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Nat Lipstadt Jun 2013
Why Men Cry in the Bathroom

For so many reasons.
I will tell you the why.
I think you know,
Or perhaps, you think you know.

Men are always O.K.,
Even when not.

We expect the worse,
Accept the worse,
Nonetheless,
We are forever unprepared.

Wearily, we cry,
In the bathroom, in private,
Lest sighs slip by,
We be unmasked,
Early warring, strife signs warning.

Copious, tho we weep
Before the mirror confessor,
It is relief untethered,
Unbinding of the feet,
An uncounting
Of beaded rosaries,
Of freshly fallen hail stones,
Of night times terrors
By dawn's early edition's light,
and welcomed.

But look for the mute tear,
The eye-cornered drop,
*** tat, that never drops,
But never ceases formation and
Reforming, over and over again,
In a state of perpetuity of reconstitution,

The tippy tear of an iceberg revealing,
And I see you peeping, wondering,
What is beneath


Look for:
the torn worm-eaten edges of spirit,
thrift shop bought, extra worn,
grieving lines neath the eyes,
where the salt has evaporated,
discolored the skin.
worry lines,
under and above,
browed mapped, furrowed boundaries.
the laugh line saga,
where better days are stored,
recalled, as well as recanted,
publicly, privately.

Why just men?

I don't know,
Perhaps,
it is all I know.


Jan 6, 2013
your effusive and lengthy comments are each a poem in their own right.  

Tinkered with June 22, 2013
With a push from Bala,
A serial peeper, thank God!
This remembrance somehow still makest me guilty;
in every minute of it I feelest tangled, I feelest unfree.
I loathest this less genial side of captivity,
but still, 'tis ironically within my heart, and my torpid soul;
ah, I am afraid that it shall somehow becomest foul,
and I wantest very much, to endear my soul to liberty,
but so long as I hath consciously loved thee,
My confidence remaineth always too bold-
But I promisest that this shall becomest my last sonata,
Should thou ever findest, that thou desirest it to be;
whilst my incomplete song shall be our last cantata.
Ah, this series shall but never end,
Should I approachest and befriendest it,
but to confess, more I thinkest of it, the more my heart is pained;
No coldness shall it feelest, nor any beat of which, shall remaineth.

To thee whom I once loved, and now still do,
To thee whom my soul once gratefully honoured,
To thee whom I then endorsed, and magnified,
My heart, ah-my poor heart, is still restricted, and left within thee,
And amongst this dear spring's shuffling leaves, still blooms,
And shall bloomest forever with benevolence,
and even greater benevolence, as spring fliest and leavest
Just like thy sweet temper, and ever ostentatious laughter,
Thy voice and words, that are no longer here for me,
But still as clear, and authentic like a piece of gospel music, to me.

To thee whom I once loved, and now still do,
To thee whom my soul once gratefully honoured,
To thee whom I then endorsed, and magnified,
My pleasurable toils, and consummation still liest in thee-
as forever seemest that I shall trust thee, and thee only,
For the brief moment we had was but grand-and pleasant,
All the way more enigmatic, though frail, and exuberant
than I couldst perhaps rememberest,
But as I rememberest them, I shall also rememberest thee,
For those short nights are always fond and stellar to my memory,
As thou pronounced me lovely-and called myself thy lady,
As thou lingered about and placed thy sheepish fingers on my knee.
Ah, thee, whose heart is so kind and ever gently considerate,
From the moment thou stared at me I knew thou wert my unbinding fate.
And thy scent-o, thy manly scent, too calming but at times, poisonous;
Was more than any treasures I'd once withheld in my hand.

To thee whom I once loved, and now still do,
To thee whom my soul once gratefully honoured,
To thee whom I then endorsed, and magnified,
My enormity liest in thee, and so doth every pore
of my irrevocable, consolable sense;
Thou awakened my pride, thou livened up my tense,
Thou disturbed my mind, thou stole my conscience.
And with thy touch I was burning with bashfulness,
meanwhile my mind couldst stop not
ringing within me, unspeakable thoughts.
Ah, thee, thou made me shriek, thou slapped me awake;
And thou steered me away from any cruel dreams, and lies
these variegated worlds ought to make.
But still I hatest myself now, for leaving all of which unspoken,
Though plenty of time I had, whilst walking with thee, by the red ferns;
And every now and then, their branches ******* terrific sounds-
But not loud; benign and soft as heartfelt murmurs in our hearts.
And those dead leaves were just dead,
Over and under the gusty tears they had shed,
And their surfaces had been closed,
But as we stormed busily with laughter, along their dead roots,
All came back to life, and polished liveliness, and guiltless temperance.
Ah, thy image is still in my mind-for it is my ill mind's antidote,
With all the haste and loveliness and ardour as thou but ever hath,
Thou art loved, by me and my soul, more than I love myself and the earth,
Thou art more handsome even, than the juicy unearthed hearth yonder.
Ah thee, my very own lover and drowsy merriment at times,
Thou who keepest fading and growing-
and fading and growing over my head,
Thy image hauntest my sleep and drivest all of me crazy,
For justice is not justice, and death is not
death, as long as I am not with thee,
And I shall accept not-death as it is,
for I shall die never without thee,
For I am in thy love, as thine in mine,
And dreams shall no longer matterest,
when thy joys are mine-and fiercely mine,
I am blinded by urgent insecurity,
That occurest and tauntest and shadowest me
like a panoramic little ghost,
Massively shall it address me,
Painstakingly and, in the name of justice, ingloriously,
And shall them address my past and destroy me,
For I hath carelessly let thee fade from my life,
And enslavest and burdenest my very own history,
For in which now there is no longer thy name,
ike how mine not in thine.

To thee whom I once loved, and now still do,
To thee whom my soul once gratefully honoured,
To thee whom I then endorsed, and magnified,
Still thou art gentle as summer daffodils,
Thy image slanderest me, and its fangs couldst ****.
Thou owneth that sharpness that threatens me,
Corruptest and stiflest me, without any single stress,
And charming but evil like thy thirsty flesh.
Ah, still, I wishest to be good, and be not a temptress,
though all my love stories be bad, and
endest me and shuttest up in a dire mess.
I feelest empty, and for evermore t'is emptiness
shall proudly tormentest and torturest me,
Stenching me out like I am a little devil,
Who knowest but nothing of love nor goodwill,
I needst thee to make everything better, and shinier,
In my future life, as later-in my advanced years,
As death is getting near, for more and greater
shall my soul hath accordingly stayed here.

To thee whom I once loved, and now still do,
To thee whom my soul once gratefully honoured,
To thee whom I then endorsed, and magnified,
Thou art my summer butterfly and beetle,
I shall cloakest thee with sweet honey and sun,
And engulfest thee safely and warmly
under the angry sickly moon.
I am thankful for thee still, for thou hath changed me,
For thou made me see, and opened my flawed eyes
Thou enabled me to witness the real world;
But everything is still, at times, beyond my fancy,
For they keepest moving and stayest never still,
Sometimes I am, like I used to be, astonished
at the gust of things, and the way they grossly turned
Their malice made my heart wrenched, and my stomach churned
What I seest oftentimes weariest my *****, and disruptest my glee
And still I shall convincest myself, that I but needst thee with me,
Thee to for evermore be my all-day guide and candlelight,
Thee who art so understanding, and everything lovable, to my sight.

