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L Aug 2017
300
Something happened. I didnt know how to feel. A walk seemed like a good thing to do. I followed the trail. I got angry. Why? It doesnt make sense. But it does make sense. Why? So angry. Clenched fist and uneven breathing. I cant do this. Stop. Breathe. Stop. Sit. Count cars. 25 cars speeding down the freeway. I see them. Do they see me? 50. Calming. Counting. Losing track. 100. They keep coming. Sometimes many all at once. 200. Sometimes sparce and few. 225. All these cars. All these people. So many lives. So many in different situations. So much i dont know. 300. 300 people have just passed me. Its been no longer than 10 minutes and so much experience has just driven by. I may never know their stories. Never to be seen again. Fleeting. Gone. 300 people who dont know me. Dont know my story. 300 people. Some would care. Some are too busy. Sure, some empathetic. Some feeling pity. Walking. Thinking. Numb. Smile at the nice people passing by. People pass and yet the road seems deserted at times. Walking.

There is an end. Though it maybe not quite an end. Things are not the same but thats where you end up.

I turn around and walk back.
Coming to terms.
A Mareship Nov 2013
Black curls,
Broken commas
Unarranged.

Snowlit cheeks,
Cold flowers
Dimly veined.

Dog eyes,
Rich dark
Recycled glass.

Bottom lip,
Baby fat.
Upper? Sparce.
Dave Bas Nov 2010
I prided myself in loneliness
But it was a farce

Ive never been dependent
Even when luck was sparce

To be fortunate enough to have been happy for while
Was my recent loss

Now I am but chaff in the wind
Or leaves in the moss

My prayer is for never to have loved
For it would not be so painful

Yet again I think one day with it
Is better then without a handful

My only wish was to have been more wise
To have not betrayed myself

Yet again the past is done
To learn is a my wealth

Mine only saving grace
Is there is some chance

That fear will go away
By you with just a glance
Micheal Wolf May 2019
Buds pushing up and the dew of night still hanging from them as each morning they show some more of their beauty. The grass now growing again after it's winter sleep. Mornings brighter and bird song at 4am. Wet shoes as we walk through the field as the night still clings to each blade of grass. The moss now dying on the pourous headstones and staining the rock beneath.

Warm sun and a lush canopy of every green, eyes squinting through sunrise, the smell of fresh cut lawns and the smell of barbeque coals soaked in juices drifting from the gardens nearby. Late evenings and children playing till the street lights glow. The sound of foxes barking as I try to sleep. Out gathering and walking the paths I walked.

Dried leaves crushed underfoot, announcing the change of season as the nights come sooner and the sun loses it's heat. They are the days I will remember most of our autumn. As a temporary death comes to the place of death. The umbrella of multicoloured beauty falls in the breeze and blown to dance like spirits. The last flowers dried and decaying, Rain becomes colder the foxes no longer bark.

The leaves now gone, trees naked and cold. Redundant nests tossed in the wind and decay all around above and beneath the ground. Only the sparce laurels and holly show any green. The grass covered in a thin layer of white muddied by feet passing through. Not as idyllic as a Christmas card or calender. But this is my place. Where my best friend sleeps. The daily walk with my dog. My solace. Often my only peace, my only escape. Now, I share it with you.
Elioinai Aug 2016
My words for you . . .
have been few
your name not overused
upon my tongue
adjectives sparce and repeated
Because to me
Your love is serious

I didn't step this way
to turn back
I didn't spin my feelings into lovely webs with shining prisms
Because so often
these have left

I felt at once so sure
that I terrified myself
I knew . . .
He said . . .
My rational thought filled my happy heart with dread
So there was no place for shallow, fancy poems
In the face of bold affection
shy but firmly
Love
Not my typical love poem, not my typical love
Tyrel Kriger Jun 2016
Of what weight does love hold?
Cosmic gigantic love
Streatching from star to star,
from time to time,
Leaping all barriers,
In an insane hurtle race
Run by rabid contenders,
Frothing at the mouth,
Colidicopes in their eyes
Swirling,

As they clear fence after fence
Hardly catching themselves
As their sloppy foot falls land,
All ankles, knees, wobblingly
catching themselves
Their brains decifering
the confused code
Of signals beamed
from legs heart and stomach
All culminating in this
Borderline
Purposeful looking
Yet unintentional
Floppy mess
 
For in the sake of their love
, Of some thing that they hope
will make them immortal,
or at least super,
That temporary and basic seemingly
Irrefutable good that one feels in his pit
Expanding them and inflating them till they float

High enough above others
To squintingly look down, into the eyes of those unable to bouey bob above the rest.
Lights flicking on their foreheads so
Even if they don't talk people know
Where they are and how splendid
Their bobbing is.

And let's not kid ourselfs
Look at those two
Out in the dark and deep
The 2 hrtz signal allowing them each
To be sure the other exists
Flashes reveal the hidden expressions
Those times of clarity so sparce
When all you want to do is look at them
For a good long time
Take in the other completely
for in those nights
When all thoughts clump
Turning colours to brownish purple.
An you cannot see the other
to have them help as they so enjoy.
Two distant bleeps of light
Red but none the less visible
To all around

After all I guess they will be serving as warner's, out their on thier own.
What rocks and reefs the will they arbrais
What swells will the brave,
And what will we learn from
watching From shore,
Whishing them luck as the sun rests on the other side, as the white caps tumble, as the clouds roll on overhead.
Its a very wet scenario.
loaf Jun 2018
if not for you, my life would be empty
my stars wouldnt shine, theyd fail to align
my limbs would give out and droop like spaghetti

if not for you, laughs would be sparce
my heart lodged in my throat, voice bleeting like a goat
sound would be as silent as a **** from my ****

if not for you, i wouldnt know love
my mind would be mindless, time is what binds us
despair's cold shackles im finally free of
Akira Chinen Jun 2022
The night sky had a cup
  full of moonlight
and the shadows played
  in the fields
   and danced in the streets
the few sparce stars in the sky
  gently sang a lullaby
and the mad mad world below
  paused for a moment
    for only a moment
and though worn and weary
  I smiled
sleep would come
   soon enough
and trouble would have
  to wait for tomorrow
    to begin its brew again...
Gale L Mccoy Jan 2019
I crave to be strong
these sparce muscles stand for what I've been neglecting
this body I wish to strengthen
as it is the vehicle to my success
I will arrive at the goal
with nothing less then this
flesh and bones and blood
and through time
I will learn to cater it's demands
as a mother coddles her child
for I am nothing more then
me myself and my body
Illya Oz Apr 2018
Fingers sliding across my skin
Bu-dum bu-dum bu-dum
Like a car over speed bumps

Red beads on my wrist
Meaningless memories
I've tried to leave behind

Rainbow Vains
To clear the lack of colour
Tell me when it rains

The creases flowing rivers
Crisscrossing on their journey
Pulled along by strings of fate

Calluses sparce on thin skin
Protection against the common
On this irregular sphere
This poem started off because I was getting hung up over my scars. I've been self-harm free for just over 2 years now but I still don't feel recoverd. The urges went away for awhile but lately they have come back really strong and I'm really struggling to keep them in check.
Even if I do heal I'll always still be left with scars.
charles Nov 2018
some day this long night,
will soon never be;
the things that i say,
the person i see.
i will love myself eventually.
right now, i'm not sure,
and sometimes that's alright.
there's more moments of bliss,
than the most restless of nights.
though they come slowly,
and their presense is sparce,
i still know them by heart,
and you know who you are.
and if night turns to day,
but night takes me away,
just know you're the reason,
my sad soul had stayed.

— The End —