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Terry Jordan Mar 2017
Like an alien in a spotlight
With her magnifying glasses on
My mother as she worked, up all night
Did invisible weaving till dawn

I would watch her when I couldn’t sleep
Honing in on that hole in the suit
Intently, her concentration deep
Weaving tiny threads enlarged like jute

In other-worldly light she labored
I was afraid she’d lose her eyesight
Watching her focus never wavered
Her face all aglow in the lamplight

Invisible weaving, I inquired
How tediously she plied her craft
Worked for the money that she required
Made the warp and weft of fabric last

Reconstruction, undetectable
No more burn, or tear, or fabric blight
Weaving magic so incredible
Its wound now perfect by morning’s light

She taught me much that I’m still making
From her life that now I’m grieving
Sewing, crocheting and great baking
But never invisible weaving

The picture of her life that mattered
I now see how she toiled so finely
And that the wrinkles in the fabric
Of my own life splayed out so blindly

The vision of my eyes, bedazzled
Incandescent, her face in the beam
Unaware how her mind unraveled
As Depression stole her ev’ry dream

The threads of DNA defining
Who I’ve become I’m now believing
My mother’s hand in that designing
Of my own Invisible Weaving

In honor of my mother, Edla Sylvia Fitzpatrick, on this International Women's Day
I was working on this for a while, when I read the Pulitzer Prize winning poem, by C.K. Williams, entitled Invisible Mending.  Same subject, but his metaphor was of forgiveness & redemption, while mine is a little fuzzy, about my connection to my mother...and NOT the winner of a Pulitzer Prize.
grace snoddy Mar 2018
for so long,
i made one with the cracks in the road,
making sure i never stepped on one.
and i never cared to notice
how tired i was from doing it.

maybe it was because
the innocence
and easygoing youth
shielded my eyes
like the white linen curtains
that used to hang lazily on my window.

for so long,
the nine o’clock news
never bothered me
as much as it does now.
and the fact that everyone seems to drag their feet
at the same miserable pace
never struck my mind.
days keep growing faster
at an undetectable rate,
and i’m just starting to see that.

maybe it was because
reality tore the drapes down,
letting all of the light
shine on the things that were
left in the dark.
because growing older
was one of the things
that i chose
to leave in the corner.
The mystifying howl is irksomely faint yet vividly heard,
Akin to orchestrated footsteps of the undetectable command
As the new dawn illuminates a smoldering fire beyond the horizon-
“A sign of human activity-but an awful omen to the warlord”
Legions called into action, and for every step they take, matter is drawn from the ether,
Waiting for the final caravan of conquest and conquer;
Do the militias now turn their swords into ploughshares to suffer?
When their enemies-without remorse-silently creep up on them in silence,
However the distant shuddery sound of their battle cry is harmless;
But is the shunned “death-valley” an inescapable companion anyway?
With strident herons flying high above the maze-like island…so forlorn!
These shameless war-warriors!
Heroes With-Out!
Villains With-In!
Unlike them-the countryman is truly so fortunate nonetheless;
He marvels at the innate splendor of the single showy tulip in the bucolic wilderness,
Although now the heathen intimidate his terrain amidst his recoil in resistance;

The characters of men and women under this impudent sentence
On the uniformity of fate, however gay were the earlier scenes…
This sense of the seasons and mortality-more tragic in great cities
With mortals forgetting it is superfluous to go in chase of nature’s thoughts;
She comes of her own free will in the passing shadows of the seasons!
The boastful soldier…
The learned doctor…
Footing out of the masses for the qualities they assume beyond the galaxies afar;
The qualities they assume are those that most men admire!
Their hypocrisy, bravery and ingenuity survives more
Even in times of turmoil and war-with satirized lies and rumors
“Giving praise to bloodshed?”
Since when has the sight of blood been a derisory affair?
What a horrific carnival of double standards of power;
No laughing matter!
Doubtless criticism-sinister in origin with a false swagger
Sharper now in the modest gestures preaching feminism
For if modern elegant ladies adorn their bravura torsos in red fashion
Why give acknowledgment to this same reddened “color of death!”

