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Lizzy Jan 2015
"Poor Yorick!",
His soul is saved.
Safe and sound,
In cold unbeing.

Cold unbeing,
For whom I am so hungry.
It's bitter tundra will fill me,
But my fire won't go out.

The burning won't stop,
And my ashes only gather.
There's something very wrong,
With a blistering winter.

Oh Yorick,
I envy.
Your sleep is undisturbed;
Where I am only tired.

You are bones,
And King Hamlet is a ghost.  
Floating like him and stagnant as you,
I cannot rest.

My sleep is disturbed.
Like the king, I can't find peace.
But like Yorick,
I am hollowed bones.
King Panda Oct 2015
this is a medical emergency ossified
in utero part the hair to cover
pink earwax scar innervated this
cochlea this ******* that steals
the spotlight and rooster’s comb
braised sockets for teeth wired through
the rafters kissing corner braces
shallow chromium double-eye poke
like a pile of face bones stacked
paul bunyan forest slide and jump from
the peak to the pool shallow and
undisturbed to dunk your face and
see future pure voodoo spirit board
and voice box locked with tongue-ectomy
removal of cough through neck hole
cardboard cut stickers in half to
write ******, I’m done.
Bison May 2016
Pardon me, I miss you dear
Dearly departed

All is lost, no life worth the cost
Rest undisturbed, sweet Brothers and Sisters

Pardon me, I miss you dear
Dearly departed

And they still stand, though in death fallen
And that green grass, shadows life or what they called it

Those white crosses,
All that remains of our best losses

'Til Valhalla or Heaven's view
I'll be waiting, waiting for you

Please pardon me, I miss you dear
Dearly departed
Moonflower Nov 2015
I've found a home in my bones.
A meadow of the softest grass rests in my center
where wild flowers grow and peek between the spaces of my ribcage.
There is a rushing current that slows to a gentle stream with every bend in my veins.
My heart is a rock covered in moss, not in the sense that it's grown hard, but it rests undisturbed,
There is life here.
My body is an abandoned city that nature has taken over.
I lie down for a nap
as climbing ivy wraps around my arms and legs.
I am home.
A sleepy poem from my sleepy brain
Saumya Jul 2018
If I ever happen to meet myself,
I'd sit graciously on silence's table,
And study my evolved, yet un-evolved self,
Undisturbed, unhurried, un-agitated,
By world's brightest gulf.
...and smile back, as I watch myself.


If I ever happen to meet myself,
I'd sit cozily on peace's table,
And watch my wounded, yet un-wounded self,
Un-agitated, un-deviated, unmoved,
By world's sorry self
...and smile back, as I watch myself.

If I ever happen to meet myself,
I'd sit calmly on agony's table,
And observe my painful, yet not too painful self,
Unmoved, undaunted, unleashed,
By world's weirdest self,
...and smile back, as I watch myself.

If I ever happen to meet myself,
I'd sit gladly on glee's table,
With my eyes smiling, and smiling at myself,
Unaffected, unguarded, unremitted,
By world's unrequited self.
...and grin back, at myself.

If I ever happen to meet myself,
Twill indeed be a blessed, contending  miracle,
As that's when I could pat & greet myself,
In real, In real, In real!
And make this fact to myself perceivable,
That Our world may sure often demand struggles,
And our mere existence in it,
May just be negligible,
But we never gotta forget
To stay hopeful, smile and giggle at ourselves,
No matter how hard,
or harder are the struggles,
As that's the precious fuel,
That can truly cause miracles,
In a world,
Often so obsessed with struggles!

