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Madisen Kuhn Apr 2015
atoms
i’ve given up on days that begin in late afternoon,
skipped breakfast and lunch,
days that fade slowly and end with
****** cut-out holes in eyelids because
the second i close them and it all goes black,
every moment with you comes back
played on fast-forward, the memories moving so quickly
that both our faces are blurred
and it feels like everything i’ve ever felt for you
is overflowing the tub, filling the washroom with
suds that take forever to melt

i’ve given up on those days.

i’ve traded them for ones that begin with
sunrises instead of sunsets,
days that are spent falling forward
instead of trying to chase the past, and i don’t
look back and see something broken, or
something that was better off left unopened

i look back and see our bodies so close together
that you can’t tell where yours begins and mine ends,
i see my heart that grew twenty-three times its size,
i see you and me wrapped up in something that
i didn’t know existed outside of blurry 35 mm
and overdue and falling-apart library books
that sit on the nightstands of middle-aged women
who are bored with their lives

and i’m just so happy i got to love you at all.

but i’ve folded up all the days spent with you
and taped them in the messy pages of my journal
and now i’m running into the sun,
running away from every lie that’s trying to
wedge its way in between my ribs,
running in the opposite direction of words like "regret"
and any feeling that insists that none of it was worth it

because all of it was worth it.

every moment we were together pumps
through my veins, and it will always be there;
it will be there when we’ve both graduated,
when you move out west,
when you kiss your family goodnight,
when you sit in your backyard with tears
in your eyes because you’ve lived a life
you are proud of

it will be there when i finally make it to new york city,
when i kiss someone who isn’t you,
when i find the answers you inspired me to search for,
when i sit on my rooftop with tears on my cheeks
because i’ve lived a life fuller than i could’ve ever imagined

and you and i will live these lives apart,
we’ll move on and forget what it felt like
to wake up beside one another;
we’ll find what we’re looking for elsewhere
and we’ll understand why this all had to happen the way that it did

but what we had will always exist somewhere,
in rotting apples and old mail and unplayed mix CDs,
in mosaics that line the city streets, in sirens and
red and white flashing lights that shine through
your window while you are asleep

you and i were magic,
we always will be.
Continue reading...
Gregory Paul Dancer Feb 2017
Unplayed Piano
Old wooden knot holed thing.
rust wearing; sitting unplayed.
Strings silent.
Manuscripts of faded scores.
Tarnished ink quavers and semi quavers,
ride the weary stave.
This unheard music fills
the room with it's silence.
#time #music #muse #old #solitary #piano #passing
Continue reading...
Caroline Grace Apr 2013
Rhinoceros ( a tribute to Eugene Onesco)
This year, Spring has been stopped in its tracks.
Incessant rain has driven life underground,
so as a diversion, we're putting on a play.

It's not the real world, rather a representation of it.

The director is a control freak, so her role is perfect-
she can dictate without having to act.

Rehearsals take place in the Philharmonic Hall where the local
band used to practice. But the young have all gone to the city
looking for work, so the drum kit in the corner stays shrouded
in a black cloth and the unplayed snooker table supports our props.

On the stage, the backdrop is dominated by a church.
Its steeple points to God only knows where, aiming to instill pure thoughts.
Impossible to believe, its true aim is to inject fear into its people-
depending on your point of view.

The main player likes to be different. He turns up.
A vain attempt to give some structure to his life.
Late as usual, he's unshaven, and drowsy with wine.
No one can decide whether he's in character or himself.

Waiting for our cue, we stand on the narrow balcony,
flicking damp cigarettes into the river of rain below.

Eventually, we all change, put on our monstrous armour,
become the same curious creatures following the same script.  

Except one....

who refuses to change, deciding in his own mind where he will play his part.
So he pulls on his proofed coat and heads out for the bar.

Outside, the power is off.

The streets are silent. Even the cafes have closed earlier than usual,
tables and chairs left out in the rain chained together, like prisoners
crying for release.

He slips along the cobbled streets, chanting his lines in time with his own footsteps:
'There are more dead people than living....the living are getting rarer.'
Even he's not sure if he's quite himself or still in character.

