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As I stand before the mountain of confidence called hope, I see a clear path up, not too steep, not too straight, but this path is embodied with rewards to the top.

At the top, there is a magnificent tree made of gold, silver leaves and Copper roots. Hope mountain held a perfect prize awaiting me, a Tree called Faith.
This sight to behold was everything I wanted, everything before me was so clear, but at the bottom where I was, there was a River.

This River was called Shame.
This river was filthy, the water was calm where I was, but looking downstream I could see the rapids of rage, the ripples of conditioning before the raging rapids were inviting.

The dreary stonewalling fortification on the banks allowed no light through, downstream was scary and looked impossible, why would I go that way? why even look?
I looked upstream and saw a blinding light, what could this be? I was so curious, so I waited, a true gentleman always waits.

Two days later the light took shape, as it came closer I could finally see, I could see a lifeboat with a caring nurturing beautiful woman.

As this beautiful woman came closer, I could see the river was being supplied by this woman, I could see she was the source.

The river of Shame was being fed by this woman, this filth in front of me was coming from her, but the beauty was something I've never seen, this beauty had me curious.

This beauty made me forget of the supply to the river.
  What I saw wasn't real all the sudden, what I believed was now real.
She came close enough for my heart to be heard, since she had no heart she was envious, she hated what others admired.

She wanted my wholesome heart, so she used her falsehood love bombing to create one, dreamingly admiring the mountain, we were planning different paths right then.
As I stared at the golden Tree of Faith glowing upon Hope mountain, I didn't notice the river was rising, as the numbing waters were rising it covered my feet, I didn't notice she also took a piece of my heart to claim as her own.

She used toxic gas and light to create a projection that this heart was hers to give back to me.

I didn't know any better so I accepted this ambient abused heart, this unfelt abuse gave me amnesia, this hidden poison of my cognitive dissonance gave her all of me.

Since she had nothing and that's what she craves, I had everything so she wanted to enslave.
I forget about the mountain with the tree even being there. I forgot I was here.

Her lifeboat was awkward, it was shaky,
it has imperfections, it has holes,
   her lifeboat is sinking,
     her heart is missing.
my knightly kind hearted empathy,
   my buffering and nurturing sympathy         pick this beautiful woman up
      I pick this gem up because of her idealization of me.
I can clean this insidious gem because she makes me believe, but through the veil I cannot see.
I throw her over my shoulder to carry all her weight, it's hard to move, hard to breathe, building a new boat was extremely hard, carrying her pain was extremely hard.

Everyone thought it was impossible to do it, my shear will power to commit ****** one foot in front of the other, I just didn't know that going downstream was impossible.

What about the mountain?

I couldn't remember from the amnesia, the dark night blinded my sight of the mountain, the drug in me was you and it consumed, i fell in love with misery and misery loves it's companies.

I stared the snake behind the veil in the eyes, standing tall on her pedastool made of spackle it breaks, I fall onto piercing confusion, I pull out shrapnel's of dissolution, I'm covered in her blood of invalidation.

I'm already floating in the boat with her, this wasn't my plan, this wasn't my reality.
I gaze upon this woman, sun shining behind her, no clouds in the sky.
floating downstream she tells me it's faster, that we'll end up behind the mountain higher.

I'm not worried now, I'm now contempt with shame.
I already forgot reality, I already forgot i'm going downstream, I forgot the searing pain, I forgot what I believe.

I'm relaxed, I'm tired, I'm still happy in love with this spellbound misery.

As we drift slowly through the stonewalls, no light shines through, I ask her for assurance, it's getting dark, I'm getting scared.

That's when the veil comes off, that's when the unnatural beauty grows quiet, that's when my voice screams silently within these stone walls.

This isn't her, this isn't real,
I know there's love I can feel, that was our bond, that was our deal, not to steal.

I fall over board and the water is cold, there's leaches, the debris is so random, the shameful water is moving faster, the all consuming cold confusion, random gaslighting and triangulations moving in around me faster.

I immediately can't bear it. My heart pulsates hard, my mind misfires my flight mode, i cannot intake the overbearingly unowned toxic Shame, her coldness activated my fawn mode, I froze, I start to doze.

luckily she had my leg, luckily she knew excessive admiration CPR, just as my body went limp in the agonizing River of Shame, she pulls me out. luckily she got me just in time, luckily she saved my life.

I awoke away from the stonewalls, it's sunny and safe again, we're together through impossible odds, we built this boat and she saved my life.

The abuse amnesia made me forget, the cognitive dissonance was real, I am not.

The mountain was now farther away, I was worried, I grew fearful, what I wanted looked farther away, that's when everything became gloomy, my goal was no longer there, but she didn't care, she knew where the river went, I believed her, I still do.

The ambient abuse made me anxious, the atmosphere was maddening of fear, it carried anxiety, I couldn't see it, but I was breathing it in.

Her eyes were so incapacitating, her heart disorienting, her soul captivating, she had a better plan, for us to press on and build another boat, to add another life, to believe in her, to not stare at the knife.

We build another boat, were out of the shame waters finally, she's helping me, were soon to be a real family, but the only thing real here was me.

Everything is better on the land, were dry, it's sunny, it's better to feel the nirvanic sand. It's here we bring our new seed, to be sprouted downstream.

