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Debbie Brindley Jul 2018
Lifes tragically hard
more things going wrong

Sometimes I do wonder
how sorrowful
the lyrics would be
if written as a song

A song of great love
friendship
contentment
and trust

Of passion
happiness
beauty
and
lust

Of illness  
tragedy
loneliness
and fear

Of anger
confusion
and heartbreak
over the one I hold dear

What sad lyrics they'd be
If my life with you
were a song
Life
B L Jul 2018
Doing a dance,
to wear a mask,
To play a game that you can’t stomach...
Just so that the truth doesn’t have to face you,
The way you recoil from reflections of yourself.

You’d forsake your happiness, your health —
                                                  You would burn it all.

To do a dance, to wear a mask
To play a game you’ll always lose.
                                                  To look in a mirror...
             To tell an image that it’s anything but you.

But it's in that moment, that you'll find
                                you tell the unfamiliar truth
As you bleed and feed your own obliterated youth...

To feel, and then
                          to lose —
Just like the loss you always knew
                          you’d find in disappointment.
Like an unholy anointment
                          of your least desirable possessions
That retire from the heavens
                          Back to you.


To betray, and to amuse
                                                          A­lone.
The ides of irony rejoice!
               For they’ve found their lamb... or
their ever-dying muse.
                 Forsaking life itself, you clamor
To see others just like you.

And maybe, one day, one will choose
           the path that you can’t leave,
As it reciprocates to thee —
            Two partners in misery, fated to excuse
the waste of each other...
            until they find there’s nothing left.

To feel the flame within its breath consumed.

Wearing a mask,
To live a lie,
                And die a death,
                Whose dance you six-times misstep


                              And on the seventh, betrays you.

September Roses Aug 2018
The satin gown of hope a myth
      
            The hero's fallen to
                                                the abyss

The bloom of death, no longer risen
Our souls trapped in endless prison

        Existence the master of all masked curses
    
              A song of tragedy with endless verses

   So if dying breath comes anyway
                  What's it matter
                 How soon the day

All suns set
Some plan no dawn
They care not for those who mourn

           I wish for myself
      The blood to stop
     To soon not hold
   A single drop

So I promise you my heart for free
       If you swear
   You'll rip it out of me
why doesn't hello poetry like metaphorical Shakespearean poetry? its so pretty?
gracie Sep 2018
tell me the story of the fawn,
white-spotted, damp-eyed,
lying still on the roadside;
how the forest mourned for days,
twisting and churning its leaves
against the ashen sky.
tell me the story of tragedy,
wind beneath the wings of Icarus
on his journey to the sun;
how he closed his eyes and smiled,
basking in freedom’s warmth
before plummeting back to earth.
tell me the story of youth,
wild and tender, dancing barefoot
as though we were made of nothing
less than bruises and blackberry wine;
how I'd let love destroy me,
crashing
the car
if it meant being in your arms.
Samantha Nguyen Jul 2018
we kissed.
"are you happier now." you said.
nobody's ever going
to
          love
                    me.
but at least sadness doesn't devour me as easily.
i got thoughts to banish the
          sadness
and
                    pain.
the only thing i've ever wanted was for someone to love me.
it's a tragedy.
this is a love story that will end like r + j.
but unlike shakespeare, my brain isn't dead.
i will fight for love like the capulets and montagues.
i will die for this love to last.
and i will do anything just to make you happy.
but yet,
                    i'm
still
          not
loved.
it's impossible for someone like him, my romeo whose eyes are darker than the night sky,
to fall for a vulnerable juliet, who on the inside is a weak, emotionless girl who doesn't ever
get
what
she
wants.
when will you love me.
Debbie Brindley Aug 2018
My heart is breaking
Can you not hear
****** tears weep silently
today
life is to hard to bare
Through shattered shards
pockets of sadness
seep in
darkness creeps deeper
under my skin
Run from these feelings
but go where
My heart is breaking