Briefly, the clouds part to reveal the cold light of the moon,
the only thing in which he has absolute faith to guide him on his way.


copyright © Caroline Grace 2013
Continue reading...
Rebecca McDade Mar 2012
earth drumming
the wind sat still,
like a guitar
unplayed.
while the trees
sighed in the warmth
of the day.
the hazy ground
glowed bronze
with the heat.
and the children all
sank quiet in
defeat.
nothing was friendly
about that
midsummer’s day.
no one wanted more
than for the sky
to turn grey.
but the sun just
pounded on the
drum of the earth.
and the children cried
for winter, and the cold
that they deserved.
Continue reading...
Donall Dempsey Nov 2018
"DO YOU HAVE A QUESTION?"
"DO YOU HAVE A QUESTION?"

her heart was a red
fire alarm

going off
with nobody

paying it
any mind

her heart was
an evening hillside

as the sun went down

the light stealing
into the ground

her heart was a favourite
pair of cufflinks

with one link
missing

or an earring found far
too late many many

years later

her heart was a lute
that was mute

unplayed for
many many moons

her heart
was a house

burningburningburning down
razed to the ground

the sneer of her
pyromanic lover

lost in the shadows

her heart was
the junk mail

that came in one door &
out the other

instant *******

she felt as if someone
had pressed DELETE

her heart was
a crystal ball

that could foretell
nothing....nothing at all

her heart was
a knocked over cheap cocktail

that left a nasty stain
on the carpet...on the wall

her heart was
a tiny torn pink knapsack

that held all
she had known

her heart was
the forgotten iron

branding itself into
her nice new blouse

her heart was
a poppy seen

from a passing train
there&gone again

her heart
full of the perfume

of memories that refused
to ever

...go away.
Continue reading...
Elizabeth Ross Nov 2012
The Fall
Distorted days and delicious dreams
Everything is always just as it seems
Tear me up and build me down
What is all this noise without sound
Trapped in between days and nights
So I regress and take endless flights
Higher I drop rising to the pits of despair
Climbing to rock bottom with out a care
With you by my side, all ways coming along for the ride
My roller coaster is the famed attraction
It is the ultimate distraction
From living and being
Because once your on there is no retreating
The dips and curves add excitement
Yet a sense of dread lingers
Knowing that there is no end
We will always have to play pretend
To live with our selves
To love one another
But one day the curtains will close
The lights will fade
And all that will remain is a cast with roles unplayed
Continue reading...
Crystal Birmingham Aug 2017
Infertility
Disappointment drips from our eyes
Littering our faces and chests with ash
and traces of broken dreams
Collecting at our feet in pools of heartbreak
and puddles of unplayed versions
of the life we envisioned.
Wading through the pain we find
a rescue boat in each other's arms
I whisper
" They say it gets easier with time"
You wince
" I wish it were today"
#infertility #childless
Continue reading...
Julian Dorothea Jun 2012
Beautiful Junk
palms are masks
that cover nothing
fingers, frustrated fishermen
combing dark waters, searching
for the uninhabited isle.

the tree stump pitifully trying
to grow,
melody of the typewriter,
the letter opener's song,
withered daisy in a plastic display,
hidden bookworm art
carved into dusty paperbacks,
overgrown, abandoned houses:
sleeping animal,
dormant jungle.

wet asphalt puddles of fallen sky

dead butterfly

blind blue eyes;

tragic, difficult, poetic
         you are

poetically
(unplayed piano furniture)







          useless.
Continue reading...
alexis Nov 2022
scented candle
my bedroom carries the headiness of stale captivity. the teeth of a years old trap are gathering debris where they’ve gnashed on my leg. my loved ones come to relieve me of my suffering.

the gentle winds bring me dead leaves in layers of red, yellow, brown and the occasional purple. “look at how they’ve changed,” the winds say. “things can change for you, too.” i brush them away. indignant, the winds whip dust and pebbles that become bullets at the right speed, threatening tornadoes that will never come. i wait until their lungs tire.

the cleansing rains rinse the matted blood from my wound and refresh my hot, mangled skin. “doesn’t that feel great?” the rains say. “you can feel like this all the time if you put in a little effort.” i dry myself down. angered, the rains disease the trap with rust and drench me until my bones attempt to float away, threatening tsunamis that will never come. i wait until the water recedes.