I now believe in this new mountain downstream, I don't even remember the mountain I seen, were pressing on downstream past a levy, were now in the River of Grief, we're off to the end of make believe.

This river is really turbulent with rapids of devaluation, the splashes make me irrelevant, the dinigrating actions around make me small, I feel lost and confused, nothing makes sense anymore at all.

At the mouth of the River of Grief it opens up into a valley. She jumped onto a rock of vanity and pushed the tree of disloyalty upon the boat.

This throws me out head first, but luckily I have our seed safe and sound, luckily I learned how to drown.

I turn around falling and see her at the top staring down, she smirked and throws enormously heavy anvils of bereavement to make me fall harder, to keep me down longer.

Evil is real, but only if you believe, I crave the flattery of illusionary love, I still had amnesia, I love misery, the feeling reminds me I can feel, I love my slow death so I say I'll find you, I have the seed, I'll wait for you.

As I fall the thorns of numbing premeditation pierce, the pain is searing, as I fall i'm locked on her, my falsehood of love is still enduring, I don't feel the discard, I ignore the distaste.

I land in a field of hopium still protecting the seed, my amnesia is now worse, I can't remember her smirk, I can't remember the weighted anvils of bereavement, I can't remember the tree of disloyalty, I still can't remember the mountain.

My movement is heavy like concrete, my heart sits down at my feet, my mind is nowhere to be found, my spirit is fading on this ground.

I gather everyone from a nearby village to find her, it's impossible, they can't see her, she never existed, my amnesia was now delusional, the hopium mixed realities, nothing was real, there was nothing I could truly feel because everything was wrong, but I believe misery needs me and I yearned.

I say she's at the top, we have to throw her a rope,
they say it won't reach what isn't there,
I say we need a ladder to throw the rope, they say the ladder isn't safe that high.
  
I say everyone can hold the ladder while I climb perilously to the top, they say it will never work, but since they can see me, since they see a part of me is still real, everyone holds the ladder for me.
      
While I acend with my broken dignity, I acend with a fatigued heart, I acend to find what I believe, no matter how hard I try, I will be taking my destined decent.

The top of the ladder is shaky, I spent forever getting there, it's scary, the heights bring great fear over me, more than I've ever felt, but my knighthood makes me overcome anything.

I suppress, the seed is safe down below, I'm here to impress, I can see her now, only much less.

Her snake skin is peeling, the sun scorched blistering skin shows immense pain, witnessing this releases empathy, the caring knighthood in me naturally wanted to save her again.

So I wrap what's left of my discarded soul upon my broken fatigued heart and I use my trauma bonded mind as bait.

I throw her the rope,
she catches the rope,
I tell her to tie off the rope,
she ties a noose with the rope,
her neck is now wrapped with this rope.

If she falls I can't stop the tightening of the rope, if she falls I already know I'll jump for her and release from her neck this rope.

We jump together and I release the rope around her neck, I see the ground coming fast, but I love this snake, I'll die for this snake because I believe, false beauty inside is all I see.

I grab her and turn her away from the rushing ground, I fell once, I can take the fall again.

She is already hurt, immense pain, she will not feel no more pain, because I'm not hurting for I'm with misery again, I believe I can take all the pain for her, the hopium was numbing everything I consumed.

I awoke to a distressed angel, flawed personality, beautiful nightmare, mirroring the devil, but what I saw was a veil over the snake eyes, what I saw was what I believed before.

What I had wasn't real, who I am is no longer there, for I had ambience amnesia, nothing around me fit, nothing around me was grounded, nothing around me was divine.

The eyes that gazed upon me were captivating, spriling, time froze and only she was moving, the feeling was there, a drug within me, the drug was her and I longed for the misery, I yearned for the pain to remember what was real, I needed the intermittent reinforcement, I wanted my all bets in investment back and I risked a short sale.

We faded into the black, into a new boat, she made this boat, she had plugs in  holes of the boat I couldn't see, I believed it was perfect, I didn't know what awaited was a life long anguish.

I still didn't know what was downstream is impossible, I didn't know this new River of Anguish has piranhas of triangulation, I didn't know the rapids were of oppression, I didn't know the rocks causing these rapids she already put in place, I didn't know it was so black around me in this place, I didn't know my seed would become two, I didn't know I would have to choose.

I didn't know true love was in front of me in my hands and not behind the veil, I thought it was her, all the villagers knew, but as I drew closer to the snake the darkness only grew and the seeds too.

The feeling of my lingering mortality reverberates, she built me a coffin and chained it to my ankles, with this immense weight, I carry it with me just in case.

We floated very fast down this River of Anguish, everything seemed fine to all others including me, the darkened skies covered the evil, the cold waters made my body numb, the seeds were held up high to be be safe from the tormenting waters.

As I held them up high, I didn't realize she was still holding the schraded butcher knife in the water, I didn't believe she would hurt me, I didn't conceive the possibility that knife I didn't see was there all along for me.

The waters of Anguish smothered me, the triangulating piranhas slowly nibbled on my feet in the water, the rapids of oppression kept me gazing in the water, the rocks of malice in the water tried to tip me over, but my balance was true and the seeds were safe from harm, but I am not safe, I'm dying inside.

