's something about the evenings that make me feel inspired.
Morgan Mercury Oct 2013
Where are your wings now?
How can they save you now?
Left alone, barely able to stand on your own two feet.
You walk a thousand miles down a dirt road
finding hunger along the way.
You drink a gallon of water for the first time
so everything in the world stops and leaves you breathless.
You can't believe the feeling of pain and dwell in sorrow
over something, you can't control.
You set the world on fire but never knew how to use a match.
Now you're a nomad dreaming of meeting someone who will help you put out the flames
but instead, everyone glares at you while walking around in their ashes.

And if you knew what you know now nothing would have changed,
and everything would be in its place.
You wish to undo what has been done
but you have a heavy soul
surrounded by mountains and oceans.
So let the sun die down
and let the morning pour in hope of anew to come.

You used to be a beautiful angel
but now your grace has been ripped out.
Now you're a human
with ***** feet,
a hard soul,
broken wings,
and scarred and cut skin
you wish to just be left behind.
Let the wind take you and lead you
across the winding roads,
into the hands, you solely search for to help and to hold.
The only hands that can make you feel whole and holy,
even without a halo.
Castiel
Supernatural
2013
B L Jul 2018
In a wakeful contradiction, it lays fact between my fiction,
Tangling subatomics, it unravels as its tricks spin
deeper toward the outward...
                                      it won’t let up, 'til I give in.

Over matter, lay my mind…
I tell a lie to pass the time...
But there’s no reason nor a rhyme --
                                            Less still, a purpose?
I search for something to remind my mind
                     that there’s truth that isn’t worthless…

But as always, failure appears;
                              in a sort-of amnesic continuity.
And my reality lies to my own mind
                              Just as well
                              as it succeeds in its futility.
With destruction as its manifest,
It tells me that I stand my tallest
                              Upon two buckled knees.

And just as faith will find one’s doubt --
                  a search within has left without.
It seems that an answer, once sought out,
                  will be left lacking its question.
My truth divides itself,
                   as a product of infinite misdirection.

I try to substitute a reason for a rhyme.
But with no lies left to pass the time...
                              I swallow a dose of ignorance.
It goes down smoother than the truth.

In a war that started with a truce,
This world betrayed my faith to show me:
                                 that I'm only tall enough
                                 Once I’ve been
                                                         cut
                                                             down
                                                                ­     slowly.

A pill too large to swallow,
                I think I’m choking on myself . . .
Or the irony of asking,
                     “How could I be so careless?”
Here I stand, Barely standing,
                   Consumed almost entirely
By my own dry-heaving self-awareness...

Left to fight the fears that my nightmares create;
I’m still running from my past,
                          yet, haunted by my fate.
They walk beside me always,
                          shadowing wholeheartedly —
Existing as a duality, both apart from,
                         and a part of me.

These ghosts have taught me very little...
                                    Aside from what I hate.
But, I've come to learn not to fear
                                    The forceful hands of fate.
For I shudder not at the thought of destiny,
                                    Or the inevitable in time...
Instead, I fear the eventuality of the choices
That were solely, and entirely, mine.

I fear that my will may be of enough influence, alone...
That fate itself may collapse beneath decisions like my own.
Or that I, myself, might be constructing
What destruction I will find
Among my shattered spirits and convictions,
In these depths to which I climb.

C Davis Apr 2017
pipe dream,
borne of a moon beam,
shone solely through the shower steam
(evaporation from the heat gleam
of an idolizing heart scheme)

and i am
just a
support beam

in my own house

who left the water running.
Hirondelle Nov 2018
Across a milky trace; time’s silent pace,
glides a silver face in her lacy grace.
Beyond the dark sea, atop the tall tree,
her iv’ry journey; a silk skeined story.

If her ancient sheen has always been clean-
no sin on her skin has ever been seen-,
then her pearly grin forever serene
must be good souls’ kin solely Night can bring.

Can’t she dark clouds strain specklessly humane,
and peek through a sea of plumy champagne?
Or at a bleak night on a slumbery diet,
seep with silv’ry spright in all strife and slight?

As her spectral tress drapes me I possess
silver whispers in her cascade’s caress.

©️Hirondelle (24/11/2018)
When the murk and mud of the global dumpyard coils back after nightfall and the mistress of the night takes stage, I bathe my eyes and soul with her impeccable light... listen to her silver story and let her silken silver hair wind its way around my frame, charming and possessing me. She is my very special date, and I know when my Night comes one day, my soul will be a strand back in her spectral tresses among its silvery kindred.

A new conjecture? Imagination has no end, and poetry is eternity.

