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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
Read My Feelings Sep 2015
Such a restless mess,
wishing you could
count the steps,
you pace across concrete.

Threads catch,
scuffing clean socks:
devastating.

Ants emerge from tunnels
in your heart, marching
toward cranial burrows,
carrying answers.

Birds flock, strike, and take.
Your porous skull sits
open and empty, waiting.

The persistent flow of time
bears no change:
only the steady beat
of footsteps.

Neurons fire without purpose,
like legs plodding across the floor,
wearing new socks,
now tragically tattered.
This needs work.
7 September 2015, 6 pm
Matthew Jan 14
Boy meets girl
They fall in love
and live happily ever after.
That's the way it has always been.

Boy meets boy or
Girl meets girl
they fall love
But one has to "disappear" tragically.
That's the way it has always been.
What a ******
Trcfour Sep 2014
A man he wrote the book
A book for all and none
About a life spent leaning
Leaning towards the sun

In search of all - a greatness 
His life a distant run
A battle for a giant
He reaches for the sun

On a field of giants
Merely flesh and blood
He disregards the mismatch
And stretches for the sun

Life the fiercest battle
A war that’s never won
Commits his life to reaching
Reaching for the sun

He asks the aged pastor    
Disillusioned as the nun
Confides in self & marches on
Onward towards the sun

Saw life and fortune a lady
Took a chance with love
Traded breast and beauty
Traded it for the sun

His only life - a sacrifice
A gamble for a goal
With faith & strength he pushes on
He strains his empty soul

Tried to be a good man
Emulates Christ the son
Grounded broken wings he *****
Tragically towards the sun

To advance the course of history
Alexander, Caesar, the ***
A martyr for the western world
He reaches for the sun

To hold the mighty leviathan
With great to catch a cod
Born with a head of a  *******
He aspires to be a god

And oh his quest does beckon
Failure certain done
What else can he do
He reaches for the sun

To god he clings his anchor
Sworn service to God and Son
Hopelessly he learns
Leaning towards the son
Drafted September 1990
Zach Schuller Apr 2016
inevitably, every night,
as i sink in
to the comfort of a day complete
i imagine what it would be like
to fall tragically ill
to get hit by a car
to wake up unable to move

i play the scenarios out
like a play all in my head.
eventually i snap out
and the events stick
like memories

lying in my bed
every night,
i become so desperate
to feel anything
i wonder what it would be like
to die
Cathyy Feb 2016
Truthfully I find it hard to write a song,
It takes a great deal of emotion just to write one..
I don't sound impressive singing under pressure to my friends
And I find it hard to know who to trust so I let everyone in

But if theres something great to appreciate about me, its this..
When I love someone, I love **** hard,
I cross limits and expectations for just a bit of their heart.
And none of them would have to love me back
Just smile..
Because when I love,
I always go the extra mile

Well falling in love easily might not
Actually be so great
But theres something tragically beautiful about an unintentional heartbreak
See me, I find it hard to just move on
But when I let go, it's like the past 12 months just proved my heart wrong

I find it hard to be on my own
But when I'm with too many people
I wish I was alone..
I find it hard to not be soft & soppy
I love myself i do,
But that comes across as cocky
Oh but the one thing you can appreciate about me..
Is that when I love you,
You become a walking masterpiece
And In my poems you remain beautiful
jcl Jan 11
who is the toy in this delicate, intimate, savage game
the player or played, the dom or sub, the boy or girl
who has the power, the control, the authority when holding another’s heart
lay down, surrender, savor the sweet intense distillation of love and lust
what is the price you pay for limerence my dear
power lies with whoever cares the least

in a  landscape of open graves
every love story are tragedies, always will be
tomorrow is never promised, not ever
you can not fight who you are
you will lose, tragically, epically

when the pain is greater than the fear
meaning, feeling of infinite hope disappears
the light fades to black, you plunge to the emotional depths
unbridled passion becomes overwhelming fear

ask lady Murasaki, “autumn is no time to lie alone”
the blossoms have fallen, the sweetest fruits picked
winter is coming , days grow colder, nights darker
the fire dies, only embers glow, in the center of the hearth
who has the power, the control, the authority when holding another’s heart
#258 - 2019.03.11
Nassif Younes Mar 2016
Jessica Kane is a little insane;
She lives in a house
At the end of the lane.
We say she’s alone
And she says so are we;
She says all we have
Is company.