I don't know why, but after every agonizing stab from this knife when I'm not looking, it hurts, but the numbing knife only helped me when it was pulled out, it has holes in the knife so she could pull it out without me knowing.

I always turned around and cleaned the knife covered in my blood, I always gave it back to her, but every wipe upon this blade made it grow, and every wipe made the label on the handle more clear.

I find out in the end this knife is called narcissistic rage, the brand of this knife is called gaslighting and my blood is the supply.

I didn't know any of this until it was too late to save myself, my reality wasn't real, my dreams are gone, my nightmare is all consuming and existent, my seeds are still safe, but I am not.

When I start to notice the knife exists, I forgive her, the conditioning made the skies darker, I wipe the blood off and give it back, the knife is now a sword, it's name is discard.

The waters are uneven, the piranhas of triangulation feel like strangulation, my clothes are still soaking wet with anguish, my hair is slimy and covered in Shame, my feet are cold and numb from the grief.

I can't understand why I'm here,
  I can't understand why I'm actually meant to be here.
  
Every turbulence has thrown me down, she pushes me over head first, as I try to lean up to breathe she has her foot on my neck in the cold numbing river, but this river does not affect her, this river is warmer than her, the warmth from anguish pleased her, the piranhas followed her commands to bite, she smirked as the rocks she placed crushed against my head.

She waited until I went limp every time, but she knew idealization CPR, her deceit was without compassion, her rage was without sympathy, but I had severe ambience abuse amnesia, I still couldn't remember the mountain, I am now trauma bonded from the stabs she's counting.

I only saw her veil, her gaze convinced me I placed these rocks here, her gaze made me ignore the stonewalls around me, her pure hatred was covered in false intentions, her illusion was my isolation.

As everything was becoming clearly dangerous, as everything went pitch black, I look back and see the light from the mountain glowing, I see there is something wrong where I'm at, I see the seeds are not growing, I start to see the pain all around me.

Non the wiser, I keep coming back from drowning, I keep falling for misery, I keep wiping my blood off the blade, I keep isolated, but now I feel there is something painfully wrong, the reason abates me but I feel it, it hurts, it's camouflaged by deceit, it's all in my head, my coffin is soon to be my bed.

I look to the shores, there are other villagers worried, they are waving frantically, they're pointing at a waterfall ahead, this waterfall is called Doom, this fall would be death, the sound is raging, the mouth all consuming.

I see the stream to the side that the villagers are pointing to, I see the calm waters awaiting our safety, but the boat will not fit.

Only me and the seeds are real, everything else around me is illusional, the trauma delusional, the possible harm to the seeds was not refutable, my love for misery was unsuitable.

I could see my life was in danger, I could see the stream nearby screaming safety, I knew the seeds needed me, now I can't stop shaking.

Without her knowing what I was doing, I turned my back towards her facing the water, I knew she was going to stab me over and over again until I turned around, I now see the hypnotic eyes behind the veil. Not turning around only enraged her, the blood on the knife was condesating.

  The safety of the stream for my seeds was a new found glory in my exodus.
  
I paddled with my small hands this large weighted boat towards the stream, her knife was venomous, the water was echoless, the air imparted dreadfulness, all of this was dimensionless, all of this was not real, unless I let it be, now I can see, now I can finally flee.

As I came closer to the stream the waterfall grew stronger, the pain larger, the sound louder, I knew we were closer to the end, I knew I needed to jump off with my seeds, but I know the torment will end.

I melted my enduring pain inside with molten lava heartache to mold anew, I compartmentalize because I have to choose.

I had a vision that if I jump, the seeds will be safe, the climb to the mountain can still happen, I knew I was right about how I felt all along, I realized the veil couldn't cover the true self, I now believed In me.

I now know the water air and land were not what she made me believe, I knew I didn't choose this path, I knew I could survive, I know the seeds are going to be safe now. I know because I manifested instead of throwing in the towel.

Once close enough I finally looked at her and smiled I love you, jumping into the river I could feel the bitter cold agonizing tormenting river smash me with bereavement and disillusion by dissociation, I felt the coma of trauma surround, for I am now trauma bound.

I hold my seeds up high, I kept them safe because they don't feel the water, they're starting to sprout already, no more decay.

As I climb out of the frigid waters and still dripping wet, the drops are red, my feeling is coming back, my back is full of knives, I'm scared but I survived.
Knowing the worst is over I look back to her, she is consuming the river because she was the source, everything dark folds in on itself because the light cannot touch here, for this black hole is collapsing in on itself, I cover the seeds to shield them of this exorcist, they're safe here because my love is relentless.