To thee whom I once loved, and now still do,
To thee whom my soul once gratefully honoured,
To thee whom I then endorsed, and magnified,
If thou wert a needle then I'd be thy thread,
If thy rain wert dry then I'd makest it wet.
But needst not thou worry about my rain;
For 'tis all enduring and canst bear
even the greatest, most cynical pain.
Ah, and thus I'd be thy umbrella,
Thou, whose abode in my heart
is more superfluous, and graceful-
than my random, fictitious nirvana;
Oh, thee, thou art my lost grace,
And everyone who is not thee-
I keepest calling them by thy name,
How crazy-ah, I am, just like now I am, about thee!
Ah, thou art my air, my sigh, and my comfortable relief,
And in my poetry thou art worth all my sonnets, my charm,
and forever inadequate, affection!
And only in thy eyes I find my dear, effectual temptations,
As under the hungered moonlight by the infuriated sea,
Who standeth strenuously by the peering strand of couples,
Thou evokest within me dangerous eves, and morns of madness,
Thou makest me find my irked melody, and vexed sonnet,
Thou made, even briefly-my latent days gracious,
Thou made me feelest glad and undistant and precious.
Thou art a saint, thou art a saint, though thy being a human
intervenest thee and prohibitest thee from being so;
ah, and whoever thinkest so is worthy of my regrets,
and the worst tactfulness of my weary wrath;
For thou art far precious, more than any trace
of silverness, or even true goldness,
Thou art my holiest source of joy,
and most healing pond of tears;
Thou art my wealth, ****** trust,
and my only sober redemption;
thou art my conscience, pride, and lost self;
Thou art indeed, my eternally irredeemable satisfaction.

To thee whom I once loved, and now still do,
To thee whom my soul once gratefully honoured,
To thee whom I then endorsed, and magnified,
I adorest thee only-my prince, my hero, my pristine knight;
Ah, thee, thou art perfect to my belief and my sight,
Thou who art deserving of all my breath and my poetry;
Thou who understandest what kindness is, and desires are,
Thou who made me seest farther but not too far.
Thou who art an angel to me-a fair, fair angel,
Thou who art beguiling as tasteful tides
among the sea-my courteous summer sea,
Thou who art even more human than
our fellow living souls themselves;
Sometimes I think thou art courage itself-
as thou art even braver than it, the latter, is!
Thou art the sole ripe fruit of my soul,
And my poetic imagination, and due thought;
Thou art the naked notes of my sonata,
And the naughty lyrics of my sonnet,
Thou art everything to nothingness,
As how nothingness deemest thee everything;
Thou makest them shy, and dutifully-
and outstandingly, changest their minds;
Thou art a handsome one to everything,
Just as how everything respectest, and adore thee.

To thee whom I once loved, and now still do,
To thee whom my soul once gratefully honoured,
To thee whom I then endorsed, and magnified,
By whose presence I was delighted, as well my breath-dignified,
Ah, my love, now helpest me define what love itself is;
For I assumest it is more than fits of hysteria, and sweet kisses
Look, now, and dream that if death is not really death
Than what is it aside from unseen rays of breath?
For love is, I thinkest, more handsome than it doth lookest,
For in love flowest blood, and sacrifice, and fate that hearts adorest
But desiccated and mocked as it is, by its very own lovers
That its sweetness hath now turned dark, and far bitter;
Full of hesitations engulfed in the best ways they could muster;
O, my love, like the round-leafed dandellions outside,
I shall glancest and swimest and delvest into thy soul;
I shall bearest and detainest and imprisonest thee in my mind,
But verily shall I care for thee,
ah, and thus I shall become thy everything!
Let me, once more, become obstinate-but delirious in thy arms;
let me my very prince-oh, my very, very own prince!
Doth thou knowest not that I am misguided,
and awfully derogated, without thee!
Ah, thee! My very, very own thee!
Comest back to me, o my sweet,
And let me be painted in thy charms,
o thee, whom I hath so tearfully,
and blushingly missed, ever since!

To thee whom I once loved, and now still do,
To thee whom my soul once gratefully honoured,
To thee whom I then endorsed, and magnified,
I loveth thee adorably, and am fond of thee admirably,
so frequent not outside when all is dark and yon sky is red,
For I hatest justification, and its possibly hidden wrath;
I hatest judging what is to happen when our hearts hath met,
but how canst I ever knowest-when thou choosest to remaineth mute?
Then tearest my heart, and keepest my mouth shut
O thee, should this discomfort ever happenest again;
Please instead slayest me, slaughterest me, and consumest me-
And lastly let me wander around the earth as a ghost.
Let me be all ghastly, deadly, and but penniless;
Let me be breathless, poor, imbecile, and lost-
For in utter death there is only poverty,
And poverty ever after-as no delicacy nor taste,
But I shall still dreamest as though my deadness is not death,
for I am alone; for I am all cursed, without thee.

To thee whom I once loved, and now still do,
To thee whom my soul once gratefully cherished,
To thee whom I endorsed, and magnified,
My heart, ah-my poor heart, is still left within thee,
Just how weepest shall the leafless autumn tree,
Waiting for its lost offspring to return,
and be liberated from its pious mourns;
And as I hearest their shaky, infantile chorus,
I shall but picturest thee again, thus;
Thy cordial left palm entwined in my hand,
Strolling with me about the leafy garden.
A joyed maiden having found her dream man,
a loving man swamped deeply with his love, for his loyal maiden.
Oh, I know not!
I see not, and master not!
Why t'is caprice - t'is tender whim, is unwilling
to unveil my soul, conquering it with
mounds and plates of rapturous
yet canonical attention. How I dread
such falsehood! Strong, strong falsehood!
What an inconsiderate urgency! A matter, matter of the heart -
as mighty as it probably is, of its own accord! How serious
t'is would be! I am suffrage; and akin to its vigour areth my laugh,
and joy - I would be hatred if none cameth to stop my pace;
my frosty haze; and t'is gruesome maze! Yes, I would but be,
in th' length of some furt'er days!
I shalt no more be of t'is delight, and clustered inside my gloom,
pressed to th' walls of dainty loom; from which I shalt never
be comely enough to be granted an escape.
How terrifying t'ose scenes areth, to me! A poet as I am,
unenviable is my littleness, and humility; to t'ose who glare with jealousy
at pangs of my laughter, and childlike demands - as how t'ey always
chastised during t'eir coincidental encounters. But I am blessed!
I am blessed by my words - and t'ese cheerful, yet unending poems -
as unlike t'em I am, ungrateful and vile beings, flocking to th' church
only for th' sake of brand-new dowry, and enforced blessings.
Murderers of peace! Sons and daughters of vice! But I am convinced
t'at virtue shalt forever tower over t'em; and in th' right time t'ey shalt
be pulled off t'eir horses, and unedifying pleasantry. And goodness
shalt t'en win! For truth never bears t'eir unfaithful boasts, just like
it hates t'eir dishonesty; which so insistingly frosts me
with atrocity within 'tis lungs, and so soon as doth it start to cling stronger -
abashed shalt I be! Incarcerated shalt be my front, and dutiful
countenance - in t'at gross conflagration with secular flatness,
hesitations, and worldly doubts, in which yon grotesque salutation, corroborating
'tis assailed countenance, gouty and drained by rightful mockery;
comes but to avenge my love, my wondrous love -
which yesterday was dazzling and dripping fast
but contentiously, like a ripe cherry. Like a small burst of wine
craved by scholarly epicures, t'is feeling but anonymously grips
my lips, trembles my heart, and distracts my limbs;
should I be to think of thee, I shan't but be away
from t'is nauseatedness, of regrets, again! My thee, my thee,
areth thou truly gazing at me from afar? With fascination in thy stares,
wilt thou bestow me such destiny I hath been so desirous of - my dear?
And with thy serene, bulbous eyes - t'at sea of blackness
basked in marred turmoil - ah, a sign but of peace after such fire! - wilt thou
mould thy mind, thy stony mind, like a black-painted rose,
to throw at my being, just one, voluntary glance?
I am but anxious, my love, how I shake all over
with unreturned passion like t'is, my blood is circling
in distorting, yet irrepressible agitation.
How I wish t'at thou could be here, and rendereth me safe, in solely
but thy arms, my love! And shalt thou be my giddy knight - I entreat!
In my unmothered dreams, and t'eir precocious brambles - on t'ose journeys
of loom, doth I fear not, for thou shalt be t'ere to mirthfully comfort me.
And off shalt I fly again, to greet th' thoughtful morning!
But ought I to leaveth my dreams now; for thou canst be here to celebrate
t'is snowy day, and lift me onto triumph! And how I wisheth to cast away
t'is imprisonment, how I longeth for but thee here - just thee, remember t'at,
o but hark to my swift whisper, t'at calls only for thy name, my love!
How aggravated, and corrupted my conscience wilt be -
within th' membranes of my brain; t'eir hardship is severed by thy unpresence.
My love, o my restrained - single love, t'is ode that lights my soul
shalt illuminate thine; and 'tis long words - threads woven along
an abstracted lullaby, and vanquished by silent accusations, from thy, thy mouth!
A well t'at is perilous in its standing - standing like a torch, unruptured
albeit neglected, innocent in 'tis acute forlornness. Poor misery!
Hark, hark, my love - how t'ose dames, irresolute in t'eir volatility, and
charms of miraculous beauty - but tumultous inside, entranced by fear
of losing which, as so graciously raved and ranted all over th' year!
Th' dreary years - which th' above phrase caused me to be well-reminded,
and duly recall how t'eir sickening remorse tossed me around; and decreed
my jests of dread, sickness, and disdain - surges, and waves of animosity
wert but all about me. But how they areth happening again! Amongst th' snow -
running about as t'ey art, t'ose heartless, indignant creatures -
blind to th' tenderness of nature, bland and untouched by its shrieks, and
flickering toil! How I wish to save it, but incapable as I am - a minuscule shadow
of early womanhood t'at I own, I choose to stay distant,
and pray for t'eir impossible atonement, somehow, before t'ey entereth
t'eir silent graves. How t'ose ghosts of malice areth in no way acquainted
with th' woes of th' churchyard, and th' grimness of death - I declare!
How unafraid t'ey are, sacrificing t'is coherent life for such courses
of abomination. Victories upon th' misery of others,
dances to mourning songs, how evil! But I wish for t'eir salvation,
for t'ey art unable to even salve t'eir poor selves. I shalt be fervent
in my generosity, for 'tis th' most rewarding part of humanity;
I shalt be but a faithful servant to my innocuous nature. I adoreth my nature
just the way 'tis, and I shalt build its madly-scarred way back; with tons
of brightness, care, and hearty bliss! Yes, my love, my bliss - which inhabits
th' entire space of my maturity and unmolested passion. Inapprehensible as it is,
I am but to win its grace, and t'erefore thee - just as I hath so ardently dreameth of -
as heretofore, and shalt thou but be saluted and fended for
by my, my sincere and unbinding, affection.
Dreams
Are euphony
Of thought,
Of heart,
Of body,
Of the splendid,
Of the soul,