The new world is finally shedding off the aged navel scar
Releasing the “Mother-Principle” instinct to be mothered and to engender!
Are awakening sons of men along with their nations betokening universal grandeur?
These lions among ladies!
These foxes in the fight for freedom…
“The men of Marathon”
Ironists-commonly more “characters” than thinkers,
Irritated further by the hypocrisy than by the ideas of those they portray,
Blind to the verity that modern tolerance might seem to go further than that,
As vengeful souls vanquish and oppress their enemies by craft and deceit;
…if they thought it was a sin, they would not argue about such a mischievous plot.
Finally money has a power above
The stars and fate to manage love:
Whose arrows, Learned Poets hold,
That never miss, are tipped with Gold.
Is it just I who gets that anxious, squirming
Sensational feeling? Like creativity suppressed—
But by what? My faults? The fates? My own self
For I cannot convey how positively debilitating,
Paralyzing, transfixing—
I don’t want to live in subdued twilight,
Sedated by my own ideas of inabilities,
But who or what, or what in me
Can prevent even the faintest of hindrances
From annihilating the depth of my inspirational understanding…
I’m yet to discern any of the undetectable barriers
Or is it that—metaphysics?
So engrossed, preoccupied, wearied by what
The idea that there’s something
Anything at all, preventing the finesse
As here I cogitate
Dimensions past me...
Hal Loyd Denton Nov 2011
The Bleaching Heaven
This was the dire conditions a ranch on the central coast of California was pumping gravel from the well
The first time this happened in over a hundred years of them having the ranch the heavens turned away
Its smile the soil started after a long line of days to appear as tile that was breaking and turning up on
The edges it was an emotional assault everywhere the fierce fiery hand left nothing untouched the
Saddest of all was when the visible pain and distraught effects started to show in the trees the great
Black oaks, Eucalyptus, the pine started to constrict the full busy top crown had the drawn most pitiful
Wasteful sad look they were dying by degrees and the merciful heaven looked on dispassionately it was
Hard to travel about the country without having pain dog every move you make it was pronounced the
Land cried for answers your hands were tied as a prisoner in the same predicament doing time in Yuma
They didn’t have to add disciplinary parts to the running of the prison just being there was punishment
Enough a lonely coyote calls in the silver moonlight not for a mate’s responding call but where can I find
Water a song said it best I face the barren waste and I think of cool cool water then you have a rich
Diverse part of the country that is the envy of the rest of the world now it is a tender box a lighting strike
Or any man made careless act and all will go to blazes all will be left is a black charred landscape it will
Blacken your own spirit this is a terrible outcome when clouds are with held and their life giving
Moisture is held in check at times a benevolent father uses this hard means to instruct and show
Your path that you are following is leading you to a like destruction its undetectable when the spirit
Within starts to die all that happens is the outward life kicks on like a backup generator all resumes
And seemingly shows that everything is fine some don’t even know and have never tasted the water of
The spirit everyone has those moments of laughter something stupid is said or portrayed but what
About a river of laughter that surges from unspeakable joy this is not the shallows of life but when deep
Calls unto deep those cherished longings bubble up and are giving free course to your dreams but a
Wicked one who has interest and designs on your life with lies and superior knowledge diverts the
Course Of living water it’s easy because you walk in darkness by choice our desires have blocked and
Dammed up Holy and incorruptible cleansing now the water unseen by the naked eye a poison has been
Introduced it slowly and acutely effects all freedom of thought and actions that are only normal when
You are cleansed by the blood sacrifice of the cross this is detestable to the rebellious spirit we all live
With but it is the pardon the opening of this devil bound prison that restricts and limits growth all of this
Carries with it untold dangers to self and our families the penalty for sin is death you start the death
Process long before the final exit from this life you go to places that puts you at the mercy of others
That have no thought of you what so ever you’re just a mark something to further their strong and out of
Control desires truly the sky is as brass and below if you could have your eyes opened you would only
See the bleached bones of a new generation dying of thirst while an ocean of love and care is dammed
By the prince of darkness and you are his slave doing everything to continue your own debasement and
Loss what more can the Father do he died in shame and agony the heavens even turned black but from
That forever a great upheaval began your freedom guaranteed you want heaven to open you want
Righteous rain you want to see your country rise from a cesspool of drugs and alcohol that creates the
Atmosphere that debases mans place as leader and benefactor for the family and then turns to first
Cheapen women then violate them through the power of *** that no one can control the innocent
Children face the unspeakable terrors of those crazed enough to use them in the most despicable way
Way then they raise a lethal hand to end their lives of promise and beauty turning it to a disgraceful display
Of sick madness that no one but God can defeat the answer just say his name with all of your heart
Jesus
Terry Jordan Feb 2016
Like an alien in a spotlight
With her magnifying glasses on
My mother as she worked, up all night
Did invisible weaving till dawn

I would watch her when I couldn’t sleep
Honing in on that hole in the suit
Intently, her concentration deep
Weaving tiny threads enlarged like jute

In other-worldly light she labored
I was afraid she’d lose her eyesight
Watching her focus never wavered
Her face all aglow in the lamplight

Invisible weaving, I inquired
How tediously she plied her craft
Worked for the money that she required
Made the warp and weft of fabric last

Reconstruction, undetectable
No more burn, or tear, or fabric blight
Weaving magic so incredible
Its wound now perfect by morning’s light

She taught me much that I'm still making
From her life that now I'm grieving
Sewing, crocheting and great baking
But never invisible weaving

The picture of her life that mattered
I now see how she toiled so finely
And that the wrinkles in the fabric
Of my own life splayed out so blindly

The vision of my eyes bedazzled
Incandescent, her face in the beam
Unaware how her mind unraveled
As depression stole her ev'ry dream

The threads of DNA defining
Who I’ve become I'm now believing
My mother’s hand in that designing
Of my own Invisible Weaving
I was working on this for a while, when I read the Pulitzer Prize winning poem, by C.K. Williams, entitled Invisible Mending.  Same subject, but his metaphor was of forgiveness & redemption, while mine is a little fuzzy, about my connection to my mother...and NOT the winner of a Pulitzer Prize.
Olivia Kent Oct 2013
Syndicate!