Hear the silver whisper, and don’t wallow too much in the mud. Let the moon cleanse your spirit;

through your eye,
through your ear
with her silver hair.
Advent Oct 2014
i only write in the middle of the night
while the stars watch me
waste ink of blood
dripping from the veins of my brain

i only write in the middle of the night
while the moon guards me
as i write the message of my soul to the universe
solely dug from my heart

and suddenly everything comes back to reality
the sun sets high
illuminating the pitched black sky
and i wonder,
will i ever enjoy the daylight
while carrying the burdens i hold inside



a.t.
Shofi Ahmed Oct 2018
Adam touches down
in heaven upon the high.
But his highwater mark
wasn’t solely one way.

He could hear the jingle
upon the high resonates
beneath the ground!

He could see the cloud
forms on the top
and rains down to the ground.

Bow down on the earth
and rise high.
Lo, the golden spiral too,
curves downward
before spiking high up.
Dirk Salimus Jul 2018
People pretend to be your friend,shoulder or even a lover
But then leave you when in danger and you can't hold it any longer
People act like you can trust them,or at least that's what they boast
But then abandon you when you needed them the most

Maybe they're right,People come,People Go
You just have to learn how to keep up the show
Or at least try to get used being used
And pretend you haven't been bruised

You should have the faith to take the leap
Endure it all,You have no time to weep
And make it through, alone but abundant
Solely yet,triumphant.
I just made this out of nowhere
Carter Ginter Oct 2012
Unspoken feelings, they cry out in the night.
You hold my heart frozen, so wrong but so right.
My dreams scream for you, my body aches in withdrawal.
Baby you're a drug and I'm in for the haul.
Addicted to the pain, addicted to the feeling.
I'm an addict, a lover, just a human being.
You were never good for me, that's what you would tell.
I said I'd stay standing, but so quickly I fell.
One kiss, one touch, one day at the park.
My love it unravels, but only alone in the dark.
I never had told you, the way I really felt.
As you'd hold me so close, my heart it would melt.
You made me feel safe, for once in my time.
The happiest I've ever been, when I thought you'd be mine.
Yet I was sadly mistaken, just lost in a haze.
I was high off your love, but for you it was solely a phase.
Angelina Mar 2016
Color, one word, thousands of references
It is an illusion, science perhaps may explain it
But people have utterly transformed its definition over the past decades
Is it pride? Is it wealth you carry within you once you are born precious yet so fragile?

Define it for me
Release the inner load of prejudiced assumptions
Passed down from generation to generation
Do not be afraid to speak your mind
For you are enlightening me
Go on, define it for me

Red, orange, blue and green
Purple, pink, white and colors we've already seen
Came in touch with, and accepted for what they seem
Whom we do not hesitate adoring, whilst waiting for what more of them there is to see

Colors, beautiful bundles of joy
Billions of them undiscovered
Yet willing to view
And yet unwilling to embrace one another solely because our skin tone is a shade darker, or a shade lighter?

I'm sorry, I thought we loved the thought of not having to unlock our gates to gardens full of plain, dark pigmented red roses
There's got to be the lighter pigmented ones and the yet to blossom ones
The ones that are yet to be labeled
By humanity's impaired vision
Carter Ginter Aug 2018
Dear Kailey,

Polyamory was not our downfall
I changed as a person
Much quicker than I anticipated
So I can imagine it felt
Catastrophic to you
Polyamory was not our problem
But it did highlight the ones we had
The reason I left you
Primarily was due to codependency
But more than that
It was your inability to compromise
I told you I needed space
You said you needed me
And that was the end of that conversation
When we tried to create boundaries
To help our adjustment to poly
What you gave me were rules
And when I tried to alter them slightly
You told me I was not compromising
I made my own mistakes too
Neither of us are perfect
And I'm not writing this to hurt you
This is for me alone
Because I've been blaming only myself
Since that night your parents took you home
Because you were blaming me
Or too harshly blaming yourself
It's not as black-and-white as that
This is not an attempt at
Relinquishing myself of blame
This is a bare acknowledgement
For me
That I am not bad
Even if I've done bad things
And I am not responsible
Solely
For your pain
I am sorry for my part in it
But I cannot
And will not
Let this responsibility weigh me down alone
Because I matter too
And it wasn't easy for me either
But it's OK
To love and care for someone
Without being in relationship with them
This series is extremely important to me. It has drastically helped with closure over past unhealthy relationships. They were all unhealthy I'm largely different ways and I did not write these to take away my own fault in the breakups, but I wrote this to rid myself of the unnecessary guilt I have been carrying around because of things that these exes have said to me or the ways in which they treated me. This project is about self-love. Not about hatred or wishing ill will upon others, because I wish them nothing but happiness. This is for me.
Sharon Thomas May 2017
When it rains here once again
I remember the time we clenched hands that monsoon.
And we trailed down that railway track on a cloudy noon
We weren't alone did you know?
In a place unknown to fog and snow
The weather had lost its temper
The train had been blinded enough to lose track.
Who doesn't know it's all a knack!
Derailed, they say.
Before the next I wish they simply care
These are not mere accidents you bare,
But testimonies you claim on a paid fare.
Indian Railways or any other for that matter I say,
When they pass the word 'happy journey'
We simply wish it's not our last.
When it rains once again here,
I remember the time we clenched hands that monsoon.
And I wailed down the railway track on that tragic day,
I do not understand which side to stake.
Or wish for summer once again in my life
Or curse the rails, frames and journeys that shatter.
Shatter! Solely due to human hands that fell short,
short to value the lives that derail.
ryn Sep 2014
Life is full of mischief and artful trickery
The way through never made easy for the foolhardy