the giving earth sprouts a flower in the corner of my bedroom. “life is still growing, waiting for you,” the earth says. “you just have to come to meet it.” it’s a beautiful reprieve for my senses, i almost go to pluck it. as i come to realize my motions, my heart drops to an unknown place away from my chest. i hesitate. furious, the earth wilts the flower until it blends in with the rest of my bedroom. it shakes the ground violently, deepening the pain of the metal in my flesh. it delivered on earthquakes but threatened no aftershocks.

the lively sun dries me of the failures of the wind and rain and earth. the sun says nothing. i make no effort to repay its warmth. it reciprocates that lack of effort.

i have exhausted the affections of the elements, and in their abandonment now rests a deep stillness that urges me to look around.

over time, i have accumulated the barest of pleasures — some unread books, some unplayed records, some small tokens of loves long gone — that mimic a home, but bring you no closer to what that is supposed to feel like.

the odor in here is disgusting. unsophisticated in my aching, i wish for a sweet-scented breeze, or a balmy rain, or a fragrant flower.

or maybe i will just order a scented candle.
#sad #pain #love #rain #sun #earth
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Elizabeth Jan 2016
An Abandond Piano in **** Germany
When a man found a rotting piano
In the woods of Germany,
Each unplayed note traveled through his red blood veins
up to his brain painting colors of wound and gas mask.
He could hear the music of war within each taste of sheltered forest air.
In his nails, shadows of bleed
and drops of motor oil,
the residue of sea salt from the hulls of ships.

The man
Thought of all the Jewish and non Jewish fingers
That never touched each key.
He played all the combinations of chords never played
On the tree trunk next to him.
The man felt his right fingers cramp,
Riger-mortic,
And saw his fallen brother behind the largest tree holding his palm the same way.
He thought of all the stiffened hands sitting in holes dug by living hands,
Hands begging for one more sip of water soup,
Hands begging for freedom,
Hands begging for death.

The man forgot his salt crusted boots.
The man couldn't forget how his gas mask could have saved two more hands to play the unplayed piano.
Continue reading...
JS CARIE Jun 2019
A lost climbing tones - and who will hear it
Within the realm of unplayed instrumentation
a crescendo of specific notes are lost
dangling on high maple branches during autumn leaf change
and only divots below the mowed through grassy soil
throughout segregated quarantine reserves
partitions of divorced land
In the bottom of a child’s backpack

so heart jarring and singularly dedicated to the wandering dreamer harboring any thoughts of doubt about what is and what might inhibit the coming up next

covering over wooden plank necks with strings of primitive notation drafted inside the woods create,
rows of ivory keys and ebony flats,  
this includes either screeching or murmuring brass buttons can make
And depending on the blow

Lead based letters
Squeezed together grammar and prose
have no window to grandstand
in a duel verses this one climb of instrumental verse
these missing tones are in tangible reaches
could even be in a soft mother’s dream waiting to be awoken to bring an awakening

Who will seek and find this group of lost tones with striking nuances so spirit soothing
that seeing the mere future is old news
but instilling, feeling, and describing the true meaning of life after hearing what is under, inside and above this crest of colored resonance of tonal pitch...

Or maybe it can insight a minor confidence in the one who lacks it to take that small step forward
Ensuring another step

This is one who will hear this
#music #confidence #someoneself #inspire #nature #poetry #finding #love
Continue reading...
Ian Beckett Nov 2012
Wagner
Running rings around thirteen hours of opera
I sit spell-bound absorbing the angry music
Suppressing an urge to re-conquer Poland
Music a direct expression of world’s essence
**** passion means Israel is Wagner-free
Tristan and Isolde unplayed before Ludwig
Love and death and passion for Mathlde
Eros and Thanathos that predate Freud
Arthurian love story interrupted by Minna
Overwhelming influence frustrates his peers
Worried that his brilliance is simply anger
That guarantees you feel undead tonight.
Continue reading...
Casey Feb 2022
I wanna write a song
I wanna write a song
I wanna tell the whole world something on my mind
Make it catchy and fun and rhyme
But I’m afraid I’d get it all wrong

I wanna write a song
And sing it for everyone to hear
But my voice isn’t that great and my uke sits unplayed
I’m sure nobody would sing along

Oh look what I’ve done
In spite of it all, in the height of it all
I’ve put the words on the page, I’ve won.
Despite the stupid insistence of my thoughts; so persistent
I’ve gone and wrote a song

I want to make someone proud
Not in the way they’ve told me they are
I want to see it on their face and be able to tell
Without them saying it aloud