Venezuela.
A land of ghosts.
Where cell phones die.
Undetectable.
As families cry.
For their lost loves.

Hostages taken.
Vanish into night.
For minimal ransom.
Ransoms paid by families of wealth.
Abductees murdered.
Rarely returned.
Hostage takers.
Rarely caught.
In this land of class distinction.
Tension builds.
Some.
The lucky ones get taken from the avenues.
Taken to the ATM.
Where their bank accounts are drained.
Given drugs then dumped again.


Caracas homicide rates high.
Ransoms paid and men still die!
In this dark land where crimes flies.
Never solved in this land so corrupt.
By ladylivvi1

© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
I wrote this after watching a documentary about kidnap in Venezuela x  I do write weird things sometimes! Livvi x
anastasiad Dec 2016
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PrttyBrd Apr 2014
a whisper of familiarity
a hint of deja vu
and undetectable scent
in a room full of roses
this is how i know you

at the bottom of every breath
at the end of every heartbeat
miniscule moments
of absolute serenity
this is how i know you

faceless throughout a dream
the tune i can't quite place
the lingering warmth
after an unexpected nap
this is how i know you

the peace underlying chaos
the hope that pushes despair
the truth that hides
in misconception
this is how i know you

the thread that ties the then to now
the link between before and after
the love that makes me
who i am meant to be
This,  is how i know you
4314
Andres Martinez Dec 2018
This game of life I'll explain it like chess
only the way she plays is with her own rule set
No King to start and she doesn't need one either
No Checkmate she still rules her board with authority no Rooks, no bishops she moves how she pleases
me I'm still sticking around like a pawn scheming
almost undetectable  , unnoticed  at times but I'm still trying to make it across proving to her
I CAN BE YOUR KING
if she allows it
still moving one step at a time in any direction I please
but I always keep in mind this is her playing field and that's the key
I'll keep taking out those in my way until I reach my final place
it's a well thought out game not to be played with emotion or distress
always calculated at my own pace every move I make I'll make sure it's to impress
Jen Nov 2018
Outstretched
And
Exposed
To find
Yourself
In
The
Chasm.

Displaced
Consciousness
As if
A Phantom.

Holding your soul,
Close to your body.

Rolling
Into
A Cocoon
Of
Newly
Spun
String.

Rolling, rolling, rolling...
To where?

Towards
Undetectable
Cosmos.

Unending,
Then crystalizing
Over sudden sunsets,
Infinitely,
Across the horizon.

Moving towards
Abstractions
Faster,
As concrete
Fails to set
Within them.

Swept up
On the stairwell
Of a helix,
Waiting to
See where
It ends.

Caught up
In the never-ending
Space of Obscurity
That sometimes seems
Forbidden.
This poem might not appear to make sense at first.  It came to me as a visual image that suddenly popped into my head as I was thinking about how I feel about a life situation that I've struggled with for a while. It actually has dual meanings as after I wrote it some subcontious thoughts also surfaced.  I've heard poetry is good therapy and believe it. So the inspiration came as the sun started to go down as it does now at 4pm.  I was thinking about a piece of life, closed my eyes and saw myself exposed and naked laying in a dark, empty space. Then I realize it, and so my entire being rolls itself up in a cocoon for protection to find that my mind is very abstract and struggles in this concrete world, especially around a lot of people who are very concrete and black & white thinkers. It's time to find a new field but it seems like a big leap. Just thoughts and visualizations put to words....
Mr X Mar 2015
There's a very fine line between
Weirdness and Greatness...

And often the transition
Is undetectable.
Waverly Nov 2011
This morning
I woke up
and
told Melissa we wouldn’t
make it past three months.

We're at month two,
and I can feel it.

Either I’d drop her, or she’d
drop me, but either way
“we don’t have staying power,
and there’s no point
in either of us
pretending like we’re grown ups
who can just power through things
out of sheer complacency”.

I wasn’t looking at her.
Just up
at the spackle and a spinning fan.

It’s so hot in here,
that we sleep on top of the covers
sweating little puddles of skin
into the comforter.

Nightly,
we mash those deposits of dried salt
deep into the mattress
with our sloughing bodies
to get stuck
and form
tiny caves of skin and boredom in the springs.

She rolled away from me
swirling off a cloud
of stale, watermelon shampoo
And reached
With a tightly domed deltoid
towards the blue milk crate
where her purse sat.

She rummaged in there,
her back muscles working
like a landslide of flesh.

She finally dropped the purse,
after an effort of five minutes,
and I heard the successful flick
of a lighter.

She started
puffing and chugging down smoke
As she laid on her side.