(Unbinding our once
Spectral Fates
          That spiraled down
The Keys of Life
Tainted by
The Greatest of Dissonance)

My Redolent Reverie,
Sweetened by
Mellifluous Nectar Tides
Of cherished moments
Steeped for eons
In our
Carnal yearnings
Are made anew
By the Cosmogonist’s Hands
Of Eternity

(O, for I
Doth doven the skies,
That the Incendiary Wings
Of the Auburn Pheonix
Imbue me
With the Souls Acquisition
Of Golden Pinions
                      Of the Thew of Vitality).

Captive visions,
Slumber in
My Azure Dreamer’s Chest
Engraved with
The Insignia of Archaic Fates
Upon it’s
Starry Epidermis
Till skies fall
To the Terrene
And
The Luminaries
Shall rest
Betwixt
The palms of my hands

(O, for then
This Juggernaut of a Man
That I am
Shall Effloresce
Ceasing to be
     That Loveless Sentinel,
The Guardian over
The Bastion Heart
He fathoms
Impregnable)

.Ensorcelled Butterflies
Radiate
Lovelit Lavender Light
Upon that
Astral Parcel,
Lulling my weary eyes
By the
Sovereignty of Monarchial Wings
Vanquishing the doubts
Once blurring
My Kaleidoscopic Dreams
(Life’s Iridescent Seal
Branded upon
My forehead
And etherealizing
My exhalations
                    Till crystalline)

My sullied heart
Pulses shadowed winds
(The Sweeping Gales of Solemnity)
Without the
Blissful Kiss of Cadence
Resonating an
Ebony surge
Deeper,
Than first octave tonality
Of abyssal timbre.

I beseech you,
Unfurl those forested eyes
My Desiderata Materialista,
That I may
Drinketh of your
Emerald Streams,
Ineffably Pristine.

(For then
I shall be
Spirited away
      To Eden,
My existence
     Shall become
Nirvanic Transcendence)

To pine is a pang,
To envisage
Is to breath.

Perhaps that
Is the only solace
My feeble soul
Can bear,
Without you.

By your alabaster skin
Vein my eyes
With luminescence.

With your tender caress
Saunter my
Voracious skin.

Weave my Chrysalis,
By your
Susurrant voice.

Cocoon me
In your
Flawless serenade,
That I metamorphose
Bearing the
Sacrosanct Wings of Phantasmagoria
And
The Melisma of Your Piety.

Pearlescent blood
Floweth within me,
Like baptismal rain,
As I muse
When you alight
Once more
In my Cosmos.

I am yours,
Floral Fallal.

~Our fears are the burdens
    Of the Vestige of the Past,
      A hollow cry
       That fights to exist
         In a zeitgeist
           That flowers
              Quicker than
                Our hearts know how to beat.
                          
                     Unfurl your Gates
                           To the Arbiter of Fates,
                              Unearth the Hallowed Crystals
                                 Of your Garnetiferous Passion
                                    That takes shape
                                        Because you…

                               O, Stalwart Knight,
                                    You were cosmic
                                         Like myriad raindrops,
                                           Mystic echoes
                                              Emancipating­ your spirit
                                                 From the trepidation
                                                     ­    Of the mortal kind.

                                                   Evolve,                                            
                                Evanesce,                       ­   
                                                  For to be Ephemeral                      
                                 ­                Means to conquer                                  
That Magisterial Oblivion.
                                                       ­     Se’lah.~
Hey guys! I've been doing a great deal of experimenting with my writing as of late. This piece is an embodiment of all the introspection, musings, tribulations, and heartbreaks I have experienced as of late. I hope you all can appreciate this piece despite the quasi-obscurant references that I present bereft of explicit detail.

The core of this piece lies in the fundamental nature of our dreams, yearnings, and aspirations (as well as the shadows born of the loveless blight). It effloresced it something much greater as I continued to refine it. Hope you guys like! God bless!
Nat Lipstadt Sep 2023
“the unbound unbinding: an admixture of words and swords…
that will cut a newborn cord of reciprocity of thee and me,
miracle!
thereby, an unbound binding that ties and frees us from
and connects us nonetheless by our shared senses…”

<!>
these words, recalled well,
for they but a newborn issue of a few days, and the notion of binding that
frees us into reciprocity yet buzz~hums
in my brain

the contradictory nature of a cutting
which ties us together,
that an unbinding binds us even more tightly,
I struggle, to better understand the nature how an unraveling
of our connection somehow ties us closer

but re-envisioning
Michelangelo’s Sistine Chapel in my mind’s eye,
that sparking space tween God’s finger outstretched
to bring the enlivening of his spirit to His first enervate, Adam,
the original of we humans,
somehow sates my confusion

to touch each other
at the most primitive basis,
we require a space
between us, in order to fulfill,
a contract contact
of completion and binding


and this bestills and bestirs
my puzzlement,
a space electric necessary
to permit us to
close the human circuitry

!and I am contented,
the contradiction
no more, I sense the
need to close gaps
tween us certify our human resources
for it is the permanent invisible grasping
of our loving minds that transcends
overpowers gaps,
bringing tears of joy to my eyelids,
even as I write these words,
and greet this morning
with
optimism
that every space
brings a richer
closure!
!
9/16/2023
9:48AM
Manny Arriaga Apr 2017
Red was the glow in his eyes,
The way his tinted lips took my attention
on an early glowing evening.
His sight sparked many shades of red,
And that of orange.