I just wanna write a song
It doesn’t even have to make any sense (cents?)
I really wanna put something out there
And prove to myself what I’ve know all along

Oh look what I’ve done
In spite of it all, in the height of it all
I’ve put the words on the page, I’ve won.
Despite the stupid insistence of my thoughts; so persistent
I’ve gone and wrote a song

And I know it doesn’t seem like much but to me it’s a first
Here’s to all of the others who think everything they make is the worst
The first draft of my first song :) I'll probably edit this and repost a finished version when I get around to it.  Now to make a chord progression and a melody.....
#song #songwriting #sing #writing
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Seán Mac Falls Jul 2021
Love Sonnet
.
To gaze upon you in the dusky dark
There is light, light as fine as breath,
Spun gold, light that only the blind
Know, as they dream in blue daylight,
Eyes infilled.  I see you as mystics do,
I colour your face with mute wishes,
That time has allowed and moments show,
My being unstrung as one abandonment,
A broken guitar in an alley so flayed
Of cat gut and new sorrows unplayed.
If you were any more ethereal —
I would simply lay down into dust.
.
#love #spirit #youth #beauty
Continue reading...
Francie Lynch Jan 2017
What Was It That He Said
They've gathered at his daughter's house,
I passed cars pulling to the curb;
The patriarch has been replaced,
His chair now sits usurped.

Will someone raise a glass to toast him,
Recount some craic to roast him?
Praise his assets,
Shush his regrets,
Strum his unplayed guitar.

They'll share feasts on his bench,
Conceive on handmade beds,
Take down a book from his many shelves,
And talk as though he's there,
Sleeping, unaware.

     What was it that he said?
     He talked of love a lot.
     Did he get it right?
     He shared what he got.
     Did well for a sot.
     He could turn a *****,
     Write a verse,
     Right a wrong,
     Could dialogue with who knows what,
     And if he couldn't fix it,
     We knew we were *******.

They just might go to sleep tonight,
And dream as though he's there,
Still sitting in his chair.
Death is usurper.
#death #funeral #eulogy #fathers
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Morrey Sep 2012
Reversal
Your favorite CD's are waiting
I think going home is a good thing.
Your lover's messages on your phone
and the cat that you left all alone
empty trays and the kitchen sink's left unkept
I think going home is the first step
before you deal with every little details
of the odd and the unexpected
Your favorite books are waiting
to be opened and read once again
bookmark stains on the pages
you have read over and over
turned yellow with some cobwebs on the drawer.
Your favorite matress is waiting
neatly folded but cold and yearning
to be warm again with you and your pillow.
they are waiting; your collection of guitars
each strings unplayed and slowly becoming dull
not as shiny as before, standing on the cold floor
I think going home is the safest way
so I think it's best if you do it today...
Morrey09.05.12
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Somi kaushik Jan 2018
An untitled love story
The familiar sky became unaware
Twinkling stars are kept in the air
Necessary talks became unnecessary memories
God knows who call them stories
The colour of your love still remains the same
Just like an unplayed game
#love #story #familiar #sky #twinkling #stars #necessary #talks
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J Colin Feb 2011
Play my Cards
Fingertips bled four days
Vocal chords raw, tattered and ripped
Record collects dust, simply unplayed

Skin rolls through a lathe
reveals a new true color
pinkish, and a little bit softer

Feet broke, and terribly hurting
ankle spurs shard
Can't walk, can't talk
or play my cards play my cards again

Head numbed, complacently dumbed
for a second, spun
out of control, had to run
far far away
to an awful forgotten place
Spoke once, never again


Truer words don't come
to the meek
for they do not speak

unless forced
A struggle to shrug
no one gives them a hug

'Til all is well
heated from beneath
broth boiling in unison
formed once its poison

Next side is bubbling
stirred beyond its coined
phrased unison its poison

If depth makes
for those willing
try sitting try stirring
envy those and transparent osmosis
emit shades out of possible control
Continue reading...
Karijinbba Aug 2020
When Pictures paint...
Pictures in the memory chip
woke me up from a long sleep
as amnesia's burried pain
unresolved takes flight

I woke up to see my beast
and did weep for way too long
I saw my beauty within silenced
my inner cores sacred seed
stumped.
my tree of life chopped
I weeped harder then ever then
I loved myself dearly so
and lived
waiting for another chance
to bloom again
blessed with marriage's vows
and many precious kids
I sided with beauty to comfort my beast within to give it the love attentive it needed emergently so.