Jessica Kane is not quite the same;
She lost both her eyes
In a childhood game.
We tell her she’s blind
And she says so are we;
She says we need more than eyes
If we want to see.

Jessica Kane is walking tragically lame;
She got shot in both feet
And she has no one to blame.
We tell her it’s sad
And she says we are too;
She says we can walk
But we’ll never be moved.

Jessica Kane doesn’t live for the fame;
Her house is surrounded
By a sixty-foot cage.
We tell her she’s trapped
And she says so are we;
She says we can try
But we’ll never be free.
Silence Screamz Jul 2018
Broken lines on subway walls, twisted dolls, and high noon cat calls
This is the way I see life
It is a micosm of our failed society,
with a beaten down view on stained glass, shattered on the empty church floor begging us to pray over a God that we can't see or touch.
Kneeling in front of the wooden church pews, with two bruised knees yelling out in pain our convictions into some sort of religious echo chamber of  somber and remorse
So, you want us to believe in what is real or what is not!!!
What is this so called life you speak of?
It sounds like a messed up Shakespeare tragedy
A sad tragedy that surrounds every living soul like some God forsaken circus freak dressed up ******* in a clown suit
A souless tragedy that beats down the door of our hearts then shreds it into tiny pieces, only to leave it on the ***** kitchen table to rot in front of us
Yes, that so called life
Its hard to imagine what I have seen
what I touched, or what I have felt inside
I cannot explain it in simple words, it's complicated
It's more bad than good, destitute and diluted, forgotten and then deleted
It has all become a tragic piece of me
Why? Because I live it every single day, every single minute, every single second and every single breathe
So, let that sink in. Just tragic in a way, tragically distorted mindless thoughts trapped in each one of us.
Candy Flip Mar 2016
When I was a child, there was something mildly special about standing in the garden, late into the minutes leading up to my bed time. It was something about the thrill of disobedience, as if I were already an adult, making my own decisions.

This poem is about my testicles.

A thousand twinkling freckles gazed down at me. Joining the dots with a finger extended high as if gripping an imaginary pen, lines would appear. The celestial wrinkles of an old woman who wears these wrinkles with pride – the imprint left by a lifetime of smiles like how an old arm chair wears the imprint left by a lifetime of back-sides.

A singular eye governs the sky, and through what I interpret as a flirty act of desire, winks at me, through a thirty day cycle. I let out a giggle, and wink back.

On the horizon, trees sway in a purposeful and rhythmic way, as if conducting a symphony meant just for me; the delicate harmony of distant car horn beeps, the melody of crickets and bird tweets, and the gentle percussion of snapped twigs and crushed leaves.

Blades of wet grass become fingers seductively passing between my toes. A gust of wind blows and like a comb, massages out the knots in my hair, whispering through a foreign tongue pros into my ear.

And I can feel it inside, a connection with the night. As passion builds, a bird takes flight, and I let out a confident breath: I am in love with life! I’m in love with the Earth, warm days and clear skies. I’m in love with nature: the birds and mammals, snails, slugs, spiders and flies.

I await a reply.

Which doesn’t come.

Years go by.

And then, half way through my puberty, when the world was not so alien and new to me, I had the sad epiphany that maybe this symphony of car horns and bird tweets was not meant for me.

That, if I were not standing precisely here, or had tragically lost both my ears, the trees would continue to conduct their tune, unstirred by the news that their audience had disappeared.