My eyes watered
in the bluish smog,
and as the fan turned
raining down peices of our own skin
in a dusty, undetectable cloud of particulates
I could just see her,
out of the corner of my eye,
Shifting the weight of her body
from her deltoid
to her trapezius.
(A Poem about ***/AIDS & how humanity has dealt with it since its mysterious onset-and the future too…)



The mystifying howl is still irksomely faint yet vividly heard,
Akin to orchestrated footsteps of the undetectable command
As the new twilight tries to light-down the “smoldering fire” beyond the horizon…
It’s just so violent and it has been destroying everyone
Generations “screaming too loud” and many fallen
It has been “too thunderous”-“too rowdy”: it has stolen
From humanity-the Joy to enlighten-a Truth to reign-
A divine right of our existence here-but this pain…
Through our deepest thoughts-and dreams gone
Because of the “Teardrops and caskets”-loosing our own
To this “brutal-fierce beast” who “eats” without remorse and direction-
Evading all “the hunter’s Traps” to pursue an exuberate mission….

Life gets risky sometimes!
Are we now left with “frozen wrists”?
Or do we continue laying “stronger bricks”?
To lay a universal foundation with hooks
That will keep us together like strong rocks-
Even though we’ve suffered from “shell-shocks”-

…Which has only answered mother-nature’s call to catch
Humanity twice as much-and wish thrice as such
For a better day-a bunch
Of signs to watch….  
Even though the “streams of tears” continue to drive
Mortals to an “invisible-penitentiary” without Love;
Perhaps one day-The “Light” will save
Us out of this awkward predicament-similar to a bee-hive

Through all this “fire and smoke”-when everyday is a test-
We can only control our mental-states: settle down and just set it straight,
Else this classical tale of “Loss-Vs-Triumph” will be a total waste-
Though some souls have learnt to take a second to “pump the brakes and wait”;
Will it be too late when they wake up-to let their “dreams-of triumph”….escalate-
Amidst so many trials and failures-making it hard to tolerate
An “Enemy” who attacks without warning-to even hate
On the most innocent “creation of nature”-an infant!
Though everybody dies-The “Dream of Triumph” is still straight…



Muhumuza Kenneth Ezra
Tonight, I'll be at it again.

I'll search the streets like
A detective searching for a
Lost child. Ironic, isn't it,
that detectives are looking for me?

But I'm undetectable, because
I look just like everyone else.
Except I'm not like everyone else;
I'm a monster, Satan in the flesh.

I'm a skilled hunter, just like
A lion. I'll sneak up on you,
And you won't know I'm there
Until I'm tearing into your skin.

The media is saying I get off on
This, well, maybe I do.
Every scream and cry for help
Is stored carefully in my brain.

The term "serial killer" is so
Unfitting. Although I do prefer
Pretty blondes with blue eyes, I'd
**** just about anyone.

Their eyes are my favorite;
That's what gets me every time.
The way they fill with horror
Just before the life drains from them,

It's exhilarating; it's ****.
I cannot deny that it
Gets me off, it's the biggest
Thrill I've ever felt.

And the media lies to the
People, saying I'll be caught
And you'll be safe. I am
Unstoppable, I'll never be found.

I'm your worst nightmare;
Lucifer is my middle name.
This is all a game to me,
And it will never end.

Tonight, I'll be at it again.
Walked to the lake nobody around
Watery clear mirrored no sound
Fish made their move taken by surprise
Divine Love entered the clearing in disguise
Appeared from nowhere crossed time bridged space
How did Love know where to find this place
Knew from the start Love wanted her heart
To make her stay from far away
Destined to meet had no idea why
Kind hopeful passionate romantic guy
Foliage reflection silent forest clime
A window a portal a wormhole in time
Peeked through the veil past the Divide
Clandestine link to the other side
A kiss a chain two souls linked together
A golden moment personified forever
To a river where the crowds gather
Followed invited welcomed her there
Visualized materialized the crack sublime
The crowd parted for her proof paradigm
Her mission veiled her purpose oblivious
Death lurked undetectable ubiquitous
Invisible Denizen of Fear
Behind in front at her side always near
Waited for a mistake hoped for a lie
A justified excuse to take her life
Stalked her everywhere dragged her around
Wondered when to take her down under
The ledge behind the edge set up high
Nowhere to hide Death always close by
Steeled herself gathered her strength
Lethal weapon disarmed; Exigent Innocent
Luminous Numified shielded on all sides
Taken to dark regions unknown unseen by eyes
Brainwashed cornered Captive memory gone
Stood her ground as Death stared her down
Lured to the river hard cold fast water slid past
“How  Can  I  ****  You … I Love You”, Death asked
Brutalized left for dead her sentence repealed
Death needed permission the plan revealed
Passed back through the portal unscratched
Delivered home safe to Divine Love at last
Voyage & Return Epic
Brent Kincaid Dec 2015
Zeerow, The Hero
Was a spectacular fool.
An unrepentant tool,
He run on philosophy
Based on misogyny,
Of raging homophobia
And collected memorabilia
From the Third *****.

He didn’t like to be questioned
Whenever it was mentioned
Because he knew something
The rest of us were missing.
He knew as he knew day and night
That he was one hundred percent right
And we were all certifiable imbeciles
That made him totally irascible.

His compassion undetectable
He thought himself respectable
Because he kept his bigotry quiet.
But few could actually buy it
Because his brow-lowering scowls
And not-so sotto voce growls
Gave him away rather quickly.

