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James Jarrett Mar 2014
Hollow, haunted, hurting eyes staring at
the ceiling.
Cold, hard, white tile floor a pillow
for my head.
Last gasping, grasping tendrils of reason
slipping from my brain.
Oh the bite of bitter steel; sweet and
welcome pain.
An outstretched palm, ungrasping fingers,
nerve and tendon showing.
A smile of peace, a sob of despair;
blood is thickly flowing.
I close my eyes and now I see that this
is childhoods end; Wasted lives, broken
people and shattered dreams that never mend.
This is the first poem I ever wrote.
Here for us pretend pretenders
Here is this a simple ender

We who lose it never seek it
There is hidden here in secret

Wading, fading making sicker
There is time or something thicker

Utter thinly veiled from under
There is more to write I wonder

Only clutched with hands ungrasping
There is now most everlasting

Piercing hunger never settles
There is broth to stove and kettle

Winter washed and nestle warming
There is still a calm a'storming

Not as brittle, cleaner, crisper
There is heretofore a whisper

Error spent for our repentance
There is void dark intermittent

If so then what say all we after
There is all that words can gather

For us the inner interventions
There is only aforementioned
I only write the same poem
thymos Jan 2017
having
not having
having but not
enough
enough but not
wanted, saying
if but not for having                
nothing
not having but saying anything not
enough
but enough
if wanted but not enough.

grasping
ungrasping
grasping and letting go
grasping and not
reaching not enough
not catching not
holding
on, but go on
grasping, in the mud
ghosts for the letting go
not reaching but
again
again not catching but
closer
if still not holding if only but not
but saying enough
if saying is enough.
There is only aforementioned
For us the inner interventions

There is all that words can gather
If so then what say all we after

There is void dark intermittent
Error spent for our repentance

There is heretofore a whisper
Not as brittle, cleaner, crisper

There is still a calm a'storming
Winter washed and nestle warming

There is broth to stove and kettle
Piercing hunger never settles

There is now most everlasting
Only clutched with hands ungrasping

There is more to write I wonder
Utter thinly veiled from under

There is time or something thicker
Wading, fading making sicker

There is hidden here in secret
We who lose it never seek it

There is this so simple ender
Here for us pretend pretenders
Jennifer Beetz Mar 2019
...and god opened up her legs
and said, "come, o come to me"
and yes, the believers flocked
like so many birds clinging
to a rock, faith a casualty
of a wave, of dumb luck
they said yes, yesyesyes
please and what the ****?
and god opened up her knees
and she let in all of the birds
and the flutter of so many
wings, yes they did they
pleased her and o my
and boy o boy and o ****
don't this feel nice and
god finally came
and the birds and the bees
and so many people just
like you and maybe me
they waited for more
because there's always
more and they waited
for god to breathe one
one last gasp, the unrolling
the tight fist unfolding,
the final gasp and
all things natural
and all things
unnatural, well,
they  continued to wait,
with little else do
to hear the final word
and
god let loose pretty much
each and every bird and
the way and the will
and the ungrasping
of all things let loose
on the world primed
for the final **** storm
yes!
and the world was covered
the world was smothered
in so much ****
yes!
and that was the way
and the will and so much
swill, goodnight and forever
******* (and you and you
and you) and that was pretty
much it, the world covered
in so much ****, get used
to it

— The End —