Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Glassed with cold sleep and dazzled by the moon,
out of the confused hammering dark of the train
I looked and saw under the moon's cold sheet
your delicate dry *******, country that built my heart;
and the small trees on their uncoloured *****
like poetry moved, articulate and sharp
and purposeful under the great dry flight of air,
under the crosswise currents of wind and star.
Clench down your strength, box-tree and ironbark.
Break with your violent root the ****** rock.
Draw from the flying dark its breath of dew
till the unliving come to life in you.
Be over the blind rock a skin of sense,
under the barren height a slender dance...
I woke and saw the dark small trees that burn
suddenly into flowers more lovely that the white moon.
Jessie Mar 2011
The unliving man
     has lost his heart--
     he gave it away to a
                                        thief.
The unliving man
     has lost his mind--
He walks as if he's searching,
     but he cannot fool himself.
Mere existence isn't life...
Time stands still for this man,
     while everyone else
                         rushes by
Living their lives--
     life he has never had,
          and doubts he ever will have.
Existing eternally,
                                is he not alone?
Vamika Sinha Aug 2015
I commit myself to the homicide
of my thought-flowers.
I indulge in the **** -
Killing my darlings
for the sake of art and sanity.
What a paradox.
I have bloodied my hands
with it even so.

No more love-lite poetry!
No more adolescent chinks of the
pseudo-heart!
No more infantile fork-stabs
at the plate of kid-intellectualism!
No more Wikipedia pages
on thoughts
that can swallow computers
whole!

I'm killing my darlings
for the sake of art,
for the sake of sanity -
what a paradox.
Blood is flowing.

I'm a murderer of ideas tonight -
today I will write
about many of life's very few truths.
Like trees.
Like soil.
These are the only constants in mathematics.
These are the identities.

In my garden, I reach out
to crush an
almost-crimson hibiscus.
Petals squelching with skin and nectar -
no perfume.
The hibiscus roils, unliving.

Red pulpy mess;
heart out of chest.
'**** your darlings. Your crushes, your juvenile metaphysics - none of them belong on the page.'
Life is a holiday for the Unliving.

Perhaps it is
as some have said:

Life is the pre-party for the Afterlife
(assuming such a thing even exists)

Though,
I suppose,
we oughtta live this life well, and now,
just in case
this really is
the only one.

If
ye find thy Shadow,
constantly embrace
the dark creativity,
not just once a year
when it's "okay."

Be not ashamed of thy Darkness.

Shame, fear, and guilt beget repression,
repression then begets pressurization,
and pressurization is akin
to explosion.

So.

Learn to appreciate it.
Learn to control it.
Learn to use it.

The Darkness is not bad,
t'is just like everything else:
t'is but what is made of it.

The Darkness is powerful
but only because we feed it
and don't allow it to breathe.

Live it. Express it.
It appreciates the respect.
Somewhere between my Taoist persona, my Anubis persona, and my Goth persona.
They work well together, I think.
If we were zombies could we still fall in love and live happily ever after?
Craig Irving May 2017
Classroom, you have gone through much
witness of devotion and inspiration,
of boredom and slumber;
partner to the late learner and early comers;
have experienced a stream of personalities;

Classroom, you have gone through much
unliving witness to adult's birth, growt and depraving;
lifeless room filled with feelings:
that of the boy, thinking he loves,
that of the girl, who shares not that love,
that of the two, hoping it will last,
those of the students, who leave with hope;

Classroom, you sure have gone through much
victim of time, witness of fights;
have observed chaos and intense silence;
your walls reveal our will to be remembered;
Classroom, realm of memories and shadows of the past.
Alice Burns Apr 2014
My Love is eternal, infinite and imperishable
Yet alive it never has ever been
Nor has death to it been known or met by
Neither is it yet to be created
Yet my Love here remains still

So full of qualities that the living posses
A touch that can speak and hear my own words
An intuitive smell that draws upon emotion
And a breath that soothes the burning hands of man
My Love, it is not alive, yet unliving it will never be.
Tristan Rethman Apr 2016
The bench, made of many things, like support,
From loved ones, or others very close, or hopes,
Of the same, etching into the legs, of this bench.

Strongest metal, I dare to say, composes the legs,
Of this bench, upon which I sit, among other things,
Like the wood, from the strongest oak, that's unbending.

Yes I sit, upon this beautiful piece, of collaboration
Of my family, I admire their dedication, but I dash it,
I apologize, but you see I sadly, must reject it.

This because, what sits upon this bench, is not me,
at least, not entirely or only me, but the visitor,
it's silent, an aura of death surround it, ghastly.

It sits, this bench that used to hold, now folds,
The visitor, quite happily enjoys, the sight
Of falling, I'm falling down, onto ground.

Nowhere, that's where I land, for I have done
the deed, I am no more unfortunately, my regrets,
The visitor, he has claimed victory, and I defeat.

I lay, breathless and unliving, quite ugly,
Not only that, but this beautiful bench, a waste,
My last blunder, I've sparked the fire asunder, Goodbye.
C Rosser Jun 2010
Simple pleasures
in complex living.

Love is squandered
of faults unforgiving.

Seeking succour
in flesh and loving.

Run to his arms
needing and wanting.

Rejected, unloved
start at the beginning.

Had enough, don't know
if I'm coming or going.