Misleading gestures only employed to solely distract
Left up to you to decipher and hopefully extract

Experiences teach much, had you only been accepting and learning
That a dove could be made to appear; out of thin air, out of nothing

When the road ahead offers no more than mere misdirections
Altered trajectories stemming from convenient misinterpretations

Your cards may have been dealt revealing astonishing outcomes
"Not the hand you get but the game you play," said some

Depending on deft wrists and a flick of the wand
Overnight you'll wake to find that a new day had dawned

Only would happen if into the wind you hadn't spat
Hope would emerge like a hare out of a top hat

The play on light and shadow, nothing short of dramatic
You volunteer onstage, accompanied by apprehension and suspenseful music

Faced with an eager audience; you realise that alone you stand
Be not surprised to learn that love is life's sleight of hand...
As summer bursts through its edges
with the promise of warmth,
endless days of reverie
and stretches of sunshine along the horizon,
the trees shiver with melancholy
as though their leaves anticipate
the chill of autumn
to fracture their very existence
only to be left  s c a t t e r e d
on the pavement
later swept away -
    kept away -
then bitten by the raw winter,
seizing the only
existing solace in spring
However fleet i n g
this consolation may be
Because as summer once more
avouches to bring euphoria
With it will come a desolation
that hasn't been hoped for
but nonetheless expected
It has become solely comparable
To the love that was lost
Among the whispered promises of forever
Like the thrumming of the raindrops
on a summer's night
Greetings, Hello Poetry! Happy to be here. It's nice.
isabelle saloom Nov 2015
red* - her lips tasted of wine and blood and all the pain she felt in her heart. she was driven by wild passion and survived solely on her intensity and strength. each breath she took was like fire; so absolute, so empowered.
orange - her hair was crafted from the bright ashes of a phoenix, kindled with streaks of gold. she always seemed to be her own lick of flame from the embers that burned in her heart to the coals that touched her soul.
yellow - her smile was light at your darkest hour, sunshine after a rainstorm. inspired by everything and nothing at all. she was the sun personified, the epitome of radiance.
green - her eyes were so deep and magnificent and ethereal, whilst still lit with puerility. she could look at you and suddenly show you that she cared so passionately for you, no matter your mistakes or your faults.
blue - her skin drowned in an ocean of tears, storm after storm, each wave wracked her body. she trembled with heartrending sobs, each breath heavier than the last. her sorrow painted the depths of her, unseen to those who had not genuinely looked into her eyes.
purple - her organs were stained an **** shade by the darkness she consumed. her hunger was insatiable. she filled her mouth with glass and swallowed it with a smile on her face. the air traveled from her bruised lungs, through her macerated throat, and out her smiling, stained lips.
V Oct 2018
we explored one another,
similar to that of how the seven sins
would explore their vices,
corrupting their virtues.

but that's what made the garden blossom,
grow with intense passion that radiated
with a melancholy glimmer, with a dipped
and ragged vine of sweat and sheen
arousal and desire.

  craving, begging, mewling, whining;

gluttony, craving for the excess
sloth, craving for moments of rest,
envy, craving for a bearing of arousal,
lust, craving for a touch, a sinful taste;
greed, craving the moans and swatches,
wrath, craving for sullen destruction,
pride, craving for the fall of a bereaved apology.


    our garden;
a place of virtues, a place of our vices.
you showed me the deepest things,
darkest epithets of what was to be explored,
blossoming a crimson rose of pure desire
in the pit of my abdomen, vines of thorns
wrapped firmly around my hips
and the soft ashen flesh of my wrists
soon to be accompanied around
the thin circumference of my ankles.
the shark divots soon finding their
way around the swells of my breast,
and the tremble of my inner thighs;
body arching, lips quivering,
ecstacy of your words,
your seed planted garden that
became a part of me.