Orange was a layer of a tropical sky,
The sun casting down gently on such a gazeful gent.
As glistening was the pigment of a fine ring,
A mold had shaped his warm summer tan;
His skin a golden yellow.

Yellow was his natural shine,
A daisy in the midst of a patch of posies.
His character shined brighter than the exterior of his sky burnt skin,
And of that of any man I’ve come to know,
His flowery nature lasting among his sun-kissed petals,
Down to his burly stems of green

Green was the field of grass where we grew,
Our souls intertwining in such a lovely concoction.
I’ve never stopped to wonder which way the wind blew,
Or which direction sent the earthy string of nature ablaze,
Each strand flowing in an individual direction.
He held my hand through it all,
Our bodies lain across the patch.
Our hands encased and wrapped together.
Our eyes kept focused at atmosphere’s midnight blue.

Blue was our love.
The color of blood that ran through his veins
in which I knew gave him life,
And gave me mine.
Blue was the color of his jeans which excited me through their texture,
Their scent,
The sole object on him that I’ve come to realize was there the entire time,
From the lavender of a morning sky,
Casted down to the purple of an evening indigo,

Indigo was the night he loved me under the moon,
When the stars shined bright over our faces,
And the touch of his skin shined brighter than the stars themselves,
Among these constellations lying the pavement of a wind sulk violet.

Violet was the essence of his pores,
The essence that lasted longer than the span of life.
His natural aura glowed between us,
The same way a rainbow would shed its own;
A multitude of… colors.

Colors were his eyes.
His skin.
His smile.
His soul.

Colors were our blood.
Our scents.
Our sights.
Our sounds.

Colors were our everything,
From the moment he’d wake in bed,
To the last lovely thought he’d have when drifting into a slumbering sleep.

Colors were his height.
His hair.
His heart.
His hope.

Colors were my mind.
My thoughts.
My wants.
My desires.

Colors were mine.

But just like the Sun won’t last forever,
Until the moon rises above to seize the day and conquer the night,
A rainbow only lasts for as long as you would allow.
A rainbow only lasts for as long as he would allow.

For as long as he’d keep close attention to the surface,
He would only stay colored until his own face would dim into dust.

Suddenly the colors I once knew faded into shades of their own.

Red was the anger in his eyes.

Orange was the smoke,
The trail of his dead skin.

Yellow was the ***** of liquid poison,
The temptations of fermented gold that forever laid upon his tainted breath.

Green was the sickness of a disease,
His once foresty lungs and fiery stems gradually fading into their collapse.

Blue was his dried out veins.

Indigo were the bruises.

Indigo was the color of a midnight sky filled with constant arguing,
Our once amorous souls now unbinding into a useless string.

Violet was the last scent I breathed when he left me.

And soon after,
The departure of that one man,
Was the arrival of terror.

At the slam of the door,
And the silence of the night,
The colors soon faded as fast as he disappeared.

Suddenly, the cast of darker shades,
Darker sights,
Darker thoughts came along,
My feet drowning in the black that was once a puddle,
Now an ocean of thick dark water that spurt its heavy flavor into the throat of my own mouth.

The storm took me over faster than what I could remember;
What was once left a color now drowned in the black of evil emotions.

Memories broke down in the lightening of my mind,
The hope diminishing faster than I could see.
The black took control of who I used to be,
The darkness growing from what he took.

What was once love died into loss,
My heart no longer pumping the same red from before.
No longer glowing from the sky’s orange from before.
No longer warm like the yellow sky from before.
No longer growing in the green from before.
No longer controlled by the blue from before.
No longer resting on indigo night’s from before.
No longer essence of violets from before.

Before, my colors ranged from lights and darks,
But now,
Everything is black.

But just like the Sun won’t last forever,
Until the mood rises above to seize the day and conquer the night,
A storm only lasts for as long as you would allow.
A storm only lasts for as long as I would allow.

Gazing into the pitch black of the sea,
I know of what comes next.

As soon as the last blue tidal wave crashes,
As the glimpse of reds and oranges flow back from the abyss of indigoes and violets,
As the green glistens godly at the sight of the golden, yellow sun,
I come to realize:
The longer a storm crashes down on what you once felt,
The colors of a rainbow arrive faster.

I wait for what brightens again.
He may have drained what was left of the Earth,
But he can’t stop it from replenishing.
Neither… can I.
She stood there quivering,
Then about to speak the unspeakable,
Unbinding her tongue she opened her mouth
With a few words and a quaint sob escaping her mouth
Stood there blinking
Not knowing what to speak pain unfurling her heart
She looked at his eyes directly but could not even sound her pain
In anger he broke the silence and without any thought
He pulled out his knife and there she stood with her eyes filled with tears
Trying to speak what she couldn’t express
With her tongue out she uttered o’er there… and stopped
Lost in anger he cut off her tongue
Without being able to utter she stood unspeakable
For ever hidden
Behind the wound she hid her pain
The culprit walked free
He did not know that behind her pain
Was a greater wound than just this wounded tongue
Her eyes pleading to the cruelty of human heart
She held her heart and head high
Lost in thoughts to tell him of her story
She started writing her diary
Often up from her bed late at night
She dotted many a line
Words filled day by day
Lost in pain and writing
She finally grew out of it
Learned that her body is just a sheath
Beneath its layers lies a deeper soul
Untouched and full of promise
Weeks passed by and months followed
And she was fully ready
To tell her story of pain
Nobody was interested
But she parceled her diary to him
He had missed her a lot
And he knew it was his loss
Then this new turning
Surprised he stood in silence
He had her gift
Unbinding he was so eager
To reach for its content
To his surprise it was her diary.
Leafing through the pages
A thousand words buzzed his head
Not knowing what to do
His hands started shivering
And the last page turned open
I was ***** and the man is o’er there
It echoed: oe’r there, oe’r there
Realizing his mistake he cried out his heart aloud
He had wounded her double
Knowing now why it was unspeakable
How hard it was to speak
He begged her forgiveness

With a smile on her lips and warmth in her heart
‘Unspeakable’ she stood watching him.
-------------
"The above poem was triggered by a newspaper article that pained her so much, that she felt at once the need to write."
Rhet Toombs Jan 2015
Your window rolled down
The smoke
Pouring out of my mouth
Like your chimney in winter
And yet
The whole time
I perceive things moving slow
My grinning face
Your laugh
All the lights from driving down the highway
That every few seconds
Light up our faces horizontally
And flash in terrific blinding orange stripes
But still
Moving slowly
Softly
Like the gentle waves of foam at night
The car slows
The engine dies
I climb out dizzily
I realize we've arrived at the ocean
Just in time for a midnight swim, you say
OF THE PROGRESS OF THE SOUL
Wherein,
by occasion of the religious death of Mistress
Elizabeth Drury, the incommodities of the soul in this her life, and her
exaltation in the next, are contemplated
THE SECOND ANNIVERSARY

...