The tormenting pain makes it hard to stand tall, still going through bereavement of a false reality where I lost it all, the answers we're all lost in the waterfall
"" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" ”"" "" "" "”" "" ""
Nat Lipstadt Sep 2018
“leave at your own chosen speed”

always,
Dylan inserts a phrase that haunts,
indestructible permafrost,
played in slow and ever slower reverb all life long,
for it’s intuitive and you recognize it too well
as the best companion to the sour ending of another love affair

(but! this one differs; called love yourself)

the sad of a dying love, remembering the steady drift away,
capped by a casual remark that doesn’t sting but
cuts a Y on your chest, a lover’s coroner courtesy,
the bad humours permitted to at long last healthy escape

you’re staggered but say nothing for
speed
is a changeable elf, a mischievous devil,
requiring constant monitoring cause you moving,
but the speed limit alway a reflection of the road you’re on

speed is a tag along to show the overall fit still works,
though now far from the obvious and familiar
and the inspiration modifies,
so you retrofit untill the parts are incapable of
bending to new demands, contours unfamiliar, old plans no good

“leave at your own chosen speed”

for I am leaving you as I leave myself,
beaches erode,  lighthouses corrode, the salt cannot be refused,
the earth demands your return as the lease is deemed
non-renewable and the space where the date shall be inserted,
is parcel of the contract and though blank, certain to be fulfilled

the body erodes, the ***** parts corrode,
and this season of the new year^ comes with the usual disclaimer
recited on the tenth day from today

‘who will live, who will die,’^^

taught to you as a young-in, a child who can comprehend
even before manhood arrives, comprehend that life ends,
all good things and it ain’t no use, born compromised, but
“don’t think twice, it’s alright”

the slate you have written overdue for a prudent clean wet erasure,
so you begin to leave at your own chosen speed,
which is kind of nice, even cool, organizing your papers,
write with contented softness that so long eluded,
now come easy heady peasy

after a life of reciting poetry, good bad and always too long,
the pressure is on and off, side by side, even a dimming bulb
sheds some light, revealing what yet needs revealing


that Day of Atonement annual visitor,^^^ he/she of impish humors,
makes Pandora play a new station,
‘dimming of the day,’
reminder that it gave you a piece of an unowned heart to hold,
leased temporarily but the temp is roaring,
who, boo hoo, for you?

life and love is all about leaving,
the pen in penitent gone dry, no refills in this new world,
wish that **** rooster would stop crowing at
the break of sundown,^^^^  when I'll be gone
I'll be travelling on, for when the new day begins,
that’s my own signature personal gravestone marker,
the sundown poet
------------------------------------------------------------­-------



~the first day of the new year on the Jewish calendar
  Mon, 10 September 2018 =  1st of Tishrei, 5779

  Rosh Hashana 5779
^ see https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yom_Kippur

^^ see poem  https://hellopoetry.com/poem/1833523/for-leonard-cohen-who-by-fire/

^^^ see poem https://hellopoetry.com/poem/462537/how-i-observed-the-day-of-atonement/

^^^^ jewish law says the day begins at sunset till the next sundown
Atheidon Feb 2015
We had the world behind our back,
We had it together with us,
But it changed one day.
It decided to turn its back on us.

I wish I could turn back time,
Where everything felt perfect,
A world where we felt free,
But now it feels like us against the world.

I want to fall in love again every time,
I never stopped loving you.
I wish I was still the one,
I hope you could fall in love with me again..

I would never stop loving you,
I'll always be waiting for you,
If only I could still be the one,
*but I'm not..
Nico Julleza Dec 2017
∙∙∙◦◦•◎•◦◦∙∙∙
Grasping her every arm,
In unowned mittens and scarf.
Tattered, the eyes red as Mars.
Though all she can do—
Is gaze to peoples jewel afar,
And wonder in optimum.
The best possible way to omit;
A lifelong scar of tantrum.

An infinite tribulation mimics.
Mediocrity sneaks to pry.
Uncanny euphoric figments,
Biding the year-end tide.
To lay undone ashes of shame.
She mourns a winterscry.
Putting off the endless dolor,
Till death ends that butterfly.
#Winterscry #Sorrow #Suffering #Alone #Broken

This poem was inspired to the novel Le Miserable the story of Fantine. How the society can be hopeless for you, mistreated, abandoned, broke.
But I pray this would only be a narrative of poetry to us and would never become one's Life story.
Have A Dream and Fulfill it. God bless you poets.

(NCJ)POETRYProductions. ©2017
PrttyBrd Sep 2011
Hugging knees in darkest corners
Leaving love behind
Sinking so deeply, light is lost
Spirit broken
Heart shattered
Soul torn
Before the mending could begin
Before the pieces could be swept up
Smacked to the ground
Crushed into powder
Irreparably damaged
Irrevocably heartless
Too much love begets too much torment
Agonizing over unowned burdens
Cold shadows become welcoming
As warmth feels more like **Hell
copyright©PrttyBrd 16/09/2011
Where Shelter May 2017
The Prism Through Which We See Clearly

~

light saws our untrue selves with acute angles,
piercing our holistic pretenses, daily disambiguation features,
our sheltering disguises into our essence refractive elements

this is not a cute rainbow poem - run from here

it is a dissection of our true nature
why belabor, why elaborate?

through the prism
you color-coded self, tracted,
a mapping of your intersections,
what each color speaks, needs not an explication,
your hidden humanity comes to my eyes, in full revelation

at last I see you clearly

the lost and black withered limbs,
the stirring, leaping, enflamed flaring, never ceasing, breathing elements that mark your singularity

did you know your eyes are constant singers?

through prism, each note heard distinctly, as it rises uplifted,
your song, mine for observation and weeping exhalations,
your song, the production number of thy own composition,
through prism, our interior visual disinterred and released,

here I must cease, for what seen, grievous weeping deepens,
from the glory and the pain my blurred wetness overwhelms
the clarifying crystal useless when tear coated

through the prism,
before the full length mirror,
my own, unowned, never could be owned,
'mirror mirror on the wall,'
warped weave of tissues, mine,
the song sounds, mine,
from lungs disgorged
myself, diagnosed and displayed

of what I see, spitting speech
ceases and desists,
the only thought permitted, repeated,

where is my shelter now?**


5/13/17 6:49am
White- Eyed Alive-
do or die
piece of the pie
and the American life-