And with this realisation, came an audible, synchronised plop, as – like a penny – my two ***** simultaneously dropped as if recoiling, paralysed in shock.

Then in the following silence, a tumbleweed drifted by as if to imply some kind of mockery to the thoughts going through my mind.

But of course, it was just a coincidence. The tumbleweed, in its oblivious innocence has no knowledge of the context of my thoughts, like a bolt of lightning can’t appreciate its momentary grasp of dominance over an angry sky. Like an atom doesn’t appreciate the burden of the service it provides, like a poem doesn’t appreciate the metaphors woven purposefully between every line.

And how could I sleep at night knowing that a hurricane could slip into existence, tear its way through a village of innocents then ******* in an instant leaving no form of apology or reason?

This is the dilemma of owning a conscious mind in a world of impartiality.

And if you don’t mind, I’m going to divide this audience into two sides: those who are matured and wise, and when they look at the night sky, see those wrinkles reflected in their own eyes – and those who are young and naïve, to whom this insight may come as a surprise.

To the wise and mature, I assure you that we are all in fact slowly dying. The only reason you’re alive is through generations of successful breeding and surviving. God is dead, and love is a chemical compound produced in your head.

And to the young and naïve, I’ll leave you with this line: despite the pessimistic undertones this poem implies, if you just don’t worry, you’ll turn out just fine.
I will now write all my poetry in pros as I feel like it leaves more freedom for my presentation.
Eleanor Feb 21
that autumn day was pain

tears cried for chances lost

the unwanted knowledge gained

the sky turned your favorite color that night

a lilac sky of hurt

tragically,

beautifully

wrong
#pain #loss #hurt #mourning
I’m trapped in a room where the door is open but I can’t get out,

I’m screaming my head off but no one can hear me shout,

I’m struggling to breathe but there’s plenty of oxygen,

I crave an escape from this concrete metropolitan,

Blinded by this plastic smile they can’t see I’m stuck in my own personal hell,

I’m walking around frantically trying to get someone to notice that I’m an empty shell,

Tragically, I’m physically heathy with food to eat and a family yet I can’t seem to stop thinking about ending myself,

What’s wrong me, that I can’t be happy when I literally have nothing to be sad about?

But that’s the thing the numbness, you can’t stop it, it doesn’t discriminate,

It doesn’t care whether your a man, a women, a criminal, or a saint,

It just wants to fill you up till you can’t get out of bed,

It makes you a prisoner inside your own head,

Who could I tell? How would I explain it so someone could understand when I don’t even understand,

When I’ve succumbed to the madness who will lend me their hand ?

So I don’t tell anyone & suffer in silence, when the thoughts start creeping up again,

I smother them in cigarette smoke wishing I had prescription for Xanax or Vicodin.
I use to have chronic depression and so I’d try and drown it out with substances except it never worked

I’m not depressed anymore but every now and then I’ll have that fleeting feeling where I can remember the numbness

Sometimes i think I was the most creative in the loneliness but I would never what to be in that dark place again
Lyn-Purcell Sep 2018


-
Suicide is a PERMANENT answer
to a TEMPORARY problem.
Nothing good nor bad lasts forever,
and life is short.
You are unique.
You are special.
You are loved.
You were born for a reason
Please, do not suffer in silence
There is no shame in getting help
Life is tragically short as it is
Please don't make yours any shorter...
-


It's hard, I know.
To feel like there is no light left in this world and you want to just stop the pain altogether. I've been there, and in a way, I'm kind of still there. In that void of pain and self-doubt, questioning everything. My life, my existence...
I have tried to commit suicide. The act of it gave me a temporary comfort but, I knew myself. I could never ever see it through. I couldn't deny myself my future. A chance to finally find and have peace of mind and body. To be happy with who and what I am...
It's a battle, but as long as you have people who support you, who love you,
as long as you get the help you need and keep going,
you will be alright.
Thank you everyone for your kind comments on my 'Hide' poem as well as all the messages. My apologies that I haven't read or responded them, I'm still trying to gather myself. I'm not yet on the right state of mind...
Also, thank you so much for 218 followers!
I'll be back soon.
Take care everyone!
Much love,
Lyn ***
CLARYT Apr 15
Yours was snuffed out,
Yanked so rudely from me,
Even before my own life began,
A flash and, what the hell?