This life's Harsh Lesson
Well yeah

IT'S HERE

In my face
Poking holes in my personal space
It hurts so bad when unable to fix
When life throws tragedy
into the mix
My heart is breaking
What can I do
Nothing
But be here
beside the one I hold true
Feeling sad
Danielle Suzanne Mar 2017
When I'd wake alone in bed at 4am
Again
To find you passed out
on the couch
Too wasted to notice
the heart breaking in front of you
I tried every day
But you preferred synthetic hugs
and to hide in a place
where the expectations were low  
Escapes and excuses
more alluring than I could ever be
Through tears I would plead
'Why don't you want to sleep with me!?'
I shouldn't have taken it so personally

But nobody saw me cry
Especially not you
Blind to my own tears
Large doses of denial dished out
A feast for the masses
Perhaps the most powerful drug of them all
My soul mate disappeared
each day
a little more

Maybe today will be different
Hope
The beautiful motivator
Maybe today
It will be me that you choose
Naively believing
that you had control
But then I woke
alone in bed at 4am
Again
Manipulated and used
March 26th 2017
Daisy Marrow May 2014
Lay down your burden.
Lay down your arms.
Hardship is over and all is numb.
You finally get to rest.
You finally get to let go.
Fall down in the snow and let nature take you.
You are not alone, never.
Thousands of bodies are scattered on the battlefield.
They all had lives.
They all had futures.
They all ended too soon.
Go ahead and turn the snow strawberry red.
Your song will be played.
Your name will live on.
We will remember you forever more.
So rest now, my soldier.
Your brothers shall bring the peace.
2014
Daisy Marrow Jan 2014
You were once the greatest thing that ever happened to me
and now you are just thrown in the back of my mind.
Now you're just scattered memories.
I was always afraid of changing.
I was never made to do this because
my life revolved around you.
But life does keep going.

As you decide to jump off this runaway train,
leaving me in the dust left to rust.
Leaving these grounds to become a beautiful flaming light in the darkness.
Every night I would look into the sky and talk to you,
telling you that life does keep going on
but it's making me sick, love.

But in the morning I will awake and rise from the ground
not knowing how to walk properly again.
But I'll find enough strength to walk to your resting place
and find peace in it and slow down in this race.

But I gave you all I had
and now I have nothing left to hold
I took all my love and spread it across your wild footprints
and grave, like ashes, to let it sink down into you once again.

We all get older.
We all lose things.
Life doesn't stop
and I have never
felt more alone,
but time continues
and the days go on.
But not a day goes by that I forget you
because I never dreamed of meeting someone like you,
but now you're just a memory
in the back of my mind.

Oh, the tragedy I have seen,
leaving my eyes burnt out.
"Please don't be dead."
I repeat countless times to your stone,
to the sky, to the heavenly stars that shine so bright
leaving the darkness in the pity shadows.
"Do this for me please."
"Just one more miracle."
Sherlock & John Watson
Sherlock BBC
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.
Shakespeare was always fond of tragedies.*
From the star-crossed lovers of Verona,
Romeo and Juliet,
to the revenge-stricken prince of Denmark, Hamlet.
Sometimes I wonder
if he was the author of our fate,
for our love has slowly become a tragedy.


(k.p.)
David Adamson Feb 17
The place smells the same. Garlic, undergraduate angst, oven flame.  The menu hasn’t changed. The Antony and Cleopatra.  Italian sausage and snake meat. The Macbeth. Cooked in a cauldron.  Blood sauce won’t wash off. The Julius Caesar.  Served bottom side up.  You have to knife it from the back. The Timon of Athens. Only bitter, separate ingredients, overcooked to black. The Frankenstein.  Assembled from ingredients at hand.  Served smoking from a jolt of high voltage. The Dramatic Irony. It’s a surprise.  Everyone at your table knows what you’re getting while you cover your eyes.

You said tragedy means playing out a ****** hand. The game has to end badly. Bigger Thomas. Joe Christmas.  Hamlet.  Everybody dies.  No choices. The end. I said, no, it means you have a fatal flaw.  Macbeth and Ted Kennedy—ruthless ambition.  Gatsby—pride. Lear—vanity. Richard Nixon—douchebaggery, deep-fried. Bad choices.  

“Can’t be both,” you said.  “One is character, the other one’s fate.” “What if character is fate?” I asked smugly. “Then we’re *******, Heraclitus. It’s late.”