Desire mounts to be
part of the unliving
(c) C Rosser
Joel A Doetsch Sep 2012
They're a normal family
As normal as they can be

The father is a veteran of WWII
He runs a tight ship
but one can tell by
looking into his eyes
(the one that works)
that he loves his wife and children

The mother isn't a homemaker
because she's forced to
she actually loves the challenge
of keeping a household in order
it gives her something
to take pride in

The daughter is sweet sixteen
bright as the stars in the night sky
She wants to be a concert pianist
drawing in crowds of thousands
to listen to sweet melodic
sensations

The son is naught but an infant
slowly learning the benefit
of moving in order to get places
his eyes constantly wander
in wonder at his surroundings
innocence in its true form


They are a normal family

But they're not.

Look closely at the father

You can see the mangled remnants of his chest
Where he fell on top of a grenade
He is, indeed, a veteran of WWII.  
His name is on the large memorial in Washington D.C.
Just another young man willing to sacrifice
for something he believed in

His wife died in 1926 from complications during pregnancy
She never got to see her daughter's face
as the doctors carried her from the room
The mother's pale face and unliving eyes
staring at a nondescript hospital ceiling

The daughter's crushed skull is the byproduct
of a drunk driver who is still haunted by
the vision of teenage dreams sliced
apart by windshield glass in 1985
He drinks alone at home now

The child has a gunshot wound through his neck
a stray bullet from a gang fight that found flesh and blood,
just as the man who pulled the trigger intended it to
every time the infant giggles, one can hear the gurgle shortly after

This family exists somewhere outside our consciousness
They don't go on vacations to Disney World
You won't see them at the corner grocery store
They don't Celebrate the Holidays
They don't have
    a favorite sports team
    a favorite pair of shoes
    a favorite band
  
What they have is eachother
four random souls that found one another
lost in the ether
living their afterlife
the best they can
Lucky Queue Dec 2012
Asian faerie pirate
Beautiful pirahna
Dancing firelights
Conversion faeries
Benny Grunch
Phantasmagoric unicorns
Mardi gras
Terpsichorean cassowaries
King cake
Satircal parody
Highly intelligent humor
Unliving dead
*******
Planned obsolescence
French Quarter
Baton Rouge
Rock & roll
Ok so 'highly intelligent humor' and 'asian faerie pirate' are three words each... feel free to use anything you like :)
Jimmy Solanki Feb 2014
Fall from the clouds
Never looking back
Fall into the sea below
Never coming back

An eternity shall pass
But the shadows of your being
Will endure forever
Thoughts do trespass
The unliving, believing
Delaying the delayer

A fall of freedom
Shattering the bonds
Here comes queendom
And betraying chords
Of lovers and justices
For words are never the same
For another unbeliever

Falling down
Memories will catch your heartbeat
Rend your soul
Into a thousand brilliant suns
Beyond control

An eternity shall pass
But the fragrance enduring
Will linger forever
Thoughts do trespass
The unliving, believing
Delaying the delayer
Amber May 2016
You use  to  lay your hand on my
chest  and take me to new york
in a heart beat.
(The  coins   fell to the ground )
and empty were my pockets
The rain falls differently in a small town
it  cries   with you
(the grass was never  born)
and the trees in my town are old and
forgotten
Abounded  houses represent   the
people who left us  behind
every   gated community  promises
security   but   instead it locks up your dreams.
I´ll hold you down (you whipser)
soothing my frustration with  music
It´s like nature itself escaped
through the last   storm.
I´ll  scream  into  forsaken homes
and  put up posters   of  
you in my room
hoping   that you (come and get me)
But the postcard  was sent
from a world (only the unliving can live in)
Arpan Rathod Jun 2017
what can you do
when the one
who taught you
to live again
wants you to just
stop?
Jacob W Radford Aug 2017
When they **** they bring life.
When they bite they bring sorrow.
They are awake all night.
And all day tomorrow.
They don’t fear anything anymore.
They walk in packs called hordes.
When they find you, remain sane.
And save one bullet for your brain.
Protect your own, God permitting.
Fear the Dead. Fight the Living.
Was made in 2015 during high school years.
brandon nagley Oct 2015
i.

On this Halloween children art given load's of sugary treat's,
Whilst demon's roam, spirit's unseen and unknown,
Lurk around each abode, across the street;

ii.

Whilst the innocent adolescent's art having the fun of their era
Satan bringeth down the land of the free;
Through "tradition" and terror.

iii.

Not knowing the mask's meaning, the small one's put on,
The babes weareth Satanic horn's, with cutsie adorn;
As the lamented art more than alive, just beyond the dawn.

iv.

As tis this land worship's darkness, not knowing it's own becoming; blindness cometh out on Halloween, the night of false fun and adult strange release, a night to worship the unliving, as whilst they enjoy it not knowing, whom or what they praise is the beast.