All I have are pictures,
Stories, I haVe no scented memories,
No.... Visual comfort etched in my brain,
All I have are vague accounts,

Yet somehow, I feel you with me,
Not all the time but, certainly,
When the bottom falls out,
And I feel spent,

Your face pops right in there,
To be sure, a serene face,
A father's face, a tragically young face,
Too young to be gone,

Yet you are, gone I mean,
But only in person,
You're never gone from my heart,
The man I never knew, yet love,

For in spite of your death,
You gave me life,
What a gift,
I'll never stop speaking your name,
Harry to some, Junior to others, daddy to your sons,
My lovely dad... To me,

That way, you're never really dead, are you?.........??
My father died a young man of 26, when my mother was pregnant with me..
All I have are other people's accounts of him.. And I cling to those accounts, I also speak of him often, and I speak to him.. That way, he's never really gone..


(C) [email protected] 15/04/2019
I look at my mother, beautiful and alive
I look at her with wrinkles too evident for a woman of her age
telling the stories of all her misery
and I know- she only ever wanted to love and be loved
she only ever wanted to get it right
I see my grandmother, frail and full of wisdom
but tragically alone
no one to grow old with but herself and all of the stories of the men that walked away
I look around at the seventh house I've lived in
but I feel a feeling all too familiar because the same stories repeat in each one
marriages ripped to shreds and I wonder what consistency feels like
and I pray through tear-choked words that I will find a way to break this generational curse
but the truth is I'm terrified
I'm terrified of love because I've only ever lived to watch it fall apart
and I don't blame my mother for the life I've lived because I know she tried her best to make it work
to give us a stable home even if it meant sacrificing her own well-being
I'm terrified of love because I've only ever seen it end in sadness
and I don't know a man who's ever stayed
I wrote this in five minutes, honesty flows easily
Terry Jordan Oct 2018
I used to have 4 brothers
And loved them all the same
The eldest used us siblings
For where to lay the blame

Hoping reincarnation
Proves true after a while
Dan said his fondest wish was
Return an only child

Soon I arrived, his sister
Right after Dan turned 2
He fed me peanut butter
Until my face turned blue

Dan denied that he loved me
As kids did, once or twice
But he jumped in to save me
When I fell through the ice

Surviving eighteen months then
My baby crib moved on
I moved to the bottom bunk
My next brother was born

Named for our dad’s Commander
World War II not fearing
Ted was sent to Vietnam
Where he would lose his hearing

Neighbors once thought we were twins
Blond hair and Dad’s blue eyes
Family strife split us apart
Though close in age and size

He can’t hear but does read lips
That bomb, it took its toll
Seems no single moment’s joy
PTSD took hold

Next came Bill when I was 6
AKA “Sweet William”
Boundless joy and endless love
His broad smiles worth millions

When I loved chocolate ice-cream
That was his favorite, too
He is my son’s Godfather
His wise words helped me through

I have no clue what ended
Brotherly affection
Before 2 brothers died he
Cut off real connection

Sam was born prematurely
When I was twelve years old
Spent 5 months incubating
Before we took him home

Our father’s disappointment
Sam never went to college
Didn’t want to play football
Was seeking other knowledge

Sam learned how engines functioned
By disassembling cars
Made candles in the basement
An Eagle Scout-golf star

A heart of gold he suffered
Much doggerel and strife
Alcohol’s what dogged him till
Tragically took his life

Divided family members
I’m actor and spectator
Seeking to forge connections
Reunion instigator