Forget this rotten world, and unto thee
Let thine own times as an old story be.
Be not concern'd; study not why, nor when;
Do not so much as not believe a man.
For though to err, be worst, to try truths forth
Is far more business than this world is worth.
I'he world is but a carcass; thou art fed
By it, but as a worm, that carcass bred;
And why shouldst thou, poor worm, consider more,
When this world will grow better than before,
Than those thy fellow-worms do think upon
That carcass's last resurrection?
Forget this world, and scarce think of it so,
As of old clothes, cast off a year ago.
To be thus stupid is alacrity;
Men thus lethargic have best memory.
Look upward; that's towards her, whose happy state
We now lament not, but congratulate.
She, to whom all this world was but a stage,
Where all sat heark'ning how her youthful age
Should be employ'd, because in all she did
Some figure of the golden times was hid.
Who could not lack, what'er this world could give,
Because she was the form, that made it live;
Nor could complain that this world was unfit
To be stay'd in, then when she was in it;
She, that first tried indifferent desires
By virtue, and virtue by religious fires;
She, to whose person paradise adher'd,
As courts to princes; she, whose eyes enspher'd
Star-light enough t' have made the South control,
(Had she been there) the star-full Northern Pole;
She, she is gone; she is gone; when thou knowest this,
What fragmentary ******* this world is
Thou knowest, and that it is not worth a thought;
He honours it too much that thinks it nought.
Think then, my soul, that death is but a groom,
Which brings a taper to the outward room,
Whence thou spiest first a little glimmering light,
And after brings it nearer to thy sight;
For such approaches doth heaven make in death.
Think thyself labouring now with broken breath,
And think those broken and soft notes to be
Division, and thy happiest harmony.
Think thee laid on thy death-bed, loose and slack,
And think that but unbinding of a pack,
To take one precious thing, thy soul, from thence.
Think thyself parch'd with fever's violence;
Thy physic; chide the slackness of the fit.
Think that thou hear'st thy knell, and think no more,
But that, as bells call'd thee to church before,
So this to the Triumphant Church calls thee.
Think Satan's sergeants round about thee be,
And think that but for legacies they ******;
Give one thy pride, to'another give thy lust;
Give them those sins which they gave thee before,
And trust th' immaculate blood to wash thy score.
Think thy friends weeping round, and think that they
Weep but because they go not yet thy way.
Think that they close thine eyes, and think in this,
That they confess much in the world amiss,
Who dare not trust a dead man's eye with that
Which they from God and angels cover not.
Think that they shroud thee up, and think from thence
They reinvest thee in white innocence.
Think that thy body rots, and (if so low,
Thy soul exalted so, thy thoughts can go)
Think thee a prince, who of themselves create
Worms, which insensibly devour their state.
Think that they bury thee, and think that rite
Lays thee to sleep but a Saint Lucy's night.

....
Ria Bautista Sep 2010
True love cannot be tampered upon
Or enclosed in glass and released at will,
It is not an insignificant slave
At the beck and call of its master,
For love has no master and its power so great
That once touched by love's endearing caress,
One must blindly obey.

True love does not follow reason
For reason could not understand a lover's heart,
It is not a pupil that can be taught
Nor a henchman that can be ordered around,
For love is free and unbinding
And all feeble attempts to restrain it shall be in vain.

True love cannot be grown from the seed of lust
Or plucked from jealousy's petals,
For once the desire has waned
The fruits shall wither and rot.
It needn't ask permission to reside in one's heart
For like a thief in the night
Love can come and go as it pleases.

Blessed are lovers' eyes
For they can see true beauty,
For beauty can only be seen
Through true love's eyes.
9.2.10
Saloni Oct 2012
When there's nothing you can do but beg a little,
not for money, not for fame, not for love, and for pain,
but for the unbinding confusion that rests in your mind,
And you try to clear it out but there's nothing you can find.

When there's nothing you can do but weep a little,
exposing the tears that come right from the heart.
spending the dark nights with swollen wet eyes,
possessing an obsidian smile covered with fake sweet lies.

When there's nothing you can do but laugh a little,
covering the deep core wounds, that rest in your heart,
when the whole world rush and you stand alone
expecting some peace, some of your answers, but still those remain completely unknown.

When there's nothing you can do but share a little.
with whom you wonder and how you think
and your heart continues to bleed,you know you can't hold
you turn to yourself,you pour them out,just to yourself, just to your soul.

When there's nothing you can do but pray a little
every time, everywhere, when you ask how to smile,
in the darkest corner of nights, when your state is fragile,
in the complete endless blankness when your mind has no word,
and when the faint voice of your conscience echoes unheard,
when you stand alone on the road, fighting in the night,
when you make futile efforts, that deepen your plight,
sit for a while, rest in quiet.
What can you do when you don't know what's right?
©
Thou said I'd killed thee-then haunt me! The murdered do look for their murderers. Do find me, capture me, and seize me-until I am no more! Until all t'ose resentments are conquered; and th' due satisfaction is approached! How I am but ready for 'tis-for I now can see even t'ose roaring flames in thy *****-thy lifeless, inanimate *****-o, thy ghost! My poor-dreary love! But why doth thou hath just to release it right now? Thou wert no more than a vapour. A silence! An undreamed thought-yes, despite how I sobbed over thy ignorance, thy blandness towards me! I who was unjustly a piece of willful visage in thy mind-a fracture on th' soil thou mercilessly cracked-a wailing fragment, unheard by t'ose passers-by, unrecognised by th' wind! Terrified in t' steepness I could look around-but insignificant as I was, I hath no right to claim any attention-I was by birth a stone to t'ose young buds-leaning against their flower mothers so tightly, so scared and petrified were their looks-upon my gently-but alarming, steps! How I was a crust to warmth, unbinding and unyielding in every step, glowered at by t'ose thirsty stems-and their green abodes! How crushed I was by my own nature-and to my despondency, by my own fiery passion! Thou wert so distant to me-thou wert a prince from a faraway castle-unreachable to my loveless realm-I could only, in t'ose wakeful jests-dream of thee! T'ose solitary walks we took, as part of our serene perambulations, but in every retrospect, also part of my wildest dreams! At those silent, barbaric hours! And how I regretted when which wert admonished! How my waves of anger would be roused against me-and my lilac-scented pillow-I wanted, in those wraths-grasped my little gun-t'at very kind, and sometimes sweaty-lil' gun, with t'ose uncomprehending steel layers, and strangle th' neck of each of th' intruder: I was glowing with fury! Insidious and pernicious my soul was-but inevitable as to the love I nurtured. The love that would be adequate to me, and its loss hath left me in 'tis shameful, disgraceful, and unpardonable lifelong longing, and incarceration. How isolated I hath been now-for t'ose unimaginable y'rs-how unfair! Resentful ist my heart-grudge is th' only will it can beareth! O my lost love! My prince! My young, mirthful treasure! But I recall how solemn thou wert to me-and cold-tempered in thy redolent sophistication-thou neglected me! Thou killed the flame that had been lighting up my mindth-thou wert the one who fled from me! Aye! Thou wert the one who relented-who adversely tore t'ose flo'ers of my heart; thy quietness sent them into a hurried, mysterious death! Like an earthquake flitting apart th' moons at a blissful night-and enduing th' soil with bursts of cold horror-thou passivity in t'ose very moments-wert but tragic yet unmistakably obscure! O my soul that was ripped apart-just as thine! How dead we became-and still, areth now-how inanimate! Of bliss have our languid joys have been deprived, its remains doth we have no more-no, in our but only dying embers. And how their momentary torch mocks us! How bashful, and unlovable! O but my love is torn. Wholly torn. As how a pool of blood is th' produce of a sword of honour-that is how it is now-and was it swerved astray from its cherry, back then-its very own romance-which hath been so full of ****** youth, to taste agony! Agony as it was-but th' only reward to my suffered love, when I could feed on thy sight no more-thy movements were a nameless leave-threatened by the glaring autumn, and killed by th' ragged winter-my holy love was slaughtered! Now that thou hath known how dead I am-and my feelings are, how I am unseen by most of yon ingress and egress of t' others-t'ose vile, and reprehensive b'ings-with t'ose unthoughtful, and abhorred shortcomings-pallidness and sickly merriment in t'ose eyes-o, what falsehood, what falsehood! I despise th' sight o' 'em-daemons they are, hellish are their souls! **** me, my darling, slander me now, and bring me back into thy world! For th' world I belong to is th' one with thee, my dearest-I do not mind being a ghost, and am unafraid of its vagueness-I'm not! And together shall we traverse th' earth-enjoy but only our keenly desired brambles-t'ose ones we could not partake of, as healthy refreshments to our souls-in t'ose sickly, tumultuous lifetimes-t'ose brazen years! I am thus indebted to thee-t'ese guilt and pleasure, as both thy own'th remorse and treasure-I declare as thine, only thine! Be with me always, since we'll occupy ourselves together-and taking any form, we'll drive each other mad by our passioneth-and grasp all 'ose happiness we've always wanly desired! Love me back, o love me back, my prince! Only don't leave me alone in 'tis abyss, where I cannot find thee...'
OF THE PROGRESS OF THE SOUL Wherein, by occasion of the religious death of
Mistress Elizabeth Drury, the incommodities of the soul in this her life,
and her exaltation in the next, are contemplated THE SECOND ANNIVERSARY