©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry
As Americans not to many know the real meaning of Halloween..Halloween comes from Ireland Celtic's..., part of mine heritage the Irish...
As tis the word boogieman comes from mine own scottsman. They used to call it a boogie, or bad spirit in Scotland! As where Halloween comes from NOW in tradition with candy is that back in depression days 1930s children were acting nuts going around throwing rocks in buildings so on starting fires, stuff kid's should not be doing though I've done mine share of wrongs as a child lol and still am not perfect... Anyways to calm kids parents started making candy apple's like what there Is Now the candy apple with caramel and nuts... and other treats they made to keep kids who were doing wrong from doing more wrong.. So buying them off in other word's instead of watching their kid's lol.. As well where the treat idea even came from..one example back in the day long ago catholics ate a certain treat as people would go door to door asking for treats to eat for their loved one's departed soul.. They believed anyone who died in their family they thought might possibly be in purgatory they could eat these treats and pray for their loved ones in purgatory to get their loved brought into heaven, also the ancient Celtics had a festival celebrating the dead .... also a date to mark beginning of winter for them,The festival observed at this time was called Samhain (pronounced Sah-ween). It was the biggest and most significant holiday of the Celtic year. The Celts believed that at the time of Samhain, more so than any other time of the year, the ghosts of the dead were able to mingle with the living, because at Samhain the souls of those who had died during the year traveled into the otherworld. People gathered to sacrifice animals, fruits, and vegetables. They also lit bonfires in honor of the dead, to aid them on their journey, and to keep them away from the living. On that day all manner of beings were abroad: ghosts, fairies, and demons--all part of the dark and dread.  Then Christians came up with something which made no sense as a Christian I think the Christians back then were major hypocrite's as we now know as no ones perfect but as a christian seeing the Christians made up a  day to combat the Celtics tradition..All Saints' Day, also known as All Hallows, Day of All the Saints,Solemnity of All Saints, or Feast of All Saints is a solemnity celebrated on 1 November by the Roman Catholic Church of Latin rite and various Protestant denominations, and on the first Sunday after Pentecost in Eastern Catholicism and Eastern Orthodoxy, in honour of all the saints, known and unknown. The liturgical celebration begins at Vespers on the evening of 31 October and ends at the close of 1 November. It is thus the day before All Souls' Day. Which is funny the only reason Christians did that back then was to compete with the Celts which isn't Christian at all,,actually very ignorant!!!! Ignorant from the fact the Catholics back then and Christian sects were doing there own worshiping the dead of their saints so on and Bowing to saints : as Christians are taught to not bow to statues, or worship idols, being called IDOLATRY. Anyways yes I used to love,Halloween As a kid.. What kid doesn't... Though it's funny we call this nation a christian nation, though nothing Christian of this land hardly, as so much hatred for Christianity is being seen Now,more than ever in world and American Christian rights being slaughtered out of schools so on..,and we wonder why the countries in shambles! Lol!!! Just the statement of this poem is its ironic we teach our children demons satan so on is bad here, while at the same time dressing up babes in devil horn's, and demonic masks, not realizing the masks they wear are based off of real demon's I literally battle daily being scratched by them quite often and taunted by them, as the world's all an most religion's agree on demon's,, its not some,myth, this is reality! One I and million's of other's deal,with daily, yet the nations children are dressed as such? What craziness and foolishness!!!! Worshiping a holiday for darkness not knowing hell lies,right beneath thy feet? Im sure the people who went to hell in thousands of accounts I read ( real,place mentioned by most all religion's) - " with real account's" .. I bet the people who have been to hell and back want nothing to do with this holiday as the people dont know what even a quote" fun tradition" represents, something very real. Not just a horror flick..thanks for reading!!! Lol know this one won't be popular based on " american tradition: though because its traditional doesn't mean its right... Seems the world forgot what right is and morality is.
kk Jan 2019
im unliving. unloving. unlovely, within.
my skin buzzes under
moonlit nights. my fingers dig in.
i ruin myself, over and over.
i peel away
what makes me imperfect,
only to find
that
my sins
always grow back.
i am barely living.
the night peels back
these layers of tentative
satisfaction.
i find my mind naked
underneath the blackness. i lack
the ability to hide.
my barriers are meaningless,
factless,
as they really are.
where do i go to hide from the truth
while under this moonlight?
will i ever be perfect?
will i ever be great?
will i even be good enough?
i know the answer. i know the answer.
and there's nowhere to burrow away from it,
but my fingers find a way.
into my scalp, into my lips,
into my face,
and blood blooms.
i can still feel that.
i can still love that
sharp, stinging, pain.
im back! its been a while, i apologize. im hurting again, unfortunately. i dont know when ill be able to escape from these feelings. maybe never. and i hate that. i want to be okay so badly. this isnt very good, but im just trying to get all of this out, somewhere.
Michael Marchese Jun 2016
I write still to show
The flaws I've corrected
Before I must go
Here's some I've perfected

I’m breakable bones
My weakness is real
You can crush them with stones
But my spirit is steel

I've howled depressions
With lone wolf confide
I've roared at oppressions
With lion king pride

I rose unforgiving
From indifferent graves
To haunt those unliving
As apathy's slaves

I council with silence
Keep quiet rapport
With deafening violence
Of thoughts waging war

I’m pop country's menace
Funk you profanity
Spit-venom vengeance
And breakdowns of sanity

I’ve sung innuendos
Love's chorus revised
By symphonic crescendos
Two beats harmonized

I’ll never stop trying
To save this blue sphere
Our mother is crying
Apocalypse tears

I move hyperactive
My sprinting brain sped
Beyond the distractive
Outrunning my dread

I’m tempests emerging
Typhoons kept at bay
And now my storm surging
Will blow you away

I’ve fearlessly gazed
Upon Grim's complexion
The hell that was raised
Was just my reflection

I channel my hate
As my anger stream grows
Into rivers irate
Then tranquility flows

I form nations in clouds
Above law and border
No star-spangled shrouds
In my higher world order

I’m heat-seeker lines
Poetic napalms
Metaphor landmines
And ticking rhyme bombs

I've warped my perceptions
And force-choking grips  
And Death Star conceptions
From jedi mind trips