I found the cardinal sins in
the dropping countenance
of your words, of your demands, and of your wishes,
and i bathed in it,
soaked myself up in the lavender of
your scent, the scratchiness of your thorns.

our garden was the place to cast our sins,
delve into them, and it ruined me,
but oh how I solely craved it.

our encounters, our actions, our experiences
putting even the seven deadly sins to same,
forcing them to turn when catching a glimpse
of us. The swells of their cheeks blossoming
with that of a rose tinted hue.
em Jul 2015
this life was just
a stepping stone
one her way to bigger dreams

her grip upon time
was lose
as the future
lay in
her palm

focused solely
on the hope
that she was
going far,
her eyes fixed,
on the horizon
and her heart painted
in the stars

but darling,
she couldn't
have told me
all the colors in
a smile,
as she never
laid her
head down
to rest
for awhile.

baby girl
when you
grow older,
know the
colors of
this world
show me the
red of anger
and the
vibrant hues
of joy.

spend a lifetime
gazing at the earth
beneath your feet,
you'll find little
pieces of heaven
between,
grass blades
of the present.
the rhyming is kinda all over the place but it the only piece that has escaped from the prison of writers block.
slay Nov 2018
Testing my patience 1 2 3
Mic drop n scramble back to the beat
I be geeked in the streets
But be like Neek in the sheets
****, you Harry Stylin' in your custom Gucci's

I'm so ****** uninspired, my soul has nowhere to be
I'm resonating with nothing that extends beyond the planet
I'm not interested in anything inorganic
All the man made **** is solely for my avatar,
I dont have to play videogames because I already live in one.
The only thing I havent done is **** myself in this life to ascend into the next one
But i know I am a chosen one so I suffer in silence
Said i bare the burden, I am a beacon of light

I mean who you think you are, King Mitus?
Oh my god
You be counting change, im stacking hundreds with my thoughts
I think i drifted way too far last time i astral projected
Cause when i came back they told me Mandela was effected

It's tragic, the tragedy keeps writing itself
God must not be real n we must all have free will
We must all be capable of unspeakable things
With the capacity of becoming unspeakable beings, but
The conscious to speak into the opposite swing
Hello, testing? Testing 1, 2, 3?


It's amazing my attention span isn't longer than (.)45 seconds,
This is reckless
And sometimes that's the only way i know how this thing in my chest works
MAYBE IM JUST BUTTHURT!
MAYBE I JUST WANT MORE ATTENTION!
MAYBE I AM JEALOUS?
MAYBE THIS IS MY DECLARATION!
MAYBE I AM SELFISH?
JUST LET THESE WORDS BE MY PRESERVATION
And my heart hurts
Not important, i just said it off the record
For my mental

And when I meet her, maybe she'll tell me im an angel
But i am much worse,
I'm a temptress, I'm a serpent, I'm a stranger
I am hellbent
On finding my true place in the framework,
I will change them
I will ignite the reformation
pitch black god8 Dec 2018
I.      the smell of sad

odorless colorless like *****, similar familiar sidewinder effects,
musty invasive, it has no specificity, no locale centrale, well closeted,
saddling sadding, in place, plain sighted better to toy our lives,
pervades persists, worse lingers, impervious to sprays
and even everyone’s good literature (even Will S’s),
good wishes good intentions and mood prayers
to the nearest lay god
on duty at the spiritual emergency room on weekends,
still stink

don’t think that this poem is for you; solely for the writer,
your doppelgänger ******, your mirror’s inside hiding out place,
I,
who has your sadness smell into my skin cells creepily crept
waft woof and warp wet weft-woven
into the sad receptacles hidden in my
head’s cubbies and the palms of my tree hands-covering face

there are cures so wonderful and inexpensive but unavailable
at the local Rite Aid, though they are the right aid recoverable,
so closer than close, so close that the internist
cannot prescribe them because he must inject himself first
because the live bacteria in the antidote can **** all

this odor lays down bamboo-strong roots;
to eradicate you must dig down deep,
six feet perhaps more, with heavy earth moving equipment,
uproot at the source, follow sad always all-the-way down and the root
great god gone,
but the saddest truth
stench odor yet present
Carter Ginter Dec 2018
I hope this is the last set of letters
Because I am so tired
Of hanging onto these things that
Happened so long ago now
And allowing other people
To have this type of control over me
I love myself now and
That really is an amazing thing
I didn't even like myself back then
I couldn't even comprehend the idea
That I could care about myself this way
And that's exactly the reason
Why all of these past occurrences
Suffocate my thoughts so much
Because I cannot fathom how
People who claimed they loved me
Could treat me the way they did
How I could let them
Use me and
Abuse me and
Manipulate me to such a degree
Where I stayed in those conditions
For much longer than I should have
The reason I haven't let go yet
Has nothing to do with my exes
It has to do with the ways in which
I allowed important people
Those who I shared love and a life with
To hurt me so deeply
It is not about the people
It is not about their names
It is not even about the individual love
It is solely about me and
The love I carry for myself now
And my own inability to comprehend
How I could hurt myself so much
By letting other people
Actively hurt me so much
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