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MARGA Jun 2018
your precious smile,
that never failed to shine;
a heaven-sent beam,
that made my heart your realm.

2. your tenderness,
that gave me bliss;
how could someone be
like you, so dearly?

3. your good vibes,
that surpassed all tribes
in giving off the positivity
i need for my stubborn reality.

4. your talents,
that awakened everyone's hearts;
you are my significant inspiration,
you give life to my life's ambition.

5. your humility,
that's filled with sincerity.
while everyone else is toplofty,
you remained lowly.
not everyone as wonderful as you,
could show meekness too.

6. the happiness you shared,
at times when smiling is something
i never dared;
darling, it meant everything.

7. for your meaningful silence,
that gave me a better comprehension.
although your stillness was tense,
i knew in my heart it was never a rejection.

8. for your music,
that never halts to flourish.
music, your depiction of aesthetic;
through you, the melody will never tarnish.

9. for being your genuine self,
you gave me potency to do the same.
shamming is no longer something i'll play, for you taught me how to
end that witless game.

10. for bringing me daily sunshine,
for setting the moon & the stars aligned;
my everyday became better,
and i will treasure you forever.


there are way more reasons
on why i love you for real.
through the passing seasons
i could slowly & slowly reveal
and show you how i truly feel.
as time passes us by,
i would no longer hesitate
and keep my sentiments ensconced.
through the coming weeks, months and years,
as long as we have all the time
i would dauntlessly lay out to you
that the way i feel for you is true.
written with whole heart for my dearest .
//
let me tell you
that i am true
ㅡ and i always will be.
Mena Mulugeta Jul 2018
It’s deeper than that.
It’s deeper than the ocean.
It’s this feeling I can’t bare.
My heart thumping so quick

Adrenaline rush when I heard the
Words that you were gone.
Altitude is so high I can’t even cry.
12 Empire State buildings tall, and
I still really couldn’t reach my soul.
My emotions overpowering many things
Wishing you were here,
wishing there was a golden stairway to heaven.
I would climb milestones
just to hear your voice.
I wish I could come up home,
and sit down just to see your reflection.

You’re shining brightly
with flashes of light.
Looking like an Angel
I feel your presence.
  Things are unreal
  time is not ours,and
Forever you will be in my heart.
Rest In Peace to you beautiful souls.
May all you beautiful souls Rest In Peace Beruk
Jesse stillwater May 2018
.

He liked to gather up the silence in the springtime
  Pack it up and carry it in an old timeworn leather rucksack
From a distance it looked like he was a senseless fool
  Picking up handfuls of nothing;  then putting it in an empty jar


No mind is paid to the fleeting glance in the corner of a stranger's eyes
  They were out of reach from the box he was living in
He kept gathering up the endless silence like missing pieces of a lost soul
   It seemed to be everywhere ―  and in it heard,  the only voice he knew


Supposing all his thoughts pondered come forth of silence
  Often resting sheltered beneath branches where it grew on the trees ―
It wasn't just the songbird that broke the stillness in dappled sunlight
  It was the dearth of love that rivers through a strong heartbeat’s
silenced words ...


Jesse Stillwater

04   May   2018
Thank you for reading and considering "gathering silence"
Hussein Dekmak Aug 2018
I closed my mouth,
and spoke to you in the language of the rain drops,
I whispered to you in the language of the flowers,
and chanted 'I love you' in the language of the melody birds.

I  closed my mouth,
and voiced my feelings to you in the language of the ocean's waves,
and delivered my message to you in the language of the Wind breeze,
I conveyed my feelings to you in the language of the twinkling stars,

I closed my mouth,
and spoke to you in the language of eye contact,
and expressed myself to you in the language of smiles,
I shouted to you in my sacred language of tears,

I closed my mouth,
and whispered to you in the language of heart,
and recited to you in all of nature's implicit language,
I spoke to you, softly, in God's silent language.



Hussein Dekmak

Copyright.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2aaT3NfuM5Y
Cné Sep 2016
Sometimes, I think
Thinking is weird.
What do you think?
Cné Jan 2018
Climbing on the bus
Not looking forward to this trip
But it meant so much to her  
And how could I predict

That it would be her last hurrah
Before she passed away
Just one year ago marks
The anniversary of that day

It was an annual trip, with her twin
They took to different cities
With a group of old church folks
They called themselves
“The Traveling Gypsies”

As it turned out to be
My last fond memory
Of my mother and her twin
Before they were stripped
Of all their memories

Alzheimer’s was their reward
They gave it quite a fight
Bed ridden in their final days
Until they saw the light