I smoked a pipe.  You wore a beret and severely bobbed hair. I wrote sarcastic love letters to the universe. You wrote hate lyrics to Ted Hughes, love notes to Jane Eyre. We kept relations on an intellectual plane. You had a set of big firm ideas, dark-eyed principles, and a dimpled scorn of life’s surly crap. My eloquence was tall, square-jawed, curly, tan.  Together we solved the world’s big problems as only undergraduates can.

“Can pizza be tragic; or is it merely postponed farce?” I wondered. “Here it is clearly both, though not at the same time,” you said. “Does tragedy plus time equal comedy?” “Sounds right.” “No, tragedy plus time is any order in this place on a Saturday night.” After what seems like decades our orders finally arrive.  

“What did you get?” I asked.  “Looks like the Double Tragic,” you replied. “Flawed choices and fate. I leave you. You were unfaithful to every love sonnet you ever wrote.  Yet you are the first man who makes me feel loved, the only one who ever will.  I strain for that feeling again and again but it becomes a boulder that keeps rolling back down the hill. And fate—my beautiful ******* that got so much attention from men will **** me.  The only thing they will ever nurse is a cancerous seed. You?”

“The Too-Many-Choices, done to perfection. Choosing everything means choosing nothing. Loving too many women, I love none.  I follow a simple path home but try to stay lost. Living in the space between lost and found has a cost.  My life becomes a solitary pilgrimage to no place.”

“Let’s not reduce our lives to a Harry Chapin song,” we agreed. So we toasted the beauty of what never was. I went back to my hotel to write, found my way to a few easy truths, and called it a night.
a lake of blood is promised

homes fill with fiber optic prophecy.

"put away your lenses children and sleep under the lamp's shade."

our purple rice growing

Vishnu mumbles and stirs in his sleep.

by the crystal pond, a poison frog sings.

decorating the sand and reeds are skeletons of the old wars.

nearly dust now.

unable to make decisions for the weak or young, the strong or the old.


four seasons yet to pass

attention given to the wolf's lonesome cry.

place your head in sand,
witness the scorpion.

she is
emperor and admonisher.

the tiger breathes in and breathes out its final breath.

lay your belly upon wheat and remove hunger.


an angel's velvet wing cools the fever,
the old sickness of Old Salem.


onions, apples & lemons are sprouting.

there, just underneath the horseman's hood.

quickly, look.
happy birthday sweet prince

tragedy
Mystic Ink Plus Dec 2018
Let me know
What was that
That made you
To choose him/her

She/He replied
Leave it, or listen
He/She is the future
Nothing more

Being an observant and a traveller of examined life I come to this conclusion. Tragedy does not happen, from the very beginning  It is "Us" who pave the path within. With the unawareness we focus to travel to the destination where we don't belong. Throughout the journey we keep on dreaming with a hope of a good day making us vulnerable to the threshold, when even a single undesired word, few seconds delay, lyrics of the background music could unexpectedly break us.
Trust me we all are fragile.

Let it be simple, if we are watering the leaves of the plant and hope to grow, we get the result what we have to accept. Sometime mishaps happens, we are the culprit. How dare we expect to water the roots of the plant in neighbor's terrace and wish for the fruit to be ours.

We may smell the fragrance if the kind breeze blow towards our side.
Even we may always get the fragrance if we follow the direction of the wind.
The choice is ours.
Does it worth?
Will we be happy?
Can we hide the pain?

Always
The choice is all ours.
Genre: Dark Diary
Theme: Examined Life || Words of wisdom
Yaser Nov 2016
I hold your head with shaking arms
Eyes awake, unseeing
A crimson now is all I know
A curtain that veils my being
My son, asleep, so sound, so young
Lay still, awake, forever
I touch your brow a final time
As you dream into the never
My scepter strewn upon the floor
Scarlet seas, still, pool, engulfing
I hold your head within my arms
With eyes that now see nothing
I feel the tears come to me slow
And sense the crimson fade
As life filled tears fall from the mind
of the prince, so serenade
This poem is in reference to one of my favorite paintings - "Ivan the Terrible killing his son" by Ilya Repin. The painting immortalizes the moments after Tsarevich Ivan Ivanovich of Russia strikes his son Ivan in the head with his scepter in a fit of rage, killing him. Here is a link to the painting: http://i.imgur.com/7ssbb.jpg

I must also mention that I use the word "serenade" here to evoke either its french meaning or the words etymology. In brief, I use the word serenade to mean "serene" or "calm".
Arianna Oct 2018
"... I am old now, as the poets have warned.