And I’ll leave you assured
My crusade will not yield
Until peace is ensured
And these wounds have all healed
Incurred as the ward
Of my muses concealed
Now commanding a horde
Of the furies revealed
I have severed accord
With the fates I have sealed
  I've matured and endured
On this life battlefield
With this pen as my sword
And this pain as my shield
For I am the lord
Of the words that I wield
Dan Oct 2019
The First World War destroyed anything beautiful that existed within the human spirit
You cannot simply walk away from industrial mass slaughter unaltered
You cannot hide it behind decades later mass slaughters of equal importance
You cannot hide behind getting excited for next mass slaughter
WW1 may have been the force that killed anyone’s feelings of honor or bravery in war
And that’s almost as great a tragedy as all the bloodlines severed
War and violence and conflict will always be with us
It is deep within all animal DNA and no matter how many daisies are put into the barrels of rifles you will never escape it
There is a great tragedy to violence but at times there is a beauty and there is a necessity
When the Soviet forces finally breached the walls of the Führerbunker
Don’t you think they were smiling?
Reality is never black and white
It is shades of tragedy, shame, beauty, and glory

It may be seen as “Eurocentric” of me, among other things, to carry WW1 with this weight
It was not a purely European conflict of course, but the main theater was
Besides, I am descended from Europeans, and some nights when all is silent I wonder if I can hear my ancestors weeping
Or are they screaming?
We as a species have allowed our greatest inheritance to be squandered
Pure wild nature
We have sold it for same Starbucks coffee shop in every college town, Kroger, and corner of New York City
We sold the forests for New York City
Are some sins unforgivable?
In the place of the old growths we build buildings of subjective beauty
Subjective beauty always bows to objective beauty
Yes, there is objective beauty
Buildings that are built in the Brutalist style are subjectively beautiful
Forests, undeveloped fields of flowers, the rushing flow of a river
THESE ARE THINGS OF OBJECTIVE BEAUTY
To argue otherwise makes you a liar or a coward

Unironic nihilists have none of my respect
They simply do not deserve it
If you want to be taken seriously find something greater than yourself
Something outside yourself
Something that came before you, exists above you, and will be there long after you are not
That’s why I chose God and Nature
Some see these as interchangeable
I do not but I’m not here to split hairs
The problem with modern society is we have become ironic nihilists, which is almost as bad
Everything becomes chalked up to subjectivity
We crack jokes about how it’s all meaningless and eventually down the line we believe it
This is a pathetic cope
The meaning of our lives, like the objectively beauty of nature, has been bought or stolen
You were not born to consume product
You were not born to work and make things of cheap plastic
You were not born to enjoy next superhero movie, twice a year, every year, until you die
To our ancestors our lives now must seem like decades long suicide pacts
I want out of this state of unliving
We were born to be physically strong
We were born to create things of beauty
We were born to meet hardships, embrace conflict, overcome them, conquer them become something superior to what you once were
YOU WERE BORN TO BE ALIVE
CREATE THE MEANING IN YOUR LIFE IF YOU HAVE TO
Just please
Don’t be a nihilist

I try to take my multivitamin and multi mineral vitamin every single morning
Maybe a fish oil pill or two throughout the day
I have become consumed with the idea of getting more sun on my skin
I have been consumed with the idea of improving my gut bacteria
I want to talk about these things without sounding like Patrick Bateman
To improve your inner flora it is recommended you replace processed and fried foods with sauerkraut, kimchi, yogurt, kefir, or something along those lines
I know sunshine and sauerkraut aren’t going to fix your depression or rid you of your years of trauma
But there’s no shame in trying
On Friday I bought a full 16oz jar of kimchi and proceeded to eat the entire thing in less than 24 hours
I will never apologize
I will never feel shame

I scream all of these things into a bathroom mirror when I am alone
I wrote this poem for myself
I wrote it for all of you
I want out of this soul crushing alienating techno industrial hellscape
I want the nightmare to end but I’m in too deep
If I melt down my cell phone, crash my car into an empty Wendy’s, and make it my moral and ethical duty to take down the power grid, I may get expelled from grad school
I might get arrested
I might just be forgotten
So for sake of legality I cannot endorse looking up how a cheap bandsaw can cut down a cell tower
I do no endorse bringing the technological nightmare to its knees for the good of all living things
I do not endorse arson, even when no one gets hurt
It’s a mean world out there
I only endorse breaking free
Any way you can
K Balachandran Dec 2011
1
Water lilies remembered her
as one of them, lotus buds nodded, jealousy set  thick in their eyes
her fingers were white lily buds
she balanced on the big, smooth, round
pebble stones, like a danseuse in an
under water ballet,you are buoyant here than anywhere,
as if you live a life after death
your bodies pale and water caressed, create an illusion of 'unliving'
2.
she tickled my skin-
goosebumps  appeared allover
as small bubbles going up..up till they burst above water
I can't forget her first  kiss , underwater
my lungs were filled with her feminine fragrance like  smoke of cannabis
an experience that sizzled the water, never to forget
(even if she would never come back from the unfathomable  love, water gives)
                                         3
                    I was naked, she too, like a lily in bloom that was raveling in love
                    as if it was the last season we had
                    she was magic in body and soul
                    I peeped in to the limitless with her entangling me and at the end,
                   I saw  halo around her pointed  *******,
                   that have become lotus buds.
                   I couldn't take my eyes off them
after the magical transformation.
                   The lake was totally out of the world
                    the mossy patch between her legs
                   had a fluorescent glow intermittent,
                   she was transforming every minute in to  a form of water life, I understood.
                   like a fish, coral, moss or water plant
                   I , for my dismay remained as before; nothing was to be done about it,
                   like many of the things brought change in a person's life.
                                             4.
                                                      Sun, in the voice of light
                                                      calle­d us from above,
                                                      his pranks tickled her and me
                                                       like ghosts of dead women,
                                                        fo­und their watery grave here,
                                                       we played with tortoises and frogs
                                                       made for us crowns with algae and water flowers.
                                                        ­                   5
                                                       A silvery  snake, thin, with some intent
                                                       coiled around her narrow waist.
                                                       eyes in its sharp pointed head,
                                                      inten­tly looked in to mine.
                                                      she was  now a dolphin without fins
                                                       then,  I received waves of clear foreboding
                                                      ­ time to return to the shores, I tried to tell
                                                      but massive sheets of water ate my muffled words!
                                                      Swim­ming up a water column, she smiled that detached smile
                                                      alrea­dy, she was a mermaid , I could see
                                                      I stammered"You..promised..
                                       ­                                      to come back..
                                                          ­                   we have promises to keep,
                                                           ­                  that we exchanged..."
                                                   ­   Under water time runs in a way we can't understand
                                                      ­one becomes a flow, one with altered time..
                                                       she was just a glow in the depth when I saw her last.
                                                          O­
Halo Nov 2017
Look at the girl,
She's flawless.
Her inner beauty shines so bright.
You have to try and play keep-away,
Try with all your might.
She is Flawless.