And then with a grin,
A sparkling hope within,
I'll bid myself,
A sweet, serene,
farewell.
Just a thought :)
All your feedbacks are most welcome :)
Lizzy Jan 2015
When I found my sacred place, I was content in the fact I would be undisturbed. The open grounds of the church sprawled out in front me and I ran. Green lush trees of the Abbey surrounded me and I was lost in my mind. Not in the way where I was terrified of the thoughts, but in the way that I couldn’t help staring at the pictures in my head this landscape prompted. It was quiet, except for the frequent screams of murders of crows. I was quiet and content, then I found out it would all be gone.
Kara Jean Jan 2018
They tell me I am powerless

Listen to the blue bird

There is no need we are conserved

My voice is undisturbed

We can read

We aren’t this helpless *******

We are mighty and this it

The  proclamation to world of devastation

We’re invested

Our mind deserves a revelation

Awake to the curse

To be heard

We are  not young and dumb

We are the next generation

It is our time to be heard

Watch out we are about to be unearthed
Frankie Gestone Apr 2012
~In a cemetery, you carried her
She could not walk anymore
You dug the deepest hole and let her rest
Sometimes when it rains,
The bodies flood your land
The graves are too shallow~

When you and I buried
The children in the pouring rain,
We looked up at the angels in shame
As their tears washed the dirt in which
The young forever sleep
The winter pushed its sharp, icy wind
On us the day the Father and Mother
Returned to the earth and below it
Kept our secrets silent
I waited until the summer to bury you
For the hot sun nourished the seeds in the dirt
And allowed your flowers to grow undisturbed in harmony
With the others who have left and gone
I bury my memories when they interrupt my peace
And I dig everyone up when I am lonely
Amanda May 2018
Why do I find myself alone and trapped
By the four walls around my mind?
I search for some way to scale them
A rope or ladder I never find.

I did not choose to be in this desperate place
Here where my darkest thoughts are kept
The deepest corners are a lair to pain
Dusty crevices long since swept.

Amongst undisturbed sticky cobwebs
Lies a part of me coated in dust
The tortured memories of nightmares past
Don't want to uncover, know deep down I must.

This house built to harbor hatred and hurt
Changed from a home to a prison cell
Halls that used to be a welcome escape
Have instead transformed into an exitless hell.
My mind is a home I'm trapped in,
and it's lonely inside this mansion.
-NF
Saumya Aug 2018
If 't be true i ev'r befall to meeteth myself,
i'd sitteth graciously on silence's table,
and studyeth mine own evolved, yet un-evolv'd self,
undisturbed, unhurried, un-agitated,
by w'rld's brightest gulf
. and smileth backeth, as i seeth myself.


if 't be true i ev'r befall to meeteth myself,
i'd sitteth comf'rtably on peace's table,
and gaze mine own wounded, yet un-wound'd self,
un-agitated, un-deviated, unmoved,
by w'rld's s'rry self
. and smileth backeth, as i seeth myself.

if 't be true i ev'r befall to meeteth myself,
i'd sitteth calmly on agony's table,
and obs'rve mine own painful, yet not painful self,
unmoved, undaunted, unleashed,
by w'rld's weirdest self,
. and smileth backeth, as i seeth myself.

if 't be true i ev'r befall to meeteth myself,
i'd sitteth fain on glee's table,
with mine own eyes smiling, and smiling at myself,
unaffected, unguarded, unremitted,
by w'rld's unrequit'd self
. and grineth backeth, at myself.

if 't be true i ev'r befall to meeteth myself,
twill forsooth beest a did bless, contending  miracle,
as yond's at which hour i couldst pateth & greeteth myself,
in real, in real, in real!
and maketh this fact p'rceivable,
yond our w'rld may sure oft hest struggles,
and our m're existence in t,
may just beest negligible,
but we nev'r gotta f'rget
to stayeth hopeful, smileth and giggle,
nay matt'r how hard the struggles,
as yond's the most wondrous fuel,
yond can oft causeth miracles,
in a w'rld,
so obsess'd with struggles!