     Forget this rotten world, and unto thee
     Let thine own times as an old story be.
     Be not concern'd; study not why, nor when;
     Do not so much as not believe a man.
     For though to err, be worst, to try truths forth
     Is far more business than this world is worth.
     I'he world is but a carcass; thou art fed
     By it, but as a worm, that carcass bred;
     And why shouldst thou, poor worm, consider more,
   When this world will grow better than before,
   Than those thy fellow-worms do think upon
   That carcass's last resurrection?
   Forget this world, and scarce think of it so,
   As of old clothes, cast off a year ago.
   To be thus stupid is alacrity;
   Men thus lethargic have best memory.
   Look upward; that's towards her, whose happy state
   We now lament not, but congratulate.
   She, to whom all this world was but a stage,
   Where all sat heark'ning how her youthful age
   Should be employ'd, because in all she did
   Some figure of the golden times was hid.
   Who could not lack, what'er this world could give,
   Because she was the form, that made it live;
   Nor could complain that this world was unfit
   To be stay'd in, then when she was in it;
   She, that first tried indifferent desires
   By virtue, and virtue by religious fires;
   She, to whose person paradise adher'd,
   As courts to princes; she, whose eyes enspher'd
   Star-light enough t' have made the South control,
   (Had she been there) the star-full Northern Pole;
   She, she is gone; she is gone; when thou knowest this,
   What fragmentary ******* this world is
   Thou knowest, and that it is not worth a thought;
   He honours it too much that thinks it nought.
   Think then, my soul, that death is but a groom,
   Which brings a taper to the outward room,
   Whence thou spiest first a little glimmering light,
   And after brings it nearer to thy sight;
   For such approaches doth heaven make in death.
   Think thyself labouring now with broken breath,
   And think those broken and soft notes to be
   Division, and thy happiest harmony.
   Think thee laid on thy death-bed, loose and slack,
   And think that but unbinding of a pack,
   To take one precious thing, thy soul, from thence.
   Think thyself parch'd with fever's violence;
   Anger thine ague more, by calling it
   Thy physic; chide the slackness of the fit.
   Think that thou hear'st thy knell, and think no more,
   But that, as bells call'd thee to church before,
   So this to the Triumphant Church calls thee.
   Think Satan's sergeants round about thee be,
   And think that but for legacies they ******;
   Give one thy pride, to'another give thy lust;
   Give them those sins which they gave thee before,
   And trust th' immaculate blood to wash thy score.
   Think thy friends weeping round, and think that they
     Weep but because they go not yet thy way.
   Think that they close thine eyes, and think in this,
   That they confess much in the world amiss,
   Who dare not trust a dead man's eye with that
   Which they from God and angels cover not.
   Think that they shroud thee up, and think from thence
   They reinvest thee in white innocence.
   Think that thy body rots, and (if so low,
   Thy soul exalted so, thy thoughts can go)
   Think thee a prince, who of themselves create
   Worms, which insensibly devour their state.
   Think that they bury thee, and think that rite
   Lays thee to sleep but a Saint Lucy's night.
....
John B Nov 2015
It was so hard to put in words

Tho I spoke to you when idle ears were far from my lips

When words flowed like a river

Like a river yes and still but your beauty is my sun

In your presence only steam pours from me

Your heat burning the shell from my heart

You make me weak

My Venus

I wanted to plough your fertal pastures

Like a good stuard

For its own benefits before my own

You were sharp and curious

Listened intently to my ranting and stared into my eyes

I thought myself weak but you understood better than my pupils

Your apatites reached my ears as a warning but iticed me instead

Your history no surprise or mark against you

I wanted all of you for mine

To make perfect an only slightly tarnished vestal

To complete you in hopes you could complete me

But your eyes cut my soul like a knife without ever seeing it

Your voice crushed my bones to dust with a whisper

Pity

Gref

How low we were when heavens bowed before us

I would have given myself to you in no unbinding terms

But you could not offer the same and I could tell you wanted too

I value your honesty and wish you had lied

Should fate spit on us again in this way

We're I to find myself in your shoes

I suposse I'd recomend Polyamory

I wouldn't take you up on it for him

Then I'm not gay and you never did discriminate

Just saying the world could be my harum

Time and space at my Mercy

A machine in the next room to customize entitys for company

You would be my bottom ***** for life

Given that's as bigoted as an analogy gets

It's coming from a good place
"You could slit my throat and with my one last gasping breath I'd apologize for bleeding on your shirt."
Revin May 2014
Realities as decomposed societies set, still lives on.
Society is the crossbred of fables and obsolesce.
Reality for the individual differs, believers in disbelief, disbelievers in disbelief.
Belief is six feet below.
Truth for believers lie in realities. Reality for the disbeliever lies in truths.
Atrocious civilisations nearing transcendental ruin, for the pillars are fractured, the bases decayed and the headstones are unbinding.
Snehith Kumbla May 2016
drink her in,
a blue stream
vein at her wrist,
binding, unbinding
tress, thin bow of the
lips, whirlpool curls
at the ear, sea eyes,
as in her sure stride,
her sway, force of
an ebb, cutting away
at the sandbanks,
drink her in…
Lori Jean Apr 2011
You said I didn’t love you.
The shock rang through my heart
You said it now, not once but twice
No explanation did depart

Could I be so undeserving?
That you dispel unbinding ties
Bloodline assumes preserving
Could you possibly advise?

From birth did you give notice?
That two held every key
My father and my mother
Adoration my decree

Your influence was precious
Did you fail to realize?
Obedience was not of fear
But heartfelt love inside

Whatever I am now or then
What’s good came from you two
The bad may shame and bring you pain
But it doesn’t come from you.

Hopeless, sad and hollow
My private, padded cell
I contemplate and ponder
How I bring you down as well

If I could only touch your heart
Perhaps a glimpse you’d see
The glowing love I have inside
For the two that created me.

For you I’d give the stars and sky
I’d sacrifice my life
If that would stop one worry
In the footsteps of your life

In dreams I make you happy
I’m steady, proud, and strong
I shower you with all your wants
Your problems are all gone.

You told me I don’t love you.
That broke my heart to pieces
From my first cry to eternity
My love for you increases.
copyright 04.01.2011
KAT COLE Aug 2015
If I could unravel the knots that bind these bones, my fingers would grow numb.
My wrists would crack.
My flesh would age.
& strand by strand I'm tied to be undone.

All in hopes the roots that thrived would begin to thirst again.
Gripped around each twig of mine, I race against constriction.
Pulling every which way.
Stalking every traveled end.
Unbinding every corner of this mindless, commanding restriction.
Making sense of strings without ends.
Shashi Sep 2010
There is a very thin line
Between love and lust
Between sea and sky
Between me and you

Such a fine line
That I can see
Touch it from
Here
Enclosed in the high rise monster
(That mostly dot the sea face, all around the sea in Mumbai)
reaching out to be.