She says she trusts you,
But you know she does not.
She wants to keep him all to herself,
And she has tied you in a knot.
She is not Flawless.

Look at yourself,
You're definitely NOT flawless.
You may have inner beauty but it is dull and unliving,
Your glasses make your eyes seem too big
And your friends are unforgiving.
You are not Flawless.

No one is Flawless,
No one is Perfect,
No one is You,
And you are You in every aspect.

Be Yourself,
No matter how crazy you are.
You may not belong here,
But there is always somewhere afar.
You are flawless in your own way.

Flawless
Sean Kassab May 2012
Lay my head to rest on the pillow of sleeplessness and nightmares, the painting of my life on the canvass of linen and tweed and fears. Hiding scars and screams that dream and leave me lonely still. Restless thoughts that carry over restless wandering lives lost, unbeating hearts frozen to unliving and unfeeling wills.
Alice Burns Sep 2013
You should just say goodbye
Try to forget me instead of pretending to
Move on by walking away. Physically, geographically
Not just sexually I know that's easy for you
But it's impossible for me

We are meant to be
Our bodies perfectly fit together as our tree branches entwine
I found a triangle marking on my back just as on yours
It's as if we were created just for each other
And I'm reminded with every heart beat that calls your name

I love you
With the purest and truest love ever imaginable
You know that wont die
And I know you can feel it too, because you want me to stop
But you know I can't, and won't

I gave you my heart and my all
It's not meant for anyone else
I cannot take it back for it would just rot by my side as a corpse, unliving
One day becoming another ghost that kills me, when now it is the one thing that keeps me alive.
EC Pollick Sep 2015
Out of nowhere, a message in a bottle.
The letter that never came
finally arrived.

I waited for that letter for six years.
And as soon as I got it,
I realized I hadn’t been waiting for it
for a while now.

The way is shut.

You know what you do when a ghost comes back into your life?
You remember it’s a ghost. It’s unliving. It’s not real.
And you move on.
Jamie Jan 2017
Like a summer snowstorm,
as impossible and unpredictable
Like the soft footstep on a creaky stair,
as hollow and as worn
Like a pebble in the middle of the sand,
as foreign and unwanted
Like warm breath on an icy day,
as frozen and unyielding
Like a beating heart without a body,
as unlikely and unliving
Like a memory I have forgotten,
as treasured and as rotten
Alice Burns Jul 2013
As always, I'm laying on my bed
That is not yet used the way it is supposed to be
Instead of sleep, it supports my unsettling weight during nightly activities
And even though it appears unliving, I feel the need to apologize for my actions

Despite my repetitiveness
And insanity, that others would perceive uncontrollable
My motions, although unchanged and just as chaotic
Are now paired with a head more secure in its place

And I went out, a shock, isn't it?
The company of voices didn't win my attention completely tonight
Opposing their guidelines, I found others to interact with
And in returning, i was met with long faced whispers

Why the invisible frown, I would ask, if question would receive answer
But I know fully well that conversation in their dictionary is commenting or narration
And I know well the gist of their answer
From insults jealously thrown, in attempt to dim my replenished glow

They can't give me that happiness
Even worse, they can't possess it for themselves
So they try to distract me by provoking emotions, sadder in impact
Hoping that I disembark this roller coaster of pure delight

But tonight, as I said before
My head is secure, holding mind safe within
No tricks or reverse psychology can prevail
I'm enjoying the ride, and I'm not getting off.
Umi Oct 2018
Locked into a single room, with no connection,
You may look out on occaison to see the freedom they took from you,
The way you were thinking was troublesome, your spirit too broken,
With an empty gaze, counting the passing minutes, hours, days...
Pointless, is the hope to break free is lost within this empty space,
But at last you have your memories, burning to a fading ember,
Remember, you are still human despite what they tell you,
Close your eyes and doze off, the world of dreams will give you a goodly home to which you may return when you are in despair,
Months pass, then years your thoughts cannot form correctly anymore, a beast unliving with no soul left to feel and with no mind left to think has been forgotten about since a past long gone,
Becoming a figment of imagination, a person no one knows,
Being the tale of one shadow, the legend of a destructive demon,
And all of that because you couldn't protect your heart in love,
Nor open your eyes, you were killed, then sealed into the unknown,
All your worries, all your pain and suffering, don't matter here.
Without a soul you can no longer even cry.