Who's to say how it will end
Or where that place will be
A gutter in the streets of life
Or home where it should be

So as I sit and contemplate
These moments I recount
I think about the road ahead
And how I’ll make it count
My mom and her twin sister both had Alzheimer's. My mom was significantly more progressed than my aunt's. My aunt acted as my mom's caretaker long after we had them both moved to a memory care facility. They both did well there for about 6 months. Then my mom became aggressively depressed and crying all the time. At that time, they both had a bad sinus infection at the same time. My mother recovered but was still crying and complaining she couldn't breathe. However doctors could not find any ailments in her. My aunt ended up getting pneumonia. While in the hospital they discovered and diagnosed her with stage 4 terminal lung cancer. She died 4 months later with the last month being bed ridden, hardly eating until she was nearly only bones and on a breathing machine. My mom and her twin were always connected in the weird twin way ... knowing things between them, beyond normal comprehension. We all believe my mom knew (not in a cognitive way but in her own twin way) before diagnosed that her twin was going to die. None of us expected her to live much longer than her twin. They both had long life forces even crippled with cancer and Alzheimer's. My aunt Lorea (other mother) died Oct. 27, 2016. Up until that point my mother could still walk, talk, eat and recognize me and my siblings. However after she lost her twin she could no longer walk requiring much more individual care. We moved her to a residential home care facility. They worked really hard to try and revive her willingness to live. It wasn't a conscious choice to give up because with Alzheimer's your brain doesn't work right. She lasted less than 3 months after the death of her twin. It was heartbreaking, to say the least, to witness. I rejoice her being reunited with her twin and my father and free of the confinement of Alzheimer's but I'm still working through the finality of it on the earthly side. Growing up as a child of twins is a blessing of having two moms (one being the cool mom ... the mom you could tell anything to .. knowing she would know how to explain it to your real mom in a way you couldn't bring yourself to do) and a sister cousin, my aunt's daughter. I had an older sister (10 years) too. So in my case I had three moms I love dearly. I am grateful to still have my sister.
Corey May 2016
-butterflies caged by ribs,
a life begging to be lived
red heart beats in time
with the thoughts of my mind

but thoughts can fit through cracks
like the butterflies that are trapped
from mind to lips that part
but not passing through my heart

lips set the butterflies free
along with the feelings inside of me
yet I still feel lost
when I collide with my thoughts

my head is desensitized
perhaps my thoughts are the butterflies
their wings coated with beauty
but they can still come out rudely

although my thoughts are broke
when the words reach my throat
i long to fly too
like the butterflies that broke through

i won't hold my tongue anymore
butterflies free to explore
these thoughts begging to exist
a life begging to be live—
Collab!!!! with Victoria :)
check her out!
http://hellopoetry.com/ultravioletsx/
Lizzy Apr 2015
I say I live as a burden,
My mouth sealed shut.
So that I may not utter the words,
Of my weighted thoughts.

These truths weigh a ton,
And I've far too many for just one head.
For even mine.
My head bobs to my shoulder,
Weakened necks can't hold this.

Now I'm shaking,
Trembling.
Because I gave you the rocks,
The stones that broke my neck.
And you are fading,
Drifting all at once.

Give me your boulders,
And we will be even.
Give me your mountains,
So I can rest easy.

My burdenous brain
Broken neck
Heavy thoughts

I never meant to break your neck too
OpenWorldView Sep 2018
Every day and night
my thoughts are on your lips.
That crimson temptation
and source of my life.

They smile in gentle red
and speak with unique truth.

Quench my heart’s fire
with sweet tender kisses
and revive my wilted soul
with dew from cupid’s bow.
sara Jun 2018
I'm transparent like a window
but I'm prone to keeping curtains closed
to cover up my youthful,
aching, naked soul.

I used to be promiscuous;
my essence on my sleeve.
a charming laugh; a crystal glass
from which many a fool drew drink.

A chalice of life;
warm like cinnamon wine,
soft like angel's delight.
Beheld by every eye.

But it never felt right;
I was smoke off a fire,
yet still smouldering coal.
Just a young, beautiful

byproduct of desire.
There's no smoke without fire.
Although, I tried to fan it cool;
the flames ran only wilder.

But as the old wind blows, it seems
a withered tree still grows new leaves.
A dandelion spreads its seeds
but they lie far away from me.

Now, I move transcluently-
ultraviolet invisible ink-
I speak in soothing whispers;
they travel further than you'd think.
Iridescence is things seemingly changing colour on their own- I think we all have the power to grow and move away from our pasts.