From here
-Where silence is whispering to the sea
Waves percolating through my window
Where darkness of my ****** thoughts
Seep in through the night's gateway
A window with three glass frames
Barred, framed and up-curtained
Unveiled and naked.
From here I see it all bared


I can actually reach out
And separate them
The love and the lust
The entangled Sea with the sky
Create a divide between them
With my desire
To BE

Some times I just want to BE
Some times Sea in all its thrashing about
With waves and tsunami's just want to BE too
Some times the sky
With its dark cloud and their silver linings
Just wanna BE, you see?

Some times all of us want to
Reach out
Separate love from lust
And desire just to BE
Just to BE in love
Pure, undiluted, undefined, unnamed
Unbinding, untagged
Just Love,
LOVE,
I Love to BE
@Shashi 2010
DESOLATED LANDS

Oh, I feel so lost in this darken world,
where love and peace was once with me,
now all I see is stagnated waters,
where the Nile River needs to be clean,
frogs are dead, flies are a sick pest
where people are walking around losing
their heads wishing, they were already dead,
where hearts are swimming in circles
of innocent blood, of the hands of the unloved,
In my mind, I see all kinds,
ponds of tears are always near holding on to fear,
in my darken dreams I hear screams,
beyond all imagination,
black roses have lost all petals,
they all burned up into rose dust,
flowing into the deserts air
ashes from ashes gone back to the grave,
where once wild roses did grow,
but that was some time ago,
Now the only seed that has been sown
Is the transgressions that bloom deep
into the minds of the hating kind,
where violence erupts where there is no love,
like an ancient fire work that kills the souls
in a nasty war,
Oh, fiery eyes fathomed the night
Where cools and souls of long ago
In the ground of the lost that was never found,
Oh, how loneliness is in the curl of the world,
ripping away at the hearts,
Bodies are out staining the stained
of a desolated land,
root rots the heart of lies,
that plays games on the mind,
of the unbinding souls of sometime ago.

Poetic Judy Emery © 2017
The Queen Of Darken Dreams Poetic Lilly Emery
The Queen Of Darken Dreams
David Betten Oct 2016
SORCERER 1
            Fell prince, what can we say? Shall we
            Wring fingers, gazing nervously
            Into our black, obsidian mirror?

SORCERER 2
            Or, in our water jugs, to peer,
            Unbinding and retying twine,
            In hope epiphanies shall shine?

SORCERER 3
            Or shall we three, like puzzling mages,
            Cast bright corn-kernels ‘cross the pages
            Of scripture, wincing to descry
            Some omen there?

SORCERER 1                        Or shall we lie?

SORCERER 2
            Were not your lethal gaze forbidden,
            Our eyes from yours no longer hidden,

SORCERER 3
            These mirrors unfilmed to windows-

SORCERER 1                                                 Wink
            We not, you might their contents drink.
                                                           They look at Motecuhzoma.
                    
TLACAELEL
            Bold, brass, and bungling open-sesames,
            Whose saucy tongues shall spice my hangman’s stew,
            You dare let sink your cataracted gaze
            Upon the solar luminance of our king?
            Who meets these eyes, beholds the face of death.

MOTECUHZOMA
            Shackles shall seal their eyes. Clap them away.
            My hopes were stillborn by these blind-man’s bluffs.

SORCERER 1
            A grand charade shall come to pass,
            As marching mysteries amass,
            And urgently these lurkings gather.

SORCERER 2
            If that is what your lord had rather
            Hear from us, so be it, then.

SORCERER 3
            We’ll break our seal and thus unpen
            Two breeds of vision we may show:
From my play in verse, thefloralwar.com
OnlyEggy Mar 2011
When the darkness of night settles around me
and the silence of the dark grows louder
I find myself thinking,
dreaming,
clinging to the wisps of memories
escaping from behind closed eyes
glistening with an old lover's flame
Oh, how I long for those days
ghosts of lives past, reminding
finding,
hiding themselves in my present life
contently discontent in the twists and turns
to jump at me without a proper notice
your voice, hidden in songs of the past
soft and sweet, gently spoken upon
the ears of the hurting,
soothing,
removing the present stresses of the day
Your face, dancing upon my eyes
eyes of the mentally broken, forcing them closed
Healing the mind, if only temporarily mending,
tending,
rending my best days pale in comparison
to the resounding beauty of your eyes alone
And yet, I write, hoping to find solace
away from the bitter taste of my present place
that your memory reminds me of, yet
your name, common as it may be, keeps reminding
rewinding,
unbinding the cords that contain that sliver
releasing a sudden rush of emotion that is uncontrollable
never knowing what to expect
a tear, a chuckle, a sigh
They torture me from the inside out
and yet I cherish every second of the pain
silently hoping it doesn't fade while praying
that the end comes quickly, if only to save face
To hate the feeling would be to hate everything
severing,
suffering the pains I'm not ready to face
of letting go of all the memories that hold you in
But to love these feelings, would be to hate where I am now
This present life, this reality with her
In comparison to others, there's no comparing,
relating,
relenting her image against the memory of your touch
I can't face these thoughts either
so I sit here, contorted in emotional pains
deciding how long I should listen to you today,
Beautiful angel, fair in face
wonderful by thy name, sing me your grace
Another Insomniac Poem
Dean Jones Mar 2011
afternoon. as the day dissolving,
    then with the nites coming question
how i claim, moments, do you know its you?-
      unbinding themselves( heart's boundary)
this discovery,
waiting adventure from your
                                 yes - questions that drive my  breath
heartbeat by heart.beat (resounding time booming the universe)
I'm wrecked on the new birth that I am
       I'm stranded across the tomorrow that waits your look
(how delicious this death feels)
20.9.10
Sydney Queen Jun 2015
I do not know how to turn this into poetry,
so I say it in the dark,
while we cover our eyes.
And it isn't fair,
really.
I don't see you for years,
and I'm still not over you?
You used to say that running away from things
doesn't make them go away.
Well, good,
then.
Even after all this time.
It was always hard to watch you give up on everything.
I never wanted to be a part of that list.
For the record,
I think I'm in love with you.
You smile the same way you did
when we were 16;
artless and unbinding,
like it is pivotal that everything stays this way
for just one more moment.
We grew up,
but we are still the same.
That boundless love of living--
the joy of it.
This
and this,
and this,
I say.
I look at you like I never learned to do anything else.
I dont know about this one.....
Connor Jul 2017
I - Sunrise at Futamiguara/Revealed Intent

The piano on fire/
echoing throats of crystal

Village Mystics resign their title for a quick drowning

(dream)

Wedded-Rocks tide
together while Tsunami rolls in

(Izanagi / Izanami withstand the thrashing)

Japanese Autumn
welcomed as I watch a tinted rose unfold its cloaked chaos

(wherein a panther heeds its calling)

My heart has revealed itself at last


II - Love

bristling zeal/
halycon eyes & Haitian drums
aid the muscles
christening scene-

- bridal dancer pollinates a sleepers teeth in love poems fused with salt

&labor keeps the diaphragm sky
(with pinneedle clouds) afloat

I temper the image tilled with pen/sometimes it doesn't feel enough

(the shadow devours itself)

III - Conservatory of Music/Child Complex

Each gate of heaven its own sound

each device of wrath like doorstep-

-chimes (miracle)

or a whimper dashing through a lake
(vision of pallbearer)

gas heater/
the central puppeteer is dimmed, enjoying his contemplation of the (crafting)
day

999 violet walkup,
I can faintly hear what sounds like a private fountain

   (misguided flamingos bathe here
   and die
     during ***-season
    
   (panting)
  
IV - Joyful Soul/Reconciliation

   Year of water,
  exiting the glassness

which
  once showered me in doubt
  
-remove the cause

... and discarding my obligations
(they have only been actors)

undoing-
where phoenix-mind
owes/
erudite/the staggered
  single conversation between grace & naivety/