Preprogrammed responses
they all seem to do it-
a previously animated existence
we replicate
but we don't really do it-

The Stepford Wife
and Mr. Right
neither holds an interest for me-
I fit no mold
with no people of my own-

The Wanderer
Vagrant
I Am Alone
XXXVI

When we met first and loved, I did not build
Upon the event with marble. Could it mean
To last, a love set pendulous between
Sorrow and sorrow? Nay, I rather thrilled,
Distrusting every light that seemed to gild
The onward path, and feared to overlean
A finger even. And, though I have grown serene
And strong since then, I think that God has willed
A still renewable fear . . . O love, O troth . . .
Lest these enclasped hands should never hold,
This mutual kiss drop down between us both
As an unowned thing, once the lips being cold.
And Love, be false! if he, to keep one oath,
Must lose one joy, by his life’s star foretold.
I have been reading some literary pieces;
For their words soothes me, deeply.
Though some meant a bleeding heart,
Still gives me enough encouragement.

That, is only to find myself hanging -
both craving and puking those words.
Realized that art can be an escape for some
but not for yours that is longing.

Longing for words not from authors
but from the person who means to you.
For she can form words but he can't
That even absorbing those words, he can't.
Daniel Magner Oct 2013
I'm no one's
picture perfect
I'm not a favorite
day dream
nobody is wondering
does he love me?
I hardly fit in a
frame
and I'm never on my
A game
I'd call it a shame
if it wasn't my
whole
life
Daniel Magner 2013
S S Apr 2016
A holy day it was
When the dark skinned gathered there
Under open skies unowned
On the land of their forebears
They met to offer forth their prayers

They entered the walled space
Through gated entrances five
Mixed mass of gender, age and creed
Unarmed they gathered, unarmed strived
Ruled by white Lords, to keep culture alive

From a raised bank, he watched
Fair general and his native troop
When the time was right, dropped his arm
Unleashing bullets on endless loop
Laying waste to unwary group

Swarming mass in open tomb
Clamour to protect all life and love
Mother crouched encasing child so soft
A man holding his wife, a flapping dove
None spared from cold end reigned from above

Hot metal darts indiscriminate
Sliced through humid burdened air
Muting wails of the sentenced helpless
Piercing flesh of the souls stripped bear
Earth wept with weight of blood spilled there

Thus ebbed the day of the massacre
Beaded sweat trickles down Generals brow
Blood and meat lay heaped at exits five
Shrouded in questions of the why and how
That such slaughter could one man and his arm allow.
To those lost at the Jallianwala Bagh massacre,
Apr 13th 1919.
rachel Jan 2014
Empty  silhouettes wander down abandoned streets,
Dousing their souls in scotch and whiskey
Placing firey papers to their lips and their lungs full of tar
The only noise comes from the dead houses,
Filled with broken children
And tired parents with bags upon bags upon bags under their lonely eyes
And unowned women stand on the corners, climbing into old cars
Their mothers wouldn't be proud
And babies can be seen crying through cracked windows
While husbands caress their wives, the ones covered in bruises
And teenagers sit on stoops, covering their damaged arms and bandaged hearts
j a connor Apr 2023
why
pity lives unowned
lost at sea
forever alone
Rick Warr Oct 2016
as people come
into my game
it becomes their game
along with all the baggage
that they carry

but it really is
only a shared moment
a temporal unowned event
an ephemeral collective experience
not to be taken seriously

my game is then
only what I bring to it
a performance
in that moment
best played
with energy
with authenticity
with serendipity
Attitude adjustment for the challenges of the day

Freedom sought
Without knowing how and what it looked like and was
Every breath visibly free
Yet never owned
In the distance
Grew a voice bold
You knew
You knew
With your every breath
And chose it well
Yet lost
Freedom is sought
Never free
On a waitlist
It rides rent free
Nicole Bonomi May 2019
It was deep.

Much more than meaningful.



More like a cornerstone romance,

from a library in the cosmos.



Like a deep sea scroll,

One unobtainable,

And nothing about it tameable.



It was like solstice, but not summer,

Like solstice, but not winter.



Like a fifth season,

One of its own,

Flaunting all the colours.



It was something enchanting,

Like snow falling on palm trees.



Something mesmerising,

Magnetic,

Hypnotic,

And blissful.



It was unclaimed,

Unowned,

Like land on Jupiter.



It was shocking,

But not horrible.

More like waves of adrenalin,

The ones that save your life.



But this pearl was less about my life,

And more about my death.



This was less about him

And more about me.



For all the magic I foresaw,

Was the magic that is me.



...............................................................­............................................



I am the supernova romance

Etched on an emerald tablet,

Clutched by Aphrodite.



A story you’d find carved in a dream,

Retold upon rising with bewilder and a gleam.



I was the dance to The Drifters,

Upon 11pm sandy shores,



The kiss under the bridge,

In that electric storm,



The naked swim in the caves,

That night the moon turned rose red,



The whisper louder than the roaring crowd,

That made you smile and nod your head.