I survived a loving Mother
badly trashed
envied discriminated birthing
was torturous in the hands of evil jealous sadistic Medeas.

they were the snakes
in everyones paradise
angry I had succeeded
in all they've failed
surviving their many attempts

I survived chasing few boys
chasing me only
with their lethal horn
they lacked courage
heart and brains
to chase me
with heart and soul
I sought for a best husband
that had long passed me by
leaving me behind
to brew longer into
my mangled core
into his aged best
wine reserve

He quickly Married brewing
another woman's wine tougher
oh the pain he caused me!
the daggars deeper dugged.

I roamed the internet
singles sites ever looking
to fill in the void in my kids
A father figure I only sought
for my cherished beloved
young kids
and for a lifetime I did look
asleep in my pain failing again,
in all the wrong places I did look.

Unaware that two bad as* boys
had came pre-paid by my ex or his
consort ** to trash me, to use me
to video tape me just enough and
to continue with a look alike
***** player on sale
ALL
just to trash me more in his eyes.
just to abandon and curse me.
May the internet singles web
of vipers the bad boys
the shadow people entities
no longer thrive.
To the bottom of the sea drown
take the hungry wolves down
an eye for an eye
justice I seek

Later on, the stranger
pre paid **** asked me
to not look back not to crash
Written in a photo post card
depicting two handsome
well dressed men flying
their private luxury airplane.

Same image my lover
rdd had sent in 75
two decades back!.

I found only heartache, misery
and pain by greedy wolves
posing as safe gentlemen
seeking a wife to be.

I took a lot more dangerous risks
many protective Moms would fret

my happier songs unplayed
remained in Hollywood
tower high subsidy abode.

Our dream and my legal identity
in his safety deposit box hid
a lifetime too long
for our harvest to yield it's fruit

My poet lover found me
available unmarried broke
on the singles adds web
again and again in secret
with hope I rejoiced.

he seemed *******
on our old script
he'd cursed me with
yielding no fruits

I lacked resource purse to run
to chase after him kids and all.

He must have given his gold seeds
allowing her generic matrix
edged in greed and jealousy
to grow'm to tie him down.

How's this story poem mine
similar to pictures on the web
photos on an ancient script?