And sometimes things got sticky
When he found him surrounded
By those previously grounded
In his wordy, misguided opinions  
That we were all his minions
And he was some kind of lordling.
So how could we find him boring?

Yet we did. The best we could, we hid
Whenever he showed his face.
Especially in a public place.
The only thing that made it worse
Was that in the final verse
Some idiots elected him to office
So he got to irritate all of us.
And he did so officially,
Doing so quite efficiently.
Cody Haag Dec 2015
Protect these children,
Who have grown up without care,
Knowing technological screens better than
Loving stares.

These children who develop
Perverse minds before even hitting puberty;
That type of parenting is a disastrous,
Sick sort of cruelty.

Raise your children to know human touch,
And radiating love that comes from within;
Don't accustom them to finding enjoyment
In the virtual worlds they play in.

Children are still developing and
It is your duty as parents to protect their innocence;
To safeguard their beautiful minds that are barren of
The world's filth; falter not in this for even an instant.

To fail this is to admit that you have
Poisoned beauty in one of its finest forms;
I do not care what social rules you have to break,
Never break or conform.

If you succeed, your kids' light won't go out,
Even when they age and the world gets darker,
They will remember the values taught
By those who would not give into slaughter.

Do not slaughter innocence, for it seldom peeks
Through the rampant corruption of this world;
And I fear sometimes that it will be quenched
Or become undetectable like water vapor tightly furled.
olivia grace Feb 2016
some days, when the pain is bigger than before, when it manifests itself into a coyote hunting down the prancing memories of the good days, chasing the sunset,
it's these days I ask myself if it was truly worth it?
is it better to have loved & lost; to have lived and died, than to be a spec of dust on the wind, washing the sky in colours undetectable.
we painted the clouds in rosy hues,
& loving you was like painting a canvas in every shade of red from every berry in every forest.
but when the paint dried & oxidized, & roses looked muddy like they had been stepped on out in the rain,
it was days like that I felt it was not worth it.
being shackled to the ground, sprouting from the soil and instant destruction,
this love was so young, so pure, so new and senseless,
yet agony awakened as your spirit drifted away from these leaves & thorns,
& I am just a small rosebud begging to blossom but you keep picking petals, playing a game of "I love her, I love her not"
how does this flower bloom if every day she fades back into the ground, trampled by the crash of timber from the shaky earthquake of your voice.
cowering in the corners from the thunder your voice emits, from the high heavens.
so holy you seem with your voice so high, so above and beyond the trees my petals could never reach.
& yet so terribly close you feel, how your voice carries on the wind, howling from dawn to dusk.
so I understand now why it hurts so much.
how you were once all of nature, but the forest burnt to the ground, ashes to ashes,
we, the remains of nature, scattered across the earth.
you're love was so short, a glimpse of light, a lunar eclipse,
& the forgetting is so long, a year of April showers, a mourning period where flowers don't grow, flash floods in my eyes & around every corner.
forgetting is all to difficult, but I'll take it.
I'll take the rain any day, to have felt your light if only for a fraction of a moment;
if only to have it vanish like the wind.
Denise Uy Oct 2018
Just shallow, raspy breaths in this hollow paradise,

and nothing that inspires me to open my eyes.

The barren ground gives me no reason to rise,

and I touch nothing that satisfies.

The shoes that hurt and clamp on my feet,

painful, black leather's the only thing I meet.

Smiling every day is such a great feat,

sad words in thousands of ink-stained sheets.

Uncountable, the laughs.

Unforgettable, the scowls.

Undeniable, the acts.

Undetectable, the frowns.
Stranger Blue Jun 2016
Come,
Dig the question tiny dancers.
How would it feel to be one of the beautiful?
To do as you pleased and not be accountable.
Your bad behavior always explainable.
Anything you say is socially acceptable.
Everything you wear is said to be fashionable.
Though even on you it may look really terrible.
How would it feel to be one of the beautiful?
To live a life where everything's accessible.
But for others so incredibly untouchable.
Something about this doesn't seem quite ethical.
The law around you tends to be a bit flexible.
How would it feel to be one of beautiful?
When your face becomes not so adorable.
Your company not so preferable.
All of your accomplishments made minuscule...
virtually undetectable.
Everything about you now is utterly expendable.
Come,
Dig the question tiny dancers.
How would it feel to be one of the beautiful?
Dennis Willis Mar 2019
I am exhausted
with your
silences

The chattering muons
rain upon my
magnetosphere

this crushing
undetectable
force

of everything
failing
to fill




Copyright@2019 Dennis Willis
Carter Ginter Jul 2017
I was born with a seed in my heart
It came from both of my creators
Just a piece of dust
Undetectable by any doctor
And that was ok.