I'm the twist of violet,

In an orange fuchsia sunset,

A besotted perfume linger,

Once inhaled you can’t forget.



I was the fire in that winter desert,

Where we talked about the truth,



The zest in your drink,

When we sat squished in that tiny booth.



And I was the 20 white candles lit,

In that studio,

On the French blue coast,  



The warm wink in the room when

You stand to give a toast.



Now I’ll be the film you wish you saw on the silver screen,

And the private island you only wish you could have been.



So before I died I was reborn.

From that shell without the veil,

From that pearl without the mourn.



Projection death on a canvas blank.

For the romance I have only myself to thank.



BY NICOLE BONOMI
Mitchell Aug 2011
Waking fog I trip through the smog of memories misfit two step
Lyrics of lore gone past for bore of thoughts float off for evermore
Now awaken I speak in tone crack my bones as my lover is with no other
Fast to speak quick to the week I carry my soul in a soft pinkish bag
Surrounded by strangers that act much tamer then I ever wish to do
They are old timid watch this and that on an old unowned TV set
I stare as I wear my sleeves tucked in with no ounce of fear
Listen to the whistle of the horses galloping through the meadows there
Money separates us from animals but still that savageness
The deep natural fear is still
Quite there
JB Claywell Jul 2021
They ask me about words
and
I forget that they often
don’t know the same words
that I do.

I forget that sometimes my words
and
their words are mysterious
and
often not as profane
as they might be used to.

Then, I remember
that there are countless words,
concepts,
ideas,
and
beliefs that I am totally,
sometimes shamefully,
unaware of.
(all of these based in vernaculars unfamiliar)

None of us live the same type of life.

None of us
have earned passage
through hardship
any more or less
than anyone else.

Ours are circumstances,
unshared.

Not luck, not fate, not grace,
not inherent anyway.

No different than my last name being Claywell
and
my typing that very same name
into the system of The Department of Corrections;
seeing that name,
the same as mine,
unowned by me,
belonging to faces of men
and
women that I have never
and
likely would not ever meet
in our respective lives.

What does it matter?
It’s a name,
no different
or more or less special than Jones or Smith.

The name is mine and theirs,
as unique to us as we are to one another;
poet
or
prisoner.

Person first, second, and third.

Like a story,
a book,
a treatment plan,
sitting on a shelf or locked inside
a mind until the proper moment
providence or provisional,
authored by the judiciary or just
some guy.
(like me)

We live by words,
are released by words,
are transformed by words,
frightening, fitful, fretful or foreign.

Words give us our humanity,
allow us to encourage or enrage,
engaged so as to establish
a renewal,
reestablished ability to
manifest,
to actualize
the abracadabra
of
our own magic act…

our lives.


*
-JBClaywell
©P&ZPublications 2021
kendall Malish Apr 2016
i wish I could've told you
how sorry i am
for letting someone like you
give even your physical aspects to me
you dont play in your sins
but tonight you found something so unholy to touch
and im so sorry for tempting you
you promised me that you never thought i was that bad
just a troubled teenager stuck in her ways
but did i tell you about how good i knew you could be for me ?
it troubles me
because i care about you
my touch will only burn you in the end
and you will have wasted your love on
lucifers beloved daughter
and gods unowned deciple
you said im an angel
but did your forget these wings were made of broken hearts too?
i'd hate for it to be you
do yourself a favor
i know you have a flavor for the devils candy
but dont ever let those holy hands touch this trashcan of sins again
i wont stop you
until you have nothing left of yourself
don't forsake the pain
Jeffrey Pua Jun 2012
I know you too well.
I know your disregard for me,
For everything
About me.

I know the face of the ocean.
I know your waist that turns you.
I know the magic of your laughter
That heaps upon me,
Upon the shadow of me the Sun abandons.
I harbor all of your beauty that are unowned
And my heart moves there.

All my struggles march into you,
Towards you.
I am aware of the success
That might never come to me,
As some things are meant for your denial,
For your forgetting:

Isles, alleys,
Roofs,
Banners in the streets;
Let all forgotten things be forgotten still,
Quiet,
Awaiting all of your gifts
All of their lives.

But please...
Don't deny me of the gift
Of forever loving you:

For all things,
All days even,
Might finally forget me.

© 2010 J.S.P.
aurora kastanias May 2017
Evolving human
Surrounded by colours,
Gentle grins provoking last
Enduring glances of suspicion,
‘What have they to smile?’

Unfamiliar green-carpet
Streets and glowing faces,
Sounds of unusual happiness
Inundating land, echoing
In the calm unsuffering seas.

Dark elegant suits knit
With gold and silver threads,
In disuse.

Lost briefcases enshrining
Carbon-stained paper sheets,
Unowned, unwanted, and unneeded.

Trees no longer afraid.
May the souls of their ancestors
Rest in peace. Memory does persist.

Sober fancy ties around
Chocking blue necks,
Thrown away.
White collars freeing from chains.

Unleashed,
What was, forgotten.
Forging truth in history
No one teaches,
Lies of imaginative deceptive minds
No one learns.

Red once-fashionable high heels
Buried with garbage, along with
Addictive games and batteries
Creating manmade hills,
Offered to nature as Trojan horses
Waiting to astonish.