My story poem pictures paint
"a thousand words.*
~~~~~~~~~~~
By: Karijinbba
Copy Rights
when a picture paints a thousand words
the story takes flight across the world it touches someone's heart.
#pictures #thousand #words #internet #web #singles #nightmare #brew #wine
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Terry Collett Apr 2012
HER MOTHER DOESN'T KNOW.
Rosina’s baby sister died.
The cot stood empty
in the darkened room.

Don’t go in there
her mother said.
Rosina opened the door

and peered through
the gap instead.
The toys were still there

by the pink pillow and cover.
Leave the room alone
said her grieving mother.

Moonlight shone upon
the place where baby sister
once turned her face

and smiled or made
her baby noise.
Quiet now the room.

Unplayed with
the idle toys.
Mother cried at night

and often in the day
and stared through
the window at the far off bay.

Father was away
in some distant war
keeping his head down

in some foreign land.
Rosina’s baby sister
was buried deep

beneath the ground
in a small white coffin
dressed in a ghostly shroud

with songs sung sadly
and tears in the crowd.
Rosina peered through

the gap of the door
at the cot
and moonlight’s glow.

She’s seen her baby sister’s
ghostly smile
but mother doesn’t know.
Continue reading...
Keith Ren Nov 2012
unnecessary wrecks
the shrouds are soiled,
without defense,
the curdled salve is laid.

no time is spent
without pretense,
the just of karma's paid.

we wallow in,
and swallow shouts,
with efforts all but flayed.

so born to age
through wrestling bouts,
and expressions left unplayed.
Continue reading...
zero Feb 2018
WALLFLOWERS DIE OUT, YOU KNOW?
I've been winding up the walls of the music hall,
watching the couples dance to La Vie En Rose,
the song is stuck on repeat and
to silence it I need to hear the end note,
but it never comes.

I weave my roots into the ground. They
kiss softly. Romance is making love to them,
And yet my love has not arrived,
crashed in the parking lot,
and she never comes.

I see then that I was never meant to love,
a lover like you,
my heart stutters when your machine beeps,
in case it prolongs longer than I want.
The day seems to be coming.

Our wedding song is on vinyl, unplayed
and dusty. I watch it spin as the couples leave,
their scents taking yours with them,
I am alone again.

You left,
just when I thought the stars had come out for
us.
Come back to me, darling.
Let me hold you in my arms.
These I see before me.

-Z.xo
#love #romance #lovers #romantic #depression #mentalillness #teenagers #teenager #breakups #breakup
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SassyJ Jun 2018
It was sad to say goodbye
It was sad to say goodbye
Once more, once again
as year lapses and memories tap
tear drops erodes but it’s not all sad
It’s not forever mad, the feverish traps
the ceased rants and patrolled turns
circular motions of building monsters
matting uneven walls of un-triumph

There are times where socks don’t fit
when words fizzle the contextual riddles
when the bricked walls takes a collapse
when time is all there is to unending motion
when fears whispers of all the world gone
phasing all the hold ups and yearly turns
those are the time where chances erupts
and paths meanders to a subsequent merge

It was sad to say goodbye
coupled with construed mishaps
held in a submerged cliffy edge
awaiting a victory, or a ledge of sacrifice
upon miles where hurt is erased
Pottering around the patchy tracks
I wish we could fight as people do
or fought the trodden thousand miles

There are times when I need you
as the skies slip on wanted dreams
and all the lively laughter and love
coupled with all the delightful passions
In stormy clouds lost in torrential rain
deep within I know you still love my all
and all the let downs and angry quarrels
appear as faded mist of unplayed harps
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wichitarick May 2016
ROLLING LIFES DICE
Rolling ,falling ,tumbling , taking on traditions of gravity ,more sincere than religion in its nature
Building from a budding breath,carousing on unsure footing ,climbing relentlessly though unchecked
Frugal in thought, never realizing the true systems that should have been wrought,time will pay as they mature
Blind ambitions masking all intentions, reckless rampage forcing itself upward,but still remaining unprotected

Slowly growing ,taking on new ways, actively rising still uncompromising with a pattern littered with phantoms
daily paying a penance, yet still offering little resistance ,life's luscious moments taking up most of our time
Promises made against hands yet unplayed ,as new trials present themselves matching resistance paid with higher ransoms
Middle ground now meeting ,raking together a center piece more exposed ,playing pasts with hopes for a nicer future rhyme

Brazen bravery shown ,learned as we have grown but with a cost ,missing links leaving out parts of passion
Some may see it as cold ,individually known as bold , still playing part as the trait is linked to our fate
Moments of reason sometimes switching with the seasons , true reason still not a daily part of the ration
Blameless behavior, based without  any reasonable facts, part of how we now react,responsibility now a closing gate

Those cautions we were warned to use now showing themselves as deeper wounds ,time building up a more visible wall
Climbing the ladder ,missing a few rungs  allowable lessons but at what cost, once frozen but still willing to face the frost
Individuals moving with learned motivations but still relying on past lessons ,learning slowly may become part of the final downfall
So we may pick or choose lifes lessons ,making room for our own reasons ,just playing along ,waging like winners so all is never lost.
R.C.
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Rhet Toombs Aug 2016