Some gather for funerals
A wedding now and then
I mourn, alone, Dan and Sam
Lament what might have been

Hadn’t been able to finish this piece until I took a long vacation. I still have 2 living brothers, but neither responds to my overtures. One can't hear me, and the other is not speaking.  New Englanders are known for denial and take-it- to-the-grave-grudges.  I guess I really don't want to know why.
noa Dec 2018
i feel like a ghost. i'm just numb and moving forward to nowhere. i'm tired of fake friendships and i'm tired of having no goals. during this time full of beginning i am immersed in the ending of the only good thing i had. i want everyone to step away from me. not in some tragically dramatic way, i just think i need time to create myself and find me because god i feel so lost. i'm craving adventure and freedom because my mind is locked up and terrified of almost everything. i miss being myself. i don't know when exactly i lost myself or where i went, but i haven't seen myself since you drove me home.
come back, i miss myself.
i drunkenly scribbled this down in my journal on august 21st.
Hunter Taylor Feb 13
I have to admit
I wanna slip
Into the dreams
In which
You remember me
Because it seems
When I wake up
You don't give a ****
It must be fair
That I don't care
So you walk by
Then I blink my eyes and time flys
And it bothers me
That I can't be what I wanna be
Or see what I wanna see
When it comes to you and me
It ended so drastically
And tragically
But unsurprisingly
I am both bound and free
To disagree
With me
Lyndsey May 16
She spins in the Spring air,
the sun shining in her hair
and it's the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.

A smile across her lips
you can watch the sadness melt in the sunlight.
Tragically beautiful.
Eyes full of tears never shed.

A heart empty and longing for someone to understand it's beat.
A soul on fire,
when you fan the flame
a passion burns in her.

Her mouth begs to be kissed,
but she keeps her lips locked
between nervous nibbling teeth until they are raw.

Curiosity and innocence are tangible on the surface,
but when you look behind the curtain
the shallows turn to drop offs and the depth could swallow you whole.

But she'll never let you that close,
she won't let someone risk drowning for her.
JDL Nov 2018
Our lives are like ocean waves, born of a celestial entity among a diversified sea of possibilities. Direction and intensity set at birth with a future blurred by the endless horizon

Some waves wander alone, losing momentum as they are gradually ushered down by Earth’s gravitational pull before tragically coming to a rest among the blue abyss, destination never realized

Others are born of the unseen violence and upheaval between tectonic plates battling for dominion over the volatile landscape deep beneath the surface. Knowing no other way, they perpetuate the violence that created them, destroying and consuming everything in their path

Yet some join together, superimposed into a harmonious union that multiplies their strength and propels them forward until it’s waters gently meet the shore in an actualizing marriage of journey and destiny

Storms often boil up out of nowhere, dismantling adjacent waves. While a select few resist the onslaught, instead gaining strength and vitality. Like a conductor bringing a symphony to crescendo, the roil pushes these waves further than others in pursuit of their destination

This dynamic tapestry of new beginnings and violent ends blend together as one, eroding and shaping the land around them as they work out their daily squabbles. Heads barely above water, they continue onward towards the horizon blatantly disregarding a future for which they create
AngelAutumn4 Oct 2018
I live for expression,
A common cause of depression,
Not saying I have it,
That would be tragic.

But I’ve looked at my father,
And bothered to ask it,
I said, “Do you think we’re depressed?”
He said, “No, we just feel for the casket.”

From that day on,
I’ve stumbled along,
Living life like a dream,
Where yesterday’s clear and tomorrow is gone.

He said to me “Son,
We are the givers,
And we have to be strong,
We feel for the pain and ease it along.”

“We open ourselves to the hurt and the worst,
Coating our shells with words in a verse,
Taking time then to hear, understand?
Being sincere is our role in the plan.”

But I look at him then,
And I think, and I see,
That out from his pen,
He writes so tragically.