At 12, strangers watered that seed
I knew I felt different than the other kids
But I didn't know about the tree
that began its adventure inside me
I didn't see it coming

Over the years,
With water and heat
The roots clutched to my insides
******* the life out of my bones
And crushing my organs to dust

The physical punishment
The emotional tolls
The years of debating whether to run or stay
Added fertilizer to keep this creature from dying

I sought love from boys
Trying to **** it with a drought of positive emotion
But they only changed the soil
Because I couldn't find the love I needed
So instead the trunk began its ascent

And then he came along
Someone who truly loved me
Someone I prayed desperately to love
But I couldn't
And he didn't love me

As a "friend" he destroyed my perception of my body
As a "lover" he destroyed the entire thing
Every instance budding new branches
That intruded my lungs
Burning a hole in my chest with every breath

Year after year
Scar after scar
What started as a seed
Sprouted into an enormous tree
Spreading throughout my entirety

The rustling of leaves in my brain
left me awake for days at a time
The roots pumping poison into my stomach
leave me physically ill without a cure
The rough bark rubbed my insides raw
and made me irritable and angry

But I could not cut it down
Or even trim it anymore
The seed lodged into my heart,
A predisposition for depression
Could not be changed
Cannot be changed
And now the disease is too deep to cease

So instead I carve into my skin
Hoping to reach the bark
Enough to make the pain more tolerable
To make some space to breathe
And the medicine that should destroy it from the inside out
Simply prolongs the process
Because it grows more every day
And one day it could **** me.
HRTsOnFyR Aug 2015
My emotions stretch and unfurl
like tendrils drawing toward the Sun.
Rainbow twisting wires,
Ethereal antennas communing
with the subtle frequencies Life.
The undetectable choir of light waves
only measurable by science.
The "new-age" sorcery of man,
where cloaks and herbs
and timeless intuitions
are replaced by lab coats,
chemicals and categorical limitation.
If we can only quiet the errant mind chatter
we too will have the ears to hear.
There is a silent symphony of soul songs;
Rythyms, harmonies...  These pulses ARE
the very lifeblood of our existence.
The unfathomable Angelic speech of the Heavens.
Long dead tongues of an Ancient world.
The breathe of Love,
sweetly whispered on a summer breeze...
Who's only hope lies in the liberation of her message;
Like a butterfly's kiss upon a daisy
growing wild amongst the grasses
of our scorched and broken Earth.
Viola Mar 2016
The undetectable delectable soul
Contemptuously consumed
By the indelibly doomed
The spirit a commestible
Ingested in full
By the restless evil
eager for prey
Every morsel digested
In a remorseless way
gluttonous beast desires the taste
The lecherous feast goes not to waste
scrumptious for toothsome consumption
Vicious parasitic imbuing of
Delicious sacrament of ruin
Does not satisfy the appetite of wicked delight
The monster hungers for just one more bite
Bitter Heartache May 2014
Quiet love
Covert love
Undetectable by the human eye
But the heart knows better
Pounding, screaming love
And silence
I lock up my feelings
Nonchalant
Not a word from my lips
Not a hint or clue
My secret kept
In the chamber of a rib cage
Bars and locks
A life sentence on my emotions
Only death will free me
Or a judge
If you chose to delve inside
And unlock my deepest, darkest
Innermost heartstrings
If you are willing to try
I am willing to give you the key
Austin Heath Mar 2015
Undetectable by the naked eye,
you slip threatening euphemisms
[Bruce Lee yelps and noise]
into the softer parts of my body.

Sleepless unlike god-fearing mortals
drink wine fermented of kitchen tears,
fermented in Dixie cups
held closed by the pressure;
image of a social butterfly
with wings torn off by
childish tyrants.

Sneak into my tonsils
and tear out every crown
on your way to my lips.
Pillage and loot and riot,
bleed from the mouth.
Held together by wire.
Sewn shut with iron.

Eyes as two independent souls,
each a decoy of the other,
hidden, even to themselves.
Haven Collie Oct 2015
with tobacco sitting open
in dusty papers on our kitchen table,
still warm from the glow
on your mint and cedar skin,
and with the sky cloudy and quiet in our window,
you kissed my crooked mouth
like the ghost hand that held the door open for you.

Heartache is an actor,
mumbling his soliloquy on the wide empty stage of my tongue
while the people in the back complain that they can't hear.
when people speak of a love not returned,
if you're lucky,
you can still hear a thin warm ribbon of blood
wrapping around teeth,
almost undetectable,
and the name hangs heavy in the room
like silver tinsel after christmas
if the  still oozes hot, black heartache
or else it is a wound that has scabbed over.
the lover is left lying like
a ribbed dog on a dry path,
summer's dust coating organs and throats
purple and bruised,
church bells ringing through tall grass.

but you heard every word that Heartache was saying.
you smarted away from me,
as if I had bitten you.
I think maybe
you could taste all of this war
waging among the rafters
in the high ceilings of my mouth.
and all I could taste was copper pennies
for months after you left.
kB 2 Oct 2018
I’m almost invisible
like a blind hem stitch.
Like the world is deaf
but I sing in perfect pitch.
A girl without arms
yet I hold on to everything.
A lover for a lifetime
with no wedding ring.
An exquisite ballerina
without any toes.
A runway model
without any clothes.
I’m standing in front of you
but you move right through me.
A tormented ghost
with no haunting ability.
Undetectable, unseen,
like ultraviolet light.
In daytime I sleep
and appear in twilight.
The only person able
to create shadows at night.
Silently choking on black,
face a sickly pale white.
With the thinnest of instruments
I thicken the plot.
A partial lobotomy
and I’m full of free thought.
My darkened grey matter gone,
color returns to my face.
The invisible girl
has been visibly erased.