~ Umi
Seán Mac Falls Jun 2017
.
It's like trying with nothing there,
Hoping for connection, without
Knowing that you and I are lost,
Separate, etched in marbled face
Of stone, you never saw me real,
Nor I you, it was only happenstance,
The dead do not know they are dead,
As they careen in deserts bleeding,
Round living hearts, I was always
More than half divined, unliving,
It is not my fault you are blind,
Take what nothing's I once offer
In this spiny desert of Saguaro
And running sands of no relief,
Cast your visions skywards,
As mirages are miraculous,
Pray under blasted moon
And weep with me.
Warren Jul 2017
Year 1

To look back now, I see we’ve come so far,
Our first year seems so very long ago.
But like those packing peanuts in my car,
The memories, from me, will never go.

The first year brought some questions and some doubts
Would I see war? Did I know how to clean?
But one thing we were ever sure about,
“I love you,” was a thing we’d always mean.

In that first year so much was still unknown,
We had a lot to figure out (still do)
But I was glad to forge the path now shown,
Because I would be taking it with you.

To say that I am glad that we are wed:
No truer statement ever has been said.



Year 2

No truer statement ever has been said:
My love for you has never ceased to grow.
I thought I’d known what love meant, but instead,
Our second year showed there was more to know.

As we began to settle into life,
You learned you had to tell me what you wish.
You showed me what it meant to love a wife,
And sometimes that just meant to clean a dish.

Those first few confrontations were a chore,
You were not used to speaking out your mind.
But as you opened up I welcomed more,
Learning to serve you, I could get behind.

Throughout our second year truth was the star,
We’ve ever grown to come to where we are.



Year 3

We’ve ever grown to come to where we are,
Our third year brought some changes of its own.
I started teaching; stopped selling cigars,
And that’s the year that we bought our first home.

Some bricks and mortar, walls and carpeting,
Have no real meaning when they’re left alone.
But you could turn that cold unliving thing,
Into a place we proudly called our home.

We painted rooms, changed lights, I “flipped the deck.”
You decorated with such love and care.
We made the space our own, each little speck
But really it was “home” ‘*** you were there.

And as into our fourth year we were led,
We had some plans, but followed God’s instead.



Year 4

We had some plans, but followed God’s instead,
We both had jobs; we wanted kids but when?
And after all, you liked to plan ahead,
So we said “wait” and God said “Think again.”

Despite our planning and some science too,
We found that our “two” soon would become “three”
I was delighted, quickly so were you,
(After a few stunned tears were shed on me.)

Throughout our lives, we’ve ever sought control,
And God has said, “No, I’ll take it from here.”
Once we relinquish and make Him our goal,
That His way’s better always soon comes clear.

And with the first of four sent like a dove,
Our family’s grown in number and in love.



Year 5

Our family’s grown in number and in love,
Each daughter born, another to hold dear.
But more than just our kids sent from above,
Our friends are family too, that much is clear.

Sometimes we take the time to think things through
We talk, we pray, we plan, we do the work.
We do not make the call unless it’s true,
But then sometimes we up and move to York.

When we moved here, it wasn’t too clear why,
And yet, despite that, God was in the move.
He blessed us with true friends, both you and I,
Who’ve helped us both our marriage to improve.

Year five left us more than a house to show,
With friendships that have watched and helped us grow.



Year 6

With friendships that have watched and helped us grow,
We’ve learned to trust in God, and His good plan.
And though what was to come we did not know,
He was still sovereign, we’d soon understand.

We had one child; we knew we wanted more,
But thought that we should wait a little while.
And yet, despite our plans, just as before,
We were surprised again, as was God’s style.

This second gift from God, as with the first,
Came to us sooner than we’d thought was wise.
But here again, a line we’d well-rehearsed,
Though often us, nothing could God surprise.

As He has o’er and o’er displayed His love,
Our faith has ever grown in God above.



Year 7

Our faith has ever grown in God above,
As of his love and care we’ve been assured.
And understanding what it means to love,
Has grown as through some changes we’ve endured.

One thing that’s changed a lot over the years,
My jobs (my resumé is very long).
But even as I’ve changed jobs and careers,
Your love and your respect have remained strong.

As I have tried and tried to find my place,
And tried again only to soon abort,
One thing that’s ever with me in the race,
Is knowing I can count on your support.

No matter what may change I’m fine, I know,
With your respect a shelter when winds blow.



Year 8

With your respect a shelter when winds blow,
We’ve weathered though some storms caused us to lurch.
And through this trip to where we do not know,
We’ve had the steadfast anchor of our church.

Year eight began and found us once again,
Embarking on a new uncharted course.
We joined a group of young ladies and men,
To plant a church; we started with such force.

Over the years, people have come and gone,
The church has seen its share of pain and strife.
But one thing that has helped me struggle on,
Is doing so united with my wife.

While through it all few things have stayed the same.
God’s taught us to rely on His great name.