Balinese temples smeared in
  urns
(******) ash & brass &

frame of fade (childhood) yearning for bedsheets and harmonica temperature

V - Reminder/Ocean Choir

(tiger tiger burning bright/amplify your helplessly

joyful your motion
the motion of eager
island-seashells
  repeating archaic
     imitations (meditative)

VI - Painterly Woman/Temporary Gladness/Objective in Medium

my family is
sculpted by candles countless candles
(shadow dancer)

-inhaling holidays

I nightmare
     skin emerging from my bedroom wall
the

suggested image written with higher potential imaginative range than the act of looking at a "described" moment on a canvas. As one suggests their own image in writing while as painting assumes its own image for you. The reverse transaction. One cannot author a paintings beauty such as one sculpts the image from ink. Both are as immediately beautiful. Different mediums for different objectives (or rather methods we use to achieve this objective)

VII - Unattainable

Pine drum;winking
fashionable clothmats
copulate for silk and ever purer
silk
ever purer
(silk)))       the child universe

will bleed like
gardenbed

(amen/doldrum/amen(doldrum) amen)

VIII - Spring

Aware (zen taste) - moment evokes a more intense, nostalgic sadness connected with Autumn and the vanishing away of the world

This is the unbinding of words
as my terrific dead lover of disaster
put it-

(Somehow the unforgotten
name remains lavish, after all this reconfiguring, the infertile soil we attempted to escape,
the shade we hid in once like a peacock's coat, somehow the name, your name

remains clean)
Life unending
Friendship unbinding
Hate insurmountable
Fear so palpable.

With a happy face
Tears run down with immeasurable pace
Heart eager to burst with emotion
But mind willing to conceal to depression.

We hide behind religion
Some do rear relation
Blaming God for nothing
And people for everything.

Then again we are just humans
Living in a constant state of confusion.
my first ever piece
Justyce Regular Dec 2013
last night you pressed your coffee cup
to your cherry lips
& told me you kissed men when you were mad
girls when you were sad
& jackson bailey when he felt like it

you said you never really wanted to feel like this
like the night was a war
& you were just another solider fighting for some light
in your life
there were two good things that happened
sadness
& days when jackson bailey just wanted to hold you
instead of forcefully unhinge you

if i could have just held you
let slip under the sheets a sudden disbelief that
love wasn't about unbinding a woman at the seams
it seems we're all just little pieces
of some drunken mans broken dreams
& i want you to be free
i want you to breathe like that
with your skinny little frame
pressed up against a jukebox
bobbing your head to some incredible time stopping tune
instead of trying to erase the way the moon looked last night
i want your cotton shirt hanging on a tree
& your long brown hair floating on the breeze
& i want someone to kiss you
because you feel like it
irinia May 2017
Innocent mother,
Like a tree you brought me forth,
When you were praying for pardon
                                                   on your knees,
When unquenched fires were burning you
And the strands of life bound you
                                                    more tightly.

I was neither for you
                                         peace,
Nor the olive bough,
Nor against pain --
Sweet unbinding.
I did not understand how to bring wise answers,
Nails I nailed
                           into your palms, on the cross.

Blameless mother,
Passing mother,
Pallid light,
The thought pains me badly
And time does not give me relief.

Flavia Cosma from *Wormwood Wine
TheNightsKeeper Oct 2013
This is what I have created
My world is extended beyond beauties
This world full of wander & wonder
The thousand lullabies of breathe taking
Purple skies

Leaving me at a lost abyss in the ocean
The lighting strikes as the clock stroke 12
The endangering life styles of a night walker
Which lead us in a unbinding circle
Golden Butterflies

One we all cherish so deeply
The land of treason
The land of the forbidden
The land of loners
This is the way that life has faltered
and offered me

For one cannot explain such horrific life styles
This is one of many but no different
This is life and a battle of good and evil
Love?
Is also like a war

One far to many are familiar of this feeling
Thus leaving me in this position
I am like a solider
On a field fighting for my life
and love

A solider of love and life
Fighting a war
of both
fatal and incredible
things...
Antony Glaser Mar 2014
The meadows sway under open sky
the bud of summer streaming wide,
oak cathedrals as proud as the blossoming light
to take in this merriment;
a pledge
of molten intensity,
where the silk robed  maiden appears,
instructs the wisdom from her lips
unbinding the unsighted
surges this celestial  ennoblement.
Elaenor Aisling Dec 2021
In the night
Memories drift like the hair of a drowned man
The waves a callous lullaby
curling around the body of his sleeping wife
the unburdened curve of her hip against the moonlight
The drift of her breath in the dark
Coursing to match the sea wind
That sings across the lake’s dark mirror.
Her black hair spills across his hands
Ensnared, he pulls her in
To the harbor of his great shoulders—
It is the same
As it was on their first night
she is warm, small,
still smelling of the almond blossoms
she gathered in twilight.
But tonight, his impetuous heart is awake
Moving between the woman in his arms
And the messiah in the next room
the love he bears both
At once consuming
And unbinding,
his heart a stone
On which they both
rest.
winter sakuras May 2016
Time's in a flurry when it
happens to glance at you,
hurrying here and there
talking as if your words were on fire,
walking as if you were being
chased by your shadow,
living like every second was too slow,

I like to treasure
the pieces of you left behind in the air,
traces of emotions flashing across your face
words escaping your mouth so rapidly,
the motions of your arms hovering in the air.

You always praised me
so much regard and acknowledgement,
laughing and confident at my hesitation
exposing me to the world,
defending my soul from
insults rolling off sharp tongues
of shadows passing by.

Sometimes I wonder
have you forgotten who I am,
buried in the wishes and desires of a dream person
the sole image and reflex of a perfect reality,
the false light shining into the heavy bright day,
when all I had ever been in the beginning
was a shadow among the stars.

I want to reach for your hand,
holding still the golden strands of time
slowly pouring a cool light darkness over you,
will you finally notice the deep pools in my eyes,
the sorrow welling in my heart
the loneliness penetrating the lining of my ribs
the settled love you would never notice,

Little by little,
you move flashing by,
faster and faster as a race against time,
never glancing back at what you leave behind,
your fingers slipping and pulling away from my hand,
the warmth running and the coldness creeping in,
the ties unbinding and the distance growing in between,

until all is a left,
is a timeless statue of my body.

For you took every second of me with you.
To you
ChrissySue Dec 2012
I am gone into the wind
The word Love is  mediocre for what I once had
My Passion is not found without a will that you thought I never had
The Joy I have is an unbinding freedom that has led me to places you never imagined I could go
Watch me as I run far away, deep into fields of flowers and to lands far away
Immersing myself in something new, that is without you
I wonder if you wish you had followed me, and danced away the world along my side
Time has flown through my hair just as the wind does now
I’ll forget my worries as I run away with myself
Forgetting you is the best thing I could ever do
Spinning round and round the world goes
Yet I stand still
Watching it all go by
Breathless at the beauty I’ve found here
The silence of dawn swallows me each morning
I watch the great sun rise
I see the stars shine like diamonds in the night
My thoughts always forming and moving
Like an unyielding river in my mind
From time to time I think of you
And those moments we shared atop the world
Looking down at everything below us
And not caring, not seeing anything but each other
Being a part of one another
But letting me go was the best thing you could have ever done for me
I feel that I’ve melted into the wind
Freeing my soul to go
Where I’ve always needed to go
Far away from days with you
Far away from here
To some place new
My soul is untamable like a wildfire
My heart as big as the ocean
My love forever sweet
I am gone into the wind
Forever spinning with the world
I am free from the worlds restraints
Such sweetness of my love you shall never taste again
One day you will wake and morn your loss
Forever gone from you I will always be

— The End —