While flowers bloom
And wilderness takes over,
Evolving human wonders
‘Where have I been until this moment?’
And smiles.
On post-modern humanity
preston Oct 2020
the forming of substance 07
Stephan W

Radiance.

Within the void  are
the greatest mysteries of the universe,
as matter and anti-matter clash;
only to create a newfound energy..
un-owned, unaccountable, unconcerned--
the energy emerging from the clash negates itself
through mutual annihilation; leading to an increase
of space between what it is that is lit; and in
the accelerated rate of expansion of this space,
Illuminated/illuminating  matter takes on the risk
of being removed from participatory perception,
or better said-- to a place beyond retrieve..

and so it is also-
within the void of space that exists within us;
the galaxy-within--
ever-swinging in polarity between the gravity-pull
of illuminating/illuminated substance,
and the ever-distancing properties of
an unowned, unlit space...
dark Energy-- a repulsive force,
attempting to quantify the space between
all that truly matters--
yes.. creating space,
and therefore more room
for it to engage into its ever-increasing
chaotic activity.. quantitatively participating in
its fine art of distraction, dilution
and extortion of time
through nothing other than the negation of matter,
and therefore, the negation of potentiality--
of substance, and so also
the transmission of light.. luminosity:

      parts within the heart, lit up with
      and by the infusion of our own spirits,
      through the beautiful act of volition,

of which, the countless galaxies in the universe
exist as a type, given.. (what-if)...
if only to encourage us through amazing,
mesmerizing example--
surrounded, each.. by a circumference of support
of the dark matter of potentiality--
providing the gravity of containment,
solely in and through its belief in its own possibility,
giving way to its utter inability to deny itself to
what has become already lit,
becoming then.. not only a defining part of the galaxy,
but also a gravitational-formed hedge of protection
against the everpull-entropy of the repulsive force--
of all that is unaccountable-
in its velocity-based separation from volition.


      And, so it is with the universe,
      so, also.. the universe-within;
      Having left its glass-globe sphere,

      this spirit-centered cosmos
      now unfolds, within skin.


A greater value there can never be shown--
than, that the whole universe would be created
as to be an encouragement/celebration
for even one single soul.

xoxo
09/25/17
SøułSurvivør Apr 2022
🌼 💔 🌼 💔 🌼

Broken hearts and Daisy chains
Loves me Loves Me Not
Pluck the petals... none remain
Given not a thought.

When hearts are mended
it is true
T'was for sweet words spoken
When I gave myself to you
The daisy chains were broken.

Butterflies and cloverleaves
The place where we lay down
More Daisy chains were yet to weave
Laid on this maiden's crown.

Now I'm alone, I can't atone
Because my lover left
He was untrue, his heart unowned
And I am bereft.

🌼 💔 🌼 💔 🌼
Noelle Marie Sep 2015
I found myself exploring the darkest corners the other day
I had to answer these questions, how do I feel, what do you call this emotion and why do I feel this way.
The recesses answered me
I am unowned, unclaimed
I am not a responsibility of anyone, I am no longer her daughter, his daughter
No one will ever say 'she's mine' again
Or tell me of my first word, my baby memories
But the question is, what the **** have I really lost, if anything at all?
A Mar 2020
life is there to live
i cant live mine
those i thought cared
take advantage and live it for me

life is meant to live
but how would you feel
being a bystander in your own life

how would you feel
to know its no longer yours to live
preston Jun 2020
Your beautiful heart's glow is so often hidden behind the clouds of stubborness--  your lack of ownership within pretty much everything that is about who it is that you truly are. You ride.. skirting on the edges, never truly committing to much of anything that is inside of you.. putting pieces of yourself out there, yet never truly taking ownership of much of anything that truly is of you. You may feel things in their fullness that is of you within certain, contained moments, but the glow of those glimpses into your own self is far too often short-lived-- within something in you that almost completely washes it all away..

The nearly predictible pendulum-swing now so far the other way, almost completely denying those very real moments of connectedness and inner clarity within you..

And I am not one to want to live and operate between the swing's extremes, as it is there at that place that you expect others to pick up all of these un-owned pieces for you, and it is there also at that place that you have a whole string of men-- now.. and in your past, who all tumble and orbit in your wake in their desire to put together for you things that were never theirs to put together..

They were always things for you to take ownership of and become accountable for, but you will have no part of that, and so here you now float within all of your unaccountability, and will continue to float- as long you continue in your choice to not fully engage within yourself.
.. And you go on and say that I do not care about your heart, but you do not own much of anything that is about that amazing heart that is within you,
so how would you even know?

You don't..  but even if you did,
it would all but become buried once again within all that is unowned within you.