~kb
Lily Mar 2018
Conversations overlapping.
Suitcase wheels rolling.
Babies sobbing.
Mothers calling.
Headphones blaring.
People scurrying.
PA system whispering.
Starbucks bustling.
Airplanes taking off and landing.
And in the middle of everything,
The lady in black.
Sitting motionless, hands grasping her
Black umbrella, her sleek black dress
Accentuating her young body,
And whilst a black veil covers her face,
Her tears shine through, reflecting
From the bright lights of the airport.
When you look closer,
Her slim body trembles with concealed sobs,
And her calm facade is broken
With closer inspection,
Broken inside from something undetectable from the outside.
The lady in black.
We have all been her.
Danger White Feb 2014
Boredom mixed with anxiety churns in my stomach like a witch stirring her cauldron with gaseous fumes pouring over the top if it. I look around the chapel at all of the faithful companions of Christ, blind to the world, each alone inside their corridors of thoughts and aspirations with walls reeking piety and devotion. Lurking over his congregation, as a child does over his coveted toys, the priest made his way down the expansive stretch of red carpet, its parameters where lined with gold, like timber in a holy fire place.  The priest began his journey of inspection, trying to smell out the sinners. The vapor of my anxiety turned into beads of sweat that I wore around my neck, every now and again, losing a gem down my spine. I knew I stank of lies and false religion. Scrutiny fell upon me like the light that spewed from the navy and blood red stained glass window, creating a downtrodden shadow across my doomed soul. The bellow from the choir was a spell that turned everything to slow motion. My darting eyes saw everything turn into maple syrup, as the priest continued his molasses march to my seat. With each antagonizing step I could see my stench grow stronger and go deeper into his nostrils because with each step his face grew deeper into contortion, as the fumes began to infect his pious aura.  His shadow gripped me like hell itself, containing me, overbearing, and set my self esteem on fire. With one motion, he dragged one robust hand out of his robe and pointed to the wooden doors lain with more stained glass filled with light, that gave hope of the outdoors. He needn’t say a single word to communicate his command. I rose quickly, like a fox in the brush, and scurried to my escape. The churches play things caught wind of my gaseous stench, and took a moment out of their piety to further investigate my sin as a ran down the aisle. Their eyes weighed on me like hot branders, each look creating a new burn, which could only catalyst more unpleasant odor. Those wooden doors where forever shrinking from my grasp, contradicting my forward motion. When I finally reached that wretched golden handle I was covered in religious blistering sores of analysis and lies. I wore my sweat necklace all over my body. I wouldn’t feel comfort until the sun settled on my skin and the breeze took rest in my hair. I didn’t look back at my judgment hall, as I hoped to leave it all behind me, not letting any of it escape with me out those giant wooden doors.  My exodus was glorious. Slamming the doors behind me, my stench no longer laid idle in a church pew, but took flight with the breeze. I was once again undetectable  to the nose of the moral.
Meghan Marie Aug 2010
Is it really possible you do not notice the near-deafening
Pounding of my heart whenever you are near?
Every morning I awake with the persistent hope
Of spending simply a moment in your presence!
Scarcely a second passes out of your company
Within which you are not dominating my mind…
Is it truly undetectable, how unintelligible
I become when you speak to me?
The press of your palm against my back
Sends shivers up and down my spine…
The brush of your strong fingertips
Against my hand causes my entire body to tremble…
The gaze of your sweet eyes into mine weakens me
To a state where merely standing is difficult…
Yet you remain unaware of the absolute control
You possess over my entire persona!
It was years ago I fell in love with your laugh,
And your smile enraptures me to this day…
If only I could summon the courage
To tell you how I feel around you!
But alas, for I fear my insignificant existence
Is barely prominent in your beautiful world…
David Barr Feb 2015
The distortion of rectitude maintains the guise of a charismatic persona, with a co-existing ulterior motive.
Searching for our lost soul is intensified by the diametrically opposed collision of ancient and modern pizzicato.
Listen to the voices as they forcefully project powerful messages into the darkened recesses of presumed enlightenment.
I have released my imprisoned being from this custodial fabric of presumed alignment, into the lofts of undetectable thermals, where soaring wings surf undefined boundaries of spatial awareness.
Cosmological democracy is the State in which our orchestral garden grows, light years beyond the doorway of the beginning.
Brent Kincaid Dec 2015
I was a certifiable ******
With the classic monkey
Riding squarely on my back
But I had no needle tracks.
I was almost undetectable
As my addiction was respectable.
No, I was not a rock musician.
I got my dope from my physician;
An almost never-ending source
Offered up with no remorse
I only had to mildly complain
That I was experiencing pain
And the cornucopia opened wide.
It held my immediate future inside.

I was off to party with friends
To the cabaret that never ends;
That free-wheeling waking dream
That made everything in life seem
As if nothing mattered that day
But that we should all stay and play.
And if something was getting tiring
It was time to retune the wiring
With a few more clever little pills
That cured all my temporary ills.

If I was exhausted or had an ache
It was time to take a little ****** break
Or, maybe not just that dosage alone.
Maybe better to take some Oxycodone.
Then, I can keep on night-club dancing
And backseat, hyper-speed romancing.
And later, needing sleep; a downer
Is good for an out-on-the-towner
Who has needed some rest for days
But the normal drugs and party ways
Wouldn’t quite let me get to sleep.
I felt that above all else, I had to keep
On doing what I was doing: having fun.
There was too much ******* to be done.

But every kind of candle has two ends.
There’s the one where the thing begins
And when I was trashing around a lot
Thinking of the other end was really not
The kind of thought-process I liked.
I wanted to do more of the kind that hiked
My awareness and my stamina to the max
And “injects my existence with what it lacks”.

While today I shudder to remember my words
At that time they were the best I’d heard
Since chocolate cake and butter cream icing.
None of that workaday stuff was to my liking.
It would be nearly twenty nearly deadly years
Before I found myself on a sidewalk in tears
Asking myself where things had gone wrong.
And while I am sure you are sick of this song
At the time it was a sad music to my ears.
Today, it’s the only music I want to hear.
People never know how low you can sink, how deep into the rabbit hole you can drop. Madness picks you up.
Madness is a weird thing.
It's a process. It's so small at first, so undetectable, that no one realizes what is happening until it is too late.
Once it happens, there is no going back.
But the descent is slow. It takes little bits of you everyday, every time someone or something hurt you.

Chip, chip, chip.

Like workers in a mine, chipping at the ground to find gold.
But there is no gold to be found in destruction.
There is only sadness, anger and despair. Despair leads the way to madness. Despair has no remorse, no boundaries. Despair will crush you down and won't stop. Despair leads you down and with it tumbles other feelings, incomprehension, frustration, desires, love, hate, they all follow you down and form this clumps of horrors you can't get out of. They keep you from breathing, speaking, hearing anything but your own despair.
And maybe you can't feel yourself change, but you do.
Slowly.
What once made you smile makes you smirk.
What once made you upset makes you smile.
Despair drills a hole in you body and, from it, everything that makes you you tumbles down and your body doesn't host a human anymore. It hosts a terrible thing. A shell of a human being with nothing left to lose. And that is the worst that can happen to anyone.
If there is no hope, no feelings, nothing, you become a danger.
There is nothing you wouldn't do.
Insanity doesn't destroy you.
It destroys everything around you.
Those who loved you one, those who cross your path. Anyone in contact with you loses a piece of themselves.
A hopeless person is a slow bomb. Its detonation is silent and lasts a long time, hurting hundreds of people.
Then, one day, it's over.
What if we could detect madness and cure it? I imagine a little goes a long way with madness.
I imagine a little love and care can solve the problem. Love is hope. Care shows importance. And if you matter, you don't get desperate.
I hope I never get desperate. I think, maybe, my family is keeping me sane. I would go insane without them. They are my hope. They show me I matter when no one else does.
But that isn't despair.
It's extreme, excruciating loneliness.
It hurts in your whole body, hurts on a cellular level. I think… it may be the worst kind of pain, when no one chooses to love you. Not because they are your family and feel the need to love you because you share blood. But because they think you are worth it.
I am not worth anyone's love.
And that is.
Just.
So.
****.
Painful.
My skin is one fire and I just stand there, burning alive forever.
But I am willing to burn forever more if it means I get to drown in hope one day.
Hayley Neininger Nov 2011
My breathing is heavy.
A force straddles my body, it pushes and thrusts over my chest
It starts to apply pressure to invisible heart wounds
I would not have known were their but for
The crushing weight intended to stop their bleeding.
Now feeling dry of blood I wait for the elephantine like force
To retreat, to allow my breathe back into my chest,
But as I look down at my chest I don't see wounds
Just you. I ask please get off.
And your weight still sits unapologetic-ally over my body
My breathing has slowed now.
Your pressure reacts and heightens as it moves higher up my form
Now it is perched atop of my neck
Now I can’t speak, can’t tell you to move, can’t vocalize
How your weight aches.
How I would ask you to please get off
My breathing is undetectable.
Bricks of your flesh rest atop of my head, now you've moved higher
The weight of you ebbs into my pores
Travels through my veins and pours into my thoughts
You and your crushing pressure have been absorbed
And now weigh on my mind
And to be frank you are quite heavy
So please get off.
Still a work in progress.
Summer Novak Jul 2012
and so it flowed along the floor,
newly waxed and cleaned and polished,
just for the occasion.

it had layers upon layers of beauty
and she felt exquisite

The Prince looked upon her
in all her jewels and silks and satins

and felt nothing for her.
and so he turned his eyes away.

and looked upon his servant boy for comfort...

which he found without delay in the servant's face.
in his eyes...
and his lips...
curling up in just the slightest way,
almost undetectable.
bit of a scandal...bit sad...for the girl anyway

lovely bit of romance though, between the prince and servant
enjoy i suppose

— The End —