The courtyard smiles still as in my youth,
Immune to the ravages of Time:

                     Pomegranate trees swaying
                     In perpetual motion,
                     Lush, and beautiful like flute girls
                     Unfettered by "the weight of years"*;

                     It laughs in garlands of ivy
,
                     And now, as then,
                     Sweetens my tears with roses."
* = "the weight of years", a term I have encountered several times in translations of Euripides' work; the phrase resonates. :)
Sofia Rybkina Nov 2018
Just take my love, and never leave behind,
From heart to heart, forever are we binded.
I'll steal your kiss - be calm and fear not.
Without you I'm no one but a nought.

When at night, you yield to my ploy,
You quake and dither - I begin to joy
Your scarlet cheeks, your breaking voice, your tone,
Your wrath lasts not and turns into a moan.

When at day, blue roses are your throne, 
A hoop of gold, a ring of precious stones,
Just be my queen, oh, God's superb creation!
Your heart is cold to my complete obeisance.

Your thoughts are not of King, but of a shepherd,
They're full of love - desired, ardent, terpid...
I'll have him caught and killed by very morning,
The sweetest song for me will be your mourning.
zuMee Apr 9
the
 flow of
           Truth
crystal-    
             lized
 in a
  thought
D L Smith Aug 2016
"Here he lies." The priest almost cries.

The crowd they sway with the sadness.

"I dream alone." Says the Queen on her own.

Their small world trembles in the madness.

Not a word can be heard, a silence over the village.

Not a sound can be made, people wonder if they will pillage.

Deep inside they cry with fear, because their King is no longer near.

The hush that is upon their land.

So soft, un heard, the last bit of hope.

It died within the King's hand.

D. L. Smith 8/25/2016
Daisy Marrow Jul 2014
Feel the tide.
I am the ship.
I am the captain.
The ocean is a savage
the way it pulls my body,
slinging me around like i'm weightless.
I will not surrender to this beast.
The waves mean nothing to me.
I've been fighting this savage ocean for a century.
100 years of getting carried away across these waters.
Isolation is my home.
It's all I know.
I brought this on myself.
I ran away from land and into the water,
unknowing of the horror it holds.
But I will not surrender
I am the ship.
I will not kiss the ocean goodnight.
I will not fight.
I will float on until the day comes I greet the sea.
My lungs will sting and my head will rush.
Leave my body in isolation.
Let it be a peace offering.
So the ocean wouldn't have to carry away another ship that day.
elaine Jul 2018
A sudden wave of destruction hit the center of town,
blowing over century old walls and damaging  ancient artifacts.
This hurricane was so unexpected none of the towns folk knew what to do, they searched high and low for a stable place to lay. Safety  lost among the waves.  

Closure never came that night and neither did sleep.
You had damaged my will to live.
Leaving me isolated in a world with overflowing oceans of despair,
residence always wondering the same,
will I ever leave this horrid island?
Josiah Israel Jan 2017
Be still oh heart within this aching *****, For sight of she hath caused this thrilling tremor!

When through gossamer haze I first beheld her,
Arrayed in winters coldest blues and whites,

Her locks burning bright as silver flame,
Awash in purest of all heavenly lights!


An undulating melody drips from sweetest lips,
Tis born to me upon a gentle breeze,

I hearken to her song with all my will,
Struck with deep desire, my soul doth seize!


Were I to rush upon this Fairy apparition,
Away would vanish I deeply fear,

And if she were to leave this world my home,
Oh heart would rend and fall with many an icy tear!


But am I not a fabled son of light?
Fear in me I often boldly best!

And If I do not try to win this Maid,
Death I know will take me off to places where grandsires rest.


 A dash through cold and mist, to grasp her silken hand
Upon one knee I fall, I dare not stand!


To trembling lips I brush those tender fingertips…


With quivering voice I lay my heart open
Not daring to look into those emerald eyes,

But when I feel her hand fade in my grasp,
This heart in flaming chest, breaks and dies!

Bewitched, Beloved, Bereft... Be Still...
A tribute to romantic tragedy...

Let me know if you could visualize  what you were reading  :D
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