Year 9

God’s taught us to rely on His great name,
A lesson sometimes difficult to learn.
One thing that’s taught us how His grace to claim,
Is our four daughters, each a gift in turn.

Our girls are treasures, precious to behold.
They love to dance and sing, they love the arts,
They love to hear our families’ tales retold,
And like all Baileys, always laugh at farts.

But it’s not all rainbows and butterflies,
We struggle to stay patient with their sin.
But if we see them through the Father’s eyes,
The grace He’s shown to us flows from within.

Our daughters bring us joy, too much to tell,
As we have sought to raise our family well.



Year 10

As we have sought to raise our family well,
Our life has taken many twists and turns.
At ten years in, so much to us befell,
And there was much of marriage we had learned.

When newly married, friends had said to us,
As we were struggling to make it through,
“When ten years married, then you will adjust.”
Their words, though hard-heard then, have proven true.

In early years we tried to figure out,
Just what it meant to truly love someone.
But now our love was true, we had no doubt.
Although we know the work is never done.

Since then our marriage hasn’t been the same,
With sacrifice and love to fan the flame.



Year 11

With sacrifice and love to fan the flame,
Our marriage is a beacon in the night.
And so when challenges at work soon came,
I knew with you I could withstand the fight.

I thought I’d known what God called me to be,
An educator in “the good and true.”
But soon it was quite clear for us to see,
That God was calling me to something new.

So much of me had been wrapped up inside,
Of education and the parts therein.
You helped me see while walking by my side,
Identity is not in work, but Him.

Through struggles and when things are going well,
Our love’s a story that is sweet to tell.



Year 12

Our love’s a story that is sweet to tell,
The triumphs that we’ve shared along the way,
And our fair share of challenges as well,
Have made our marriage what it is today.

At some point when we took a look around,
We realized ours was not the newest love.
We helped some younger couples and we found
That giving counsel fit us like a glove.

Pre-marriage counsel’s caused me to reflect,
On how far we have come in these few years.
We’ve ever grown in love and in respect,
And though not easy, I that growth hold dear.

And so, the good and bad, the thick and thin,
I’d gladly go through all these years again.



Year 13

I’d gladly go through all these years again,
Despite the bumps we’ve had along this ride.
I’d face the worst of it and shout “Amen!”
So long as I can do so by your side.

Some struggles I have faced have been unique,
Not from the outside but from ghosts within.
But when my melancholy makes me weak,
I feel your love and find some strength therein.

Though darkness seeks to overtake my mind,
And drown me in a sea of fears and doubt,
I look above the surface and I find,
You ready stand on shore to pull me out.

I’ll gladly see this journey to its end,
With you my bride, my life, my love, my friend.



Year 14

With you my bride, my life, my love, my friend,
I’ve seen how sweet a person’s life can get.
But looking on this last year, I contend,
That God had more of trust to teach us yet.

In one sense, this has been our hardest year:
Heart surgery, sickness, and broken bones.
And yet despite it all we’ve never feared,
Because we were not facing it alone.

“Better or Worse?” was asked, we said “I do.”
And through this “worse” year, that’s still my reply.
Each challenge has the lesson taught anew,
To on each other and on God rely.

And though this year has left us with some scars,
To look back now, I see we’ve come so far.



Year 15

To look back now, I see we’ve come so far.
No truer statement ever has been said.
We’ve ever grown to come to where we are,
We had some plans, but followed God’s instead.

Our family’s grown in number and in love,
With friendships that have watched and helped us grow.
Our faith has ever grown in God above,
With your respect a shelter when winds blow.

God’s taught us to rely on His great name,
As we have sought to raise our family well.
With sacrifice and love to fan the flame,
Our love’s a story that is sweet to tell.

I’d gladly go through all these years again,
With you, my bride, my life, my love, my friend.
PK Wakefield Mar 2012
.                                                                                            i
                                                                                               have stood in right fields
                                                                                                 looking thickly dark up
                                                                                                   at sky blue sun cloud and
                                                                                                      ***** steeply careening night
                                                                                                        digging little graves
                                                                                                           a 1000 1000 little graves
                                                                                                          burning tiny tombstones
                                                                                                         and keen with every hair
                                                                                                        on end lifting up my eyes
                                                                                                       to fornicate with the dainty
                                                                                                      fraction of frailing day's
                                                                                                     curving head
                                                                                                   i
                                                                                        drank
                                                                            of its corpse
                                                                         and was like
                                                            living and unliving
                                                flesh bone *** and magic
                                                  of dust and salt tasting
                                                     wind by the elbows
                                                     of incessantly skin
                                                   ocean stars spring
                                                    (and winter was
                                                   there but barely
                                             and it was almost
                                         warm and i pulled
                                       the loose leather of
                                         my jacket a little
                                        and
                                              





                                            )
Alice Burns Dec 2013
I've loved a man much
So much we bore children in dreams
More alive than they were real
-But-
I loved this man much
Too much our children were killed without my knowing
Death was delivered before they were delivered themselves
I loved my children much
Before his fire burnt them to ashes
I loved my children much
And much more do I love them still

