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Timmy Shanti Apr 2022
When you unweave a rainbow
It won't become less wonderful

You'll still admire it
Worship it - in a sense -
Stunned by its perennial beauty

When you unravel the sunset
You won't sink into despair
Feeling being lied to or worse -
Being lost for good

'Coz you'll find the light within
You'll have the strength to do what's right

When you unweave a rainbow
You'll share in its undying light
finished on 25-4-22
long time coming
(The Dry Salvages—presumably les trois sauvages
      — is a small group of rocks, with a beacon, off the N.E.
      coast of Cape Ann, Massachusetts. Salvages is pronounced
      to rhyme with assuages. Groaner: a whistling buoy.)

I

I do not know much about gods; but I think that the river
Is a strong brown god—sullen, untamed and intractable,
Patient to some degree, at first recognised as a frontier;
Useful, untrustworthy, as a conveyor of commerce;
Then only a problem confronting the builder of bridges.
The problem once solved, the brown god is almost forgotten
By the dwellers in cities—ever, however, implacable.
Keeping his seasons and rages, destroyer, reminder
Of what men choose to forget. Unhonoured, unpropitiated
By worshippers of the machine, but waiting, watching and waiting.
His rhythm was present in the nursery bedroom,
In the rank ailanthus of the April dooryard,
In the smell of grapes on the autumn table,
And the evening circle in the winter gaslight.

The river is within us, the sea is all about us;
The sea is the land’s edge also, the granite
Into which it reaches, the beaches where it tosses
Its hints of earlier and other creation:
The starfish, the horseshoe crab, the whale’s backbone;
The pools where it offers to our curiosity
The more delicate algae and the sea anemone.
It tosses up our losses, the torn seine,
The shattered lobsterpot, the broken oar
And the gear of foreign dead men. The sea has many voices,
Many gods and many voices.
                                       The salt is on the briar rose,
The fog is in the fir trees.
                                       The sea howl
And the sea yelp, are different voices
Often together heard: the whine in the rigging,
The menace and caress of wave that breaks on water,
The distant rote in the granite teeth,
And the wailing warning from the approaching headland
Are all sea voices, and the heaving groaner
Rounded homewards, and the seagull:
And under the oppression of the silent fog
The tolling bell
Measures time not our time, rung by the unhurried
Ground swell, a time
Older than the time of chronometers, older
Than time counted by anxious worried women
Lying awake, calculating the future,
Trying to unweave, unwind, unravel
And piece together the past and the future,
Between midnight and dawn, when the past is all deception,
The future futureless, before the morning watch
When time stops and time is never ending;
And the ground swell, that is and was from the beginning,
Clangs
The bell.

II

Where is there an end of it, the soundless wailing,
The silent withering of autumn flowers
Dropping their petals and remaining motionless;
Where is there and end to the drifting wreckage,
The prayer of the bone on the beach, the unprayable
Prayer at the calamitous annunciation?

There is no end, but addition: the trailing
Consequence of further days and hours,
While emotion takes to itself the emotionless
Years of living among the breakage
Of what was believed in as the most reliable—
And therefore the fittest for renunciation.

There is the final addition, the failing
Pride or resentment at failing powers,
The unattached devotion which might pass for devotionless,
In a drifting boat with a slow leakage,
The silent listening to the undeniable
Clamour of the bell of the last annunciation.

Where is the end of them, the fishermen sailing
Into the wind’s tail, where the fog cowers?
We cannot think of a time that is oceanless
Or of an ocean not littered with wastage
Or of a future that is not liable
Like the past, to have no destination.

We have to think of them as forever bailing,
Setting and hauling, while the North East lowers
Over shallow banks unchanging and erosionless
Or drawing their money, drying sails at dockage;
Not as making a trip that will be unpayable
For a haul that will not bear examination.

There is no end of it, the voiceless wailing,
No end to the withering of withered flowers,
To the movement of pain that is painless and motionless,
To the drift of the sea and the drifting wreckage,
The bone’s prayer to Death its God. Only the hardly, barely prayable
Prayer of the one Annunciation.

It seems, as one becomes older,
That the past has another pattern, and ceases to be a mere sequence—
Or even development: the latter a partial fallacy
Encouraged by superficial notions of evolution,
Which becomes, in the popular mind, a means of disowning the past.
The moments of happiness—not the sense of well-being,
Fruition, fulfilment, security or affection,
Or even a very good dinner, but the sudden illumination—
We had the experience but missed the meaning,
And approach to the meaning restores the experience
In a different form, beyond any meaning
We can assign to happiness. I have said before
That the past experience revived in the meaning
Is not the experience of one life only
But of many generations—not forgetting
Something that is probably quite ineffable:
The backward look behind the assurance
Of recorded history, the backward half-look
Over the shoulder, towards the primitive terror.
Now, we come to discover that the moments of agony
(Whether, or not, due to misunderstanding,
Having hoped for the wrong things or dreaded the wrong things,
Is not in question) are likewise permanent
With such permanence as time has. We appreciate this better
In the agony of others, nearly experienced,
Involving ourselves, than in our own.
For our own past is covered by the currents of action,
But the torment of others remains an experience
Unqualified, unworn by subsequent attrition.
People change, and smile: but the agony abides.
Time the destroyer is time the preserver,
Like the river with its cargo of dead negroes, cows and chicken coops,
The bitter apple, and the bite in the apple.
And the ragged rock in the restless waters,
Waves wash over it, fogs conceal it;
On a halcyon day it is merely a monument,
In navigable weather it is always a seamark
To lay a course by: but in the sombre season
Or the sudden fury, is what it always was.