And then with a sigheth,
a blooming grineth,
yet a sparkling desire within,
i'll did bid myself,
a farewell
N Sep 2018
waiting for death...

the empty bottle of pills layed on my bedside table,
so much pressure in my head it feels like it's going to explode.
my chest with a pain so indescribable,
my head starting to get foggy,

first few minutes...

laying in the back of my fathers car,
my head in my sisters lap with my face wet from her tears,
rushing to the ER,
everybody terrified yet i was at peace,

i felt like i could finally be free,
from all the pain and heartaches.
I felt relaxed, undisturbed, ready for death.

first few hours...

laying in the hospital bed,
alive.

i stare at the ceiling with a blank expression,
ignoring all doctors, nurses, therapists, and social workers
that try to talk to me or ask questions.
i barely spoke a word.

they inspected my wrists for cuts,
faint scars, unfound fresh cuts on my hips.
this was never addressed or even commented on by my parents.

my sister held my hand constantly,
sat in that chair with no intentions of leaving,
to comfort me.

first day back...
i had not been at school for afew days,
rumors had gone around,
friends who knew how unstable i was had been talking,
people would approach me and ask what happened,
i got weird looks and stares,
i got so many questions.

first week...
i sat in my chair in the classroom in a shocked silence,
i didn't speak a word at school for a whole week.
a blank stare on my face all day,
constantly wishing that i was never brought into that hospital,
wishing they didn't save me.

first month...
i slept so much yet never felt rested
my sister felt like the only person giving me the support and love that i needed,
the only person to text me throughout the day,
the only person to keep me company,
the only person to get me to speak about how i was feeling,
the only person to remind me every single day how much she loved me.

second month...
i hold back my tears in english.
as we watch a movie about a girl that commited suicide.

third month...
i let small things get to me while locked in my room,
feeling so numb that i slit my skin so i can feel something,
so i can see if i'm still alive or not.

fourth month...
i want to give up again

fifth month...
i get prescribed medications for depression


people don't understand what it's like
to awake every morning,
and all they can wonder is
why they had even awoken

to pick up all of their pieces,
and put them back together
but still feel like they're broken

to say all that they can say,
and still feel like there's more
yet every word has been spoken,

slowly becoming immune to my emotions,
with my lungs incapable of letting air out,
with the pain buried within and unable to turn into tears.

to go to sleep every night,
and the only hope they have
is that their eyes will not open.

now...

i am still healing, on my way to recovery
i am reminded of all the pain i've endured through the years
it used to be etched into my body

i regret it yet also embrace it
because i am strong,
and i will survive.
Ivan Brooks Sr Feb 2018
I know not from whence my inspirations cometh
I believe I was chosen from the time of my birth.
Alone and undisturbed, I have strange visitation
Embellished with beautiful stories delivered via imagination
Even the mental drought known as writer's block
Goes away the very moment the spirits knock.
Thanks to my late Queen mother who told me stories
And tales of our ancestor's conquest of adversities.
I am the last of the great Grios from my tribe.
The spirits will always be my source of inspiration and guide.
I come alive at night when the entire world sleep,
That's when the best ideas and loose words creep.
These words I process as part of my solemn obligation.
As custodian of Ancient history and its dissemination.
Call me a poet because of spoken word and great poetry
In actuality, I'm the last Grio sent to write our ancient oral history.

IvanBrooksPoetry©️
Grios are traditional historians and custodians of the ancient history of the African peoples spanning the great Sonhay and Malian Empires.These histories were merely and mostly passed down ****** by these Grios.who used songs and drums to teach as they performed....called that spoken word!
Note: All Grios comes only from a tribe of grios.
Meandering minds recall their place,
with fraught emotions tangled;
Appearing in a shadowy world,
where words are torn and mangled.

In recesses of profound desire,
when fiery images lose their way;
Through many doors they've wandered,
yet their souls are tossed and frayed.

Again and again this fire deploys,
a fiercely bound intention;
To rise among the smoke and ash,
lifting hope for mass redemption.