Loving in to a system like that, is not a good stewardship of one's ability to love.. so if there is some remote form of goodbye embedded within these nearly indiscernible conveyances..
then I thank you in advance for its  gracious release. You are not getting any younger, my beautiful.. one day this beauty-laden, cloud to cloud game of hide and seek is no longer going to work quite so well


The reception's gotten fuzzy..
the delicate balance has shifted.
Put on your gloves and black pumps,
let's pretend the fog has lifted.
Now you see me, now you don't.
Now you say you love me
pretty soon you won't.
If we get our full three score and ten
we won't pass this way again..
so kiss me with your mouth open,
turn the tires toward the street

and stay sweet.
https://youtu.be/dL1TRk6Q0pE
Mark Wanless Nov 2017
"Old Rock"


Hot you are wood grained old rock
Colored green and gray shattered smoothness
Vibrating universe echoing down the ages
Before brain during brain after brain
Rorschachian majesty butterflies pelvis
Thought catalyst thought unperceived
Dinosaur witness god bone silent
Unowned bought sold
Languid beauty young dust atomic rigidity
Soluble water barrier sky climber
Do you know me?
aged majesty
Jelisa Jeffery Mar 2019
What is a lonely cricket's life even worth
if no one hears it chirp?
Are we to determine it's worth,
Between it's time of death and birth?

A true adventurer as I ever did see,
A warrior who leads,
A lone survivor I admire
One of grass and trees

The cricket never lost or stopping to wonder
One step after another,
His compass: his heart,
The path is his brother

Takes the world as is for what it sees
The small ground it defeats
in it's tiny, naked life
But only tiny to me

Even when no ear to vindicate the sound
Musical leaps and bounds
A song in every step
A composer unowned

A melody just to entertain the sky
A beautiful chirping cry,
Even when no one's to listen
Even when no one's nearby
Poetria Mar 12
kaleidoscope of jagged shards
create this face, forever changed
against all possibility
imperfect pieces rearranged

where light is twofold magnified
and shadows waltz within the light
and waves of light, of liquid gold
now break behind unseeing eyes

then fleets of doves assail the skies
in graceful waves, untethered flight
toward my vacant heart they glide
my thoughts unowned, now occupied

one string of fate, two counterparts
diminished light, a distant star
your presence, through the fog, is felt:
a lighthouse in the dark
a poem!!! a poem!!! the drought! is! over!    R E J O I C E !!!
Held captive by the look of you
Hold stunned my eager breath
Beauty like the heart of winter
Untouched and frozen perfect

The distance holds as sterile
Desires of flesh and flesh
For innocent is yearning
If left sans recompense

The player's pride will sing of victory
In cheated games yet won by none
Play patient, suffer discipline
Fight fair or flight screams run

Still this life is set to spiral
And downward shapes the snare
Sacrifice self for sake of sympathy
Whose weight is this I bare?

Ballasts drag different on principle
Your load at least is novel
We float, we sail, we sink, we bail
Let the journey play the model

You've the scent of land uncharted
You've the glow of gold unowned
You're prospect seems so guarded
You've trapped my will in stone
27182818 Jul 2019
Consign myself
To this torture
To purge the remnants of my sanity
Of its blind fantasies
Which reality has refuted
Time and time again

At the gallows
Smiling merrily
For I am ending
Destroying your stakes
Painted myself white
To the blackness
Of the despair

I surrender, I yield
Give up the last of me
Let you tear it to shreds
Lamenting nothing

As this is my final revolt
There is neither victory nor defeat
Yet there’s freedom, there’s truth
In surrender
Retreating to pieces unowned

A granting of nothing
Is my everything
Leading nowhere but the end
Of our path

I got lost in the depths of my trust
Now I’m severing my ties
Letting go of the past
That used to define my life

Dying like the stars in the skies
I give rise
To new paths and crossings
To retrace my mind
Or at least the parts you leave behind
22.11.2018 (revised 01.07.2019)
Jennifer McCurry Jul 2020
Of the stars and nights
Circling into
Yellow and circular more
Twist roll out to blues
That twist the black hope
And steeple
Of the people
That would shudder to think

He walked among them
And would dream this
And see it into stroke

Deliver the back break
And gold fields
Of wheat
To the edging black wings
They edge the pickers
They weigh their burden
And carry into
Sudden night

To see a man
As he sees himself
And cannot hear
the left of himself
Or see the right of it

And a red haired madman
Holds our discomfort
And the utter
Beauty of it
Bristles through
With raving disclosures
Bristles splayed blue and black

Much as if the bruises to
An unowned sanity
And his fear of going unnoticed
But oh the irony
Of the insane existence
Of genius
And it’s departure

Of color
And it’s carry on
Through spirit
And inspiration
Wherever it is found
It has been proven
More formidable than death
A formidable opponent

Indeed
Drifting beyond the void of the mind,
Allocating a forgotten sanscript so I'm not lost in time,
carried to mend the spirit of tragedy out of line,
pushed by the pulsing sun I climb,
whether it's a direction known it lasts for a lifetime,
all alone no one will hear a scream or a whine.

Passing phenomenal planets I admire the rings,
etched in ice so cold this reminds me of the hope I bring,
so beautiful the permafrost reminds me everything is not what it seems,
from afar the wondrous glow gleams,
I keep traveling alone pushed by electron beams.

My long lost past behind reminds me of the fallacy,
seeing into the past what is there is a galaxy,
knowing that time lost is truthfully absentee,
I can't retreat because the laws of gravity,
dreaming of the warming permafrost passively,
I press on to the surrounding darkness gallently,
the truth ahead is dead of my sight to an unowned agency.

Witnessing the future galaxy before me in this dead end race,
the electrons retrograde to a standstill to where I'm placed,
no movement but sight ahead I wish I could chase,
I've lost hope to a fulfillment of an empty space.

— The End —