I love how fire is a destructive yet cleansing force.
MARGA Nov 2018
hindi sa lahat ng panahon
ang mga bagay ay naaayon
sa kung paano natin gusto;
ㅡ at 'di lahat ay agad na natatamo.

ito ay ang aking napagtanto
nung nalaman kong may iba kang gusto,
at ayaw ko namang ipilit sa iyo
ang mga bagay na ayaw mo.

oo, mahal na mahal pa rin kita
puso ko'y walang sinisigaw na iba.
ngunit ikaw ba, aking sinta,
ay siya ring nadarama?
talagang hindi yata.

ako ma'y nahihirapan
na tanggapin at maunawaan
na tayo'y hanggang dito na lamang
pero aking hirang,
damdamin mo'y aking igagalang.
nosipho khanyile Jul 2018
vivid after sunset,
my thoughts manifest
from energies that surround me.

tangled after sunset,
as I process my technicolours
into somthing society will accept.

but sometimes
there are no words for my thoughts..
My soul is a deep dark bottomless well
A place where all my thoughts dwell
Walk across the bridge of gloom
Find the place where bad things bloom.

Thoughts of revenge & torture, thoughts of pain
Thoughts that would make the normal insane
Tiptoe the tight rope across the well
But if you fall in the bottom you’ll find hell.

Take the plunge, now it’s your turn,
feel the terror fell it burn
Like boiling water pouring down your back
A heart of gold is something I lack.

My soul is like fire, violent and warm
Like Nathalie Imbruglia I feel torn,
ripped apart at the seams
Head filled with bad dreams
And thoughts and wonders all forsaken
No one to love for my heart has been taken.

But since you’re here stay a while,
you won’t have fun, but I can make you smile,
and laugh at all you are afraid to face
This is my soul, an unnerving place.
Read more at http://******-in-oncology
Johnnie Woods Jul 2018
Writing a poem.

There are lots of things that contribute to the outcome, the poem.
-Certain words hold a hard to describe sensation to them, they're made to evoke some feelings and also give a sense of unique kind of rhythm. Had the writer used a synonym, it wouldn't have the same impact on the reader. He's like mysterious chemist adding proper ingredients to his mixture to make it work perfectly.
-The way a writer constructs the poem leads to rhythm as well, how he decides to start a new verse that divides a sentence, the way he locates words - or even blank spaces - on the surface of sheet - the field of his performance - it all contributes to the creation of imagery. Therefore, we can see that creating a poem isn't just writing words. It's how you put them together, too. A poem that's being created, sometimes slightly wanders away from the realm of plain writing - and goes beyond.
harlon rivers Jan 2017
...a diary of the falling dominoes chapter

invisibly dying from the inside out
no one is looking into unseen eyes
no one can hear a muted voice fading
no one is close enough to be near

the deafening thrums echo
anxieties’ racing heartbeat
within morphing flesh shell ,
gasping for new breath
in a hovering stale silence

from a distance
the broken mirror ricochets a subdued light ;
much closer the reflection reveals
someone I once knew by heart

now an unrecognizable mask
enshrouds a terminal emptiness
inconspicuous at a fleeting glance ,
impossible to discern what storms rage
from the inside out ,... unnoticed  

an uncontained wildfire
smoldering within,  lies in wait
for the imminent winds of change
to fan the flames into the final
eternal silent ashes

a poet reaches out demurely
offering a candid look
into the window
of the imperfect human soul

there is no poetry
met by indifference
just gathered unread words scribbled,

squandered time
dripped slowly on an empty page ;
moments turn into days
days turned into years

invisibly dying from the inside out
an unfinished life trickles out
like seeping blood evanescing
from a bottomless puncture
wounding ... penetrating the heart,
leaching out the slow death of a poet

for poetry is only words unless they touch someone ...

befallen to indifference is poetic death
by salted paper cuts ...

a muting suffocation
that hiddenly erodes away,
silencing the passion
of a musing soul
one unread word at a time ...


© harlon rivers ... all rights reserved
it is an enigma how poetry evolves in meaning over time
― like a self-fulfilled prophecy, some become transformational, some become new beginnings or some become a finality of a metamorphosis of peaceful endings or deleted attempts at understanding the misunderstood...

... all to be determined and allowed to let be

― THE END ―
sara Jul 2014
the ***** tastes like
an untamed firework
which attacks my throat
but I like it

the ***** feels like
the reason behind
all the poems I wrote
but I need it

the ***** is like
glitter set in my veins
which helps me to float
and I love it

the ***** is you
and until you were gone
I just didn't know
we should not mix
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