III

I sometimes wonder if that is what Krishna meant—
Among other things—or one way of putting the same thing:
That the future is a faded song, a Royal Rose or a lavender spray
Of wistful regret for those who are not yet here to regret,
Pressed between yellow leaves of a book that has never been opened.
And the way up is the way down, the way forward is the way back.
You cannot face it steadily, but this thing is sure,
That time is no healer: the patient is no longer here.
When the train starts, and the passengers are settled
To fruit, periodicals and business letters
(And those who saw them off have left the platform)
Their faces relax from grief into relief,
To the sleepy rhythm of a hundred hours.
Fare forward, travellers! not escaping from the past
Into different lives, or into any future;
You are not the same people who left that station
Or who will arrive at any terminus,
While the narrowing rails slide together behind you;
And on the deck of the drumming liner
Watching the furrow that widens behind you,
You shall not think ‘the past is finished’
Or ‘the future is before us’.
At nightfall, in the rigging and the aerial,
Is a voice descanting (though not to the ear,
The murmuring shell of time, and not in any language)
‘Fare forward, you who think that you are voyaging;
You are not those who saw the harbour
Receding, or those who will disembark.
Here between the hither and the farther shore
While time is withdrawn, consider the future
And the past with an equal mind.
At the moment which is not of action or inaction
You can receive this: “on whatever sphere of being
The mind of a man may be intent
At the time of death”—that is the one action
(And the time of death is every moment)
Which shall fructify in the lives of others:
And do not think of the fruit of action.
Fare forward.
                      O voyagers, O ******,
You who came to port, and you whose bodies
Will suffer the trial and judgement of the sea,
Or whatever event, this is your real destination.’
So Krishna, as when he admonished Arjuna
On the field of battle.
                                  Not fare well,
But fare forward, voyagers.

IV

Lady, whose shrine stands on the promontory,
Pray for all those who are in ships, those
Whose business has to do with fish, and
Those concerned with every lawful traffic
And those who conduct them.

Repeat a prayer also on behalf of
Women who have seen their sons or husbands
Setting forth, and not returning:
Figlia del tuo figlio,
Queen of Heaven.

Also pray for those who were in ships, and
Ended their voyage on the sand, in the sea’s lips
Or in the dark throat which will not reject them
Or wherever cannot reach them the sound of the sea bell’s
Perpetual angelus.

V

To communicate with Mars, converse with spirits,
To report the behaviour of the sea monster,
Describe the horoscope, haruspicate or scry,
Observe disease in signatures, evoke
Biography from the wrinkles of the palm
And tragedy from fingers; release omens
By sortilege, or tea leaves, riddle the inevitable
With playing cards, fiddle with pentagrams
Or barbituric acids, or dissect
The recurrent image into pre-conscious terrors—
To explore the womb, or tomb, or dreams; all these are usual
Pastimes and drugs, and features of the press:
And always will be, some of them especially
When there is distress of nations and perplexity
Whether on the shores of Asia, or in the Edgware Road.
Men’s curiosity searches past and future
And clings to that dimension. But to apprehend
The point of intersection of the timeless
With time, is an occupation for the saint—
No occupation either, but something given
And taken, in a lifetime’s death in love,
Ardour and selflessness and self-surrender.
For most of us, there is only the unattended
Moment, the moment in and out of time,
The distraction fit, lost in a shaft of sunlight,
The wild thyme unseen, or the winter lightning
Or the waterfall, or music heard so deeply
That it is not heard at all, but you are the music
While the music lasts. These are only hints and guesses,
Hints followed by guesses; and the rest
Is prayer, observance, discipline, thought and action.
The hint half guessed, the gift half understood, is Incarnation.
Here the impossible union
Of spheres of existence is actual,
Here the past and future
Are conquered, and reconciled,
Where action were otherwise movement
Of that which is only moved
And has in it no source of movement—
Driven by dæmonic, chthonic
Powers. And right action is freedom
From past and future also.
For most of us, this is the aim
Never here to be realised;
Who are only undefeated
Because we have gone on trying;
We, content at the last
If our temporal reversion nourish
(Not too far from the yew-tree)
The life of significant soil.
Vince Chul'Theg Mar 2013
“but if you have to move your best friend’s body…
…you’re on your own.”

Your best friend dies
Before your eyes
Somehow stays alive
Then what?

***** salt-licked hair
Brittle and frayed by medicine
World’s unfathomable weight
Trembling beneath the Wisdom Tree

Her whole being crumples (arrugar)
But her life