And I wonder now often enough,
If the answer he gave was real or a bluff,
If giving’s our role then let it be said,
We carry the toll of depression expressed.
Robin Carretti Aug 2018
The riveting heart feels
the weight of trouble
The rebel is like a watchdog
sentinel
Whats in our Bible?
Things change to make the
difference

"Like a new invention but there is interference"

The Castle you hear
a rattle
wasn't a baby rattle
Minds settling or quietly dazing
No defeating over the rainbow
It's like running then you stop
You look at his watered fingers
Of the great lakes, he's admiring
your lady's fingers

Lips divine as one like us
The gold rush collection
Just a secret hush affection
A treaty concession
Picking out the candy
          Skittle
The pivoting flying shy like a sky
riddle
Him or Her piloting its time
Two sets of eyes world of exploring
Not to keen
on exploiting

Her dress movie flowing prayers to
be answered so vain
Heads Spin city flaunting
Defeats us haunting
Who loves us
Who will help us
       SOS
Like a delicacy one of a kind
She's the rebel let her guess
Such a rarity smile with
dignity dressed up doll
she is dainty
To many disguises to face the
mirror of vanity
Rebel Rebel David Bowie
He is a genius of music
Shines a world gigantic

Rebel world of cults and sanity
What was heavily Tis
To be blessed
Rebels of hearts of Madonna
Greyhound bus

Our scorched finger heats
Riding the *
Porshe Red firehouse
A beat something rare but overly sweet
Robin risque I  need more clues
Braveheart Riding hood in the woods
to be saved in her rebel shoe's

Queen heads up with the Dean
 Her embossed gold letters
Of a spell, forever mean
The heats on rebels defeat over
Modern time the "Dell"

Rebel wish from a deserving well

Computer and devil decipher
Compelled to love her
The Dark Shadows mansion
Angelique scarlet fever
Dark inside her label dress
What did he deliver?
"'Who lives by the standard rule messy is ****"
Rebel rebel look at your bloodshot pupils
taking things for granted

Freakish odd things posted
Are bizarre even her brassiere
Mean as a *Manchette

We are not as one
normal read the Gazette
More rivals and feather
pen of forgery
What a hard act to follow like surgery
Every molecule being
dissected to poke
A love primal no
common ground
This isn't a joke

Everyone tantalizing tribal
Creatures not in direct sunlight
Defeats us like rebels at night
Being inconsistent rebels
lead the way but far away
distant

We are not realizing what defeats us
Endorphin releasing our energy
Lifting our orphan spirits
Moon worshipper climbers
We are the simple people
Nothing too explicit
Or razor sharp to cut us

The Messiah
Solomon Torah of Isreal
Old Testament Jerusalem
Everything is way too ****** red
Like Salem
What defeats us
Voodoo or Christmas Hoo Hoo

Santas gift got stolen and snatched
Having a fight with a door latch
Magic somehow not in our favor to match
Tragic music rock or swing jazz of a glitch
But everything defeats us
Psychic third eye
She is so tragically hurt
So Manic not the
brave rebel flirt

Like the limited edition
So many of us are uninvited
Not the VIP pass
Ressurection new rebel convention
Unique kind of communication

The last time I saw you on vacation
Relic hunters the lightning
Hells Angel rider conjuring
What mouths to feed of thunder
Nazis all  our undivided
attention pictures
They snap having a field day
of paparazzi
Priestesses devil wears the
Prada dresses were out
of designers
I wonder why to travel heretics
Such treachery and butchery
Being grilled like steaks but
not a Dynasty
Too graffitied feeling fried
How loves are taken like the fools

The business arrangements
Foreign exchange groups
Rebelling their way
through college
Time is the essence of
being mutual
beneficial much
higher potential
More spiritual rituals
We need more Gods of top
rank **Generals

General Mills cereal at least
not the serial killer
What defeats us our spirit leads us to dark energy place it's up to
us the human race. We are rebels in a portal or are we not real all mortal
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