Sleepwalk To Me
Begin again

The unplayed nostalgic sounds

A gentle whisper and caress on your birthday

Your mother leaving a light on for me

That safe smell of heat in your parents house
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0o May 2016
Too Big to Fail
One more minute, one last smile,
Eyes on fire, heart on trial,
On the road and lost at sea,
A slow dance of complacency,
Burning embers, thaw and melt,
Still couldn’t tell you how I felt,
Dressed a mess in borrowed blue,
And all I did was think of you,
Faded flowers, lunar eclipse,
Warning shots from tired lips,
I fell apart, got lost and hid,
I tried. I swear to God I did,
But all in all we all forgot,
Here I come, ready for naught,
Too far to hear, too big to fail,
Let unrequited love prevail,
As I become more lost than gone,
Listening for an unplayed song,
From the only voice I ever heard,
One more second, one last word.
#love #life #lost #thoughts #goodbye #you
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Windsor I Guadalupe Jr Sep 2015
Atlas
i shall carry with me
   the steel morning as words
   unmoving in swathes,
   petrified
   in my shoulders
   and i shrug,
   unbecoming of Atlas.
   all the birds gone.
   only trees zither
   untold messages -
   all stones displaced
   in riverbed silence.
   in the night
   there is a lyre
   and the fingers
   nimble-dancing, unplayed,
   alone as wind
   fuses with ornate drivel.
   my bones rattle
   in unimpeachable oblivion!
   an inamorata weeping
   left touched without
   violent hands, arms choke
   out nuisances from
   still-sitting inamoratas.
   the loom of my hands
   famished with light's fabric,
   the children's laughter
   frayed as i genuflect in thorns
   and bleed only minute blood.
   the threshold breaks
   in the unrest of somnolent eyes.
   a somnambulist without path,
   a path without feet,
   or no journey at all!
   time's monuments leveled off
   the Earth and the clanging
   of metal collides with air,
   a senseless caveat -
   all gone, all gone!
#poem #poetry
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Jude kyrie May 2016
unfixable
Today the snow falls softly
Like the feathers
in what was our duvet.
Now it is only mine.

A morning sky grey
as grey as
your new headstone.
The house has found
a louder silence
One that is deafening.

I know you are at peace
Away from awful pain.
But you promised me
a thousand forevers.
a million eternities.

Now in the misty snowfall
of a sad grey winter.
I know your chair
will sit empty.
Your books unread
Your music unplayed
And my heart unfixable
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Ankita Gupta Apr 2019
The sun gone cold
Sunburnt skins and moonkissed hearts, Pouring rains and heel-clicking walks.

Rough edged pages and unplayed tracks,
Carved pumpkins and ever burning lamps.

Unkept hair and pretty sundress,
Cold meal and unheld hands.
#journey #moonkissed #sunburnt #burninglamps #musicandpoetry #youandme
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Al May 2016
butterfly under glass
i'm getting a bit antsy in my skin:
a bit too tired, a bit too thin
and perhaps right now a bit like sin,
a bit like an unplayed violin.
i chalked it up to the unsettling din
but maybe it's something inside me, within—
something beside me, a has-been,
something to fight me again.
it's coming back, coming now,
and it thinks—i think—it'll win.
sad sad sad sad depression
#sad #depression
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sunrain afternoon Apr 2020
what you leave when you’ve left
what you leave when you’ve left (mending the tormenting silence^)
 ———————————————————-—————————-


your words rock me, like an old time preacher,
mending, begetting, tormenting,
fire and brimstone you sinner,
if I don’t quit this life of loving words, saloon music,
guitar picking in low down dives,
liquoring and sinning,
choosing to choose poorly,
never and always thinking about the songs
you’ve left behind unplayed, pained

got the sun and the rain and all afternoon,
to contemplating leavings,
the crumbs you let drop,
the missteps took and missed,
drank too much, hurt too hard,
the silence of my history, it’s renting,
unrelenting, tormenting, lamenting and such,
those loves, labors that don’t amounted much,
a slow rush to fall, to count it all

you say, always time to mend what life
has rent, if you spend the time thinking,
‘bout what you gained, what you lost,
the net of both added and subtracted,
what you got, what you gave,
the sum of your begat,
a life’s story, to tell,
of life’s misgiving, unforced errors, and
crimes committed only you know

not sure what the total bill due gonna be,
combining the costs of the here,
the now, what was and wasn’t,
what was said, not believing but yet singing,
so when the check comes,
the summation of your life’s calculations,
get to add on a tip, a good-as-gold saying
it’s time that can mend, but knowing the true costs of time,
maybe, maybe not...

<§>
                         let  them reap what you have sown,
                    for the great designer will surely inquire
       what everybody knows is the forecast standard to be met,
     it is not what, how much you got, but what you begat, when,
                                              you’ve left
^ Pradip  “it’s not what, or how much you got, but what you begat, when, left...Indeed sunrain, whenever I ask myself the question, I am greeted with a tormenting silence. But there's always time to mend.”

let them reap what you have sown,
for the great designer will surely inquire
what everybody knows is the forecast standard to be met,
it is not what, how much you got, but what you begat, when, left



https://hellopoetry.com/poem/3764455/give-yourself-away/
#sunrain #pradip #begat #left #leave #silence #mending #kaboom
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