So many doors from which to choose,
for the fractured shells of every man;
Laying undisturbed to diffuse the flames,
in the wild and wind-swept rain.
Ivan Brooks Sr Aug 2018
I know not from whence my inspirations cometh.
I believe I was chosen from the time of my birth.
Alone and undisturbed, I have strange visitation,
Embellished with beautiful stories delivered via imagination.
Even the mental drought known as writer's block,
Goes away the very moment the spirits knocks.
Thanks to my late Queen mother who told me stories,
And tales of our ancestor's conquest of adversities.
I am the last of the great Grios from my tribe.
The spirits will always be my source of inspiration and guide.
I come alive at night when the entire world sleeps,
That's when the best ideas and loose words creep.
These words I process as part of my solemn obligation.
As custodian of Ancient history and its dissemination.
Call me a poet because of spoken word and great poetry
In actuality, I'm the last Grio sent to write our ancient oral history.

IvanBrooksPoetry©️
Grios are traditional historians and custodians of the ancient history of the African peoples spanning the great Sonhay and Malian Empires.These histories were merely and mostly passed down ****** by these Grios.who used songs and drums to teach as they performed....called that spoken word!
Note: All Grios comes only from a tribe of grios.
thorn on the vine
wine in the glass
undisturbed visage

spot on the sun
desert I wander
absence of water

love off the page
raging white fire
denuded flower
Steve Page Sep 2018
The forest of legs swayed in the moving shadows beneath the chatter over head, each threatening to block our path and crush our attempt to get to the first fallen crisps of the party season, which as yet laid undisturbed.

We weaved and advanced as fast as their legs allowed, eager to scavenge the waiting bounty before they were trampled underfoot by the oblivious adults who were intent on a seasonal ritual of their own that went on high over our heads.

We emerged unscathed at the edge of the forest and raced across the open parquet to the cover of the drapped, white topped trestle tables catching our breaths and crunching our snatched crisps planning our next move toward the plateau above.

Our scout had reported rich pickings, but when we looked around, seeking signs of our brave advance party, we could find no trace beyond a half eaten volovant and what might have been regurgitated mushroom. We shook our heads in despair at their folly. Every kid knows to stick to crisps and to processed meats, avoiding anything that might contain vegetables. We saw an open French window just beyond the trestles and heard plaintive heaves that had a distinct 6 year old strain.

We checked each other's resolve and saw on each other's faces that we believed our mission was more important than any one stomach. With a maturity that would have surprised our parents, we pushed the plight of our friend to the back of our minds and focused on the task at hand.

We each reached up with practiced stealth, taking only a second to check the food on offer and with a speed bred into us by the curse of older siblings, we each grabbed our prize.

Acknowledging the hazards of the return journey we devoured the meat at hand and with hyena grins savoured our just rewards. While our fallen friend heaved once more, we saluted one another: the season had started better than any of us could have hoped.
With thanks to Poetry Journal for the inspiration. And, yes, I acknowledge it's not poetic.  But it was fun to write.
Poor Man
you sit and watch as children dance
undisturbed
but the tragedy surrounding you
have nothing but your dwindling sanity
no money in your pockets, no assets to build
but rich
in anxiety and pain
you hate
the way that feels
and this is a discussion again that you're to learn from
What can you learn from this pain?
Do you want to just sit here and cry
Or do you want to overcome this
I'm working on it
Anna is the one
How come
Am I really upset about the money, or more about her
interesting
maybe a conglomerate of both
I told myself I'd make more money to cover my debt
Fly
in private jets as Jay-Z and Kanye do
And now I'm upset
because I didn't make the commitment
to generate an income worthy of a flight to Stockholm
I now think I need to blaze a trail
Find the holy grail
do this thing I've been afraid of
building, selling
It's what I'm made of
But I'm afraid that my emotions will
get the best of me, till the death of me
unless I change my methods
can one actually change himself
I'm sure it's like moving a mountain
which is why we fight so hard to stay the same
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