I loved a man much
No more since he exchanged their lives for gold
Their  death was at his doing and my love kept me blind
Too late I saw them no more, too late to still hope for life
Yet with the heart I had once given to him I keep them half alive
Never shall I hold my children in these arms that feel
Yet forever will I embrace them as they eternally embrace me
I mourn their unliving with every tear I cry
A dream our future will always remain
But a paradise our lives will be
James Walker Mar 2016
Am I the only one who
still
thinks about the
pains and sufferings
the trauma and
tragedy
it's always out there
just beyond the walls that constantly
surround
Waiting to engulf us as we
leave the
house
they are there bleeding
somewhere in the world
Crows and
vultures
salivate
as they sense a soon-amongst-the-dead
cockroaches clamber to the top of their
dens as the boots
of the unliving
soil
their beds
we speak of light
there's a bright one
up there
in the sky but,
on dusky nights
it seems to show us
the dark
instead
© Copyright
Seán Mac Falls Dec 2015
It's like trying with nothing there,
Hoping for connection, without
Knowing that you and I are lost,
Separate, etched in marbled face
Of stone, you never saw me real,
Nor I you, it was only happenstance,
The dead do not know they are dead,
As they careen in deserts bleeding,
Round living hearts, I was always
More than half divined, unliving,
It is not my fault you are blind,
Take what nothing's I once offer
In this spiny desert of Saguaro
And running sands of no relief,
Cast your visions skywards,
As mirages are miraculous,
Pray under blasted moon
And weep with me.
PK Wakefield Aug 2014
wet softness
that by does

(
            arching

upon

             arching
(

lean into of

leaning,


suppose a wen.


that of hurried ugly millions lurch
on lurching bodies of tired always to be,
courses with new old obscureness of
brusque hideous hope. that hope
of to be not always tired of being–

to find some seed, some
new rind of dazzzling health
in unliving mounds of hurt asphalt.
muteD Dec 2018
Nothing seems worth it anymore .
Dreaming seems pointless .
Wishing seems senseless .
And living ?
It just seems ridiculous ..
I am hopelessly lost in despair .
In need of just a lil guidance
Yet I'm too far gone to help
And it's far too late to notice.

that I am

stuck ,
In the Land of the Unliving .
Feelings that aren't even feelings .
Thinking things that shouldn't be thoughts .
Remembering things that couldn't be memories .
Everything is
Mixing and mixing
And matching and mixing
And matching and matching
Until it's well passed
Mixed
And everything has been
Matched
And I have been drained .

Something is
missing
and I can't find it .
Whether it's my heart or my head ,
I can't quite confess
or recognize
under the scrutiny
I am under ,

Attack that is .

Each flashback
Rapes my mind
Over and over again .
Each ******
In and out , in and out
Leaves a piece of
'nothing' behind .
Like a dried up grape ,
What makes me ME
has been ****** out of me .
Just call me a raisin ,
I am nothing
but a dried up piece of something
that used to be
a being .
Hank Van Well Jr Oct 2014
Forgetting her

Trying to forget her is like trying to have not loved her at all, for everything around me reminds me of her , the radio torments me on a daily routine , I awaken to the chatting birds only to be reminded that she is not laying beside me , as id open my eyes to her sleeping face amidst there song ...... the summer breeze still carries the scent of her hair , and the budding flowers make me think of her beauty , my dreams have become nightmares with the knowing that ill wake up and she will be gone , my heart has gone from an anticipatory gallop to a lost lonely stroll echoing inside it's  hallow walls, for she had become so much apart of my everything , that its impossible to forget her without going back in time , and unliving it , for my heart is truly broken , and I miss her with the pieces , and I wonder if I will ever love like that again , and if anyone will ever love her like I did ....
janelle Jun 2020
i expect nothing less
from the steadfast skyscrapers soaring to the heavens;
as they touch the first star they could reach
and reach for dreams they didn't know they even had

in their slumber,
i dwell on these hours and the colors
that paint the skyline before closing my eyes;
then i dream of a more colorful palette
that changes the view, wakes the unliving, and lightens the weight on my shoulders

i expect nothing more
from me
as the nearest star i could touch is my lightbulb,
and the dream i'm reaching for is a whole new canvas;
i'm still yet to figure out if i fit in the picture
wrote this a while ago while i was pondering on what i want in life and staring at the city skyline because it was so pretty that night
aL Nov 2018
Move my strings
I am your toy
Want your delicate touch
Manipulate this unliving body
Give me a soul
A day without your fingertips
It's a long grief
Ren^3 you are the one.
Lily Priest Mar 10
I see the world horizontally,
Soft sheets all stuffy
With potential hardly realised.
My eyes, heavy and unhappy,
Are blinded by the muted sunshine
Mocking me through the blinds.
The hum of life,
Doing fine just outside the window,
I feel its energy,
Almost laugh at its impossibility.

Because I bear the world brutally,
Confined and coffin-ed
In an ache that leaves no stain.
Lady Macbeth,
My crime is wept on evidence of
unliving,
Those shrines of *******
Laid to rest around the head
Of this tomb effigy,
Chronically enshrined in invisible agony
While the world just carries on.
Long term sufferer of endometriosis. On top of the not being believed and waiting for forever for a diagnosis, there's those days of not being able to anything. It's hard not to feel like a failure in those moments, like you're guilty of the crime of not living, not being.
lena Feb 2018
I suppose the happy are dead
The broken are unliving
I rest in graveyards, under clouds
Watching the world spin
Twist fingers through the waving grass
That grows around the graves
Ivy weaving over crumbling stones
Letters faded and worn now
But still a stone, standing
Holding up the ceiling of grief
For the body locked beneath
They're happy places, graveyards
Resting grounds for noticed souls
Cherished in life and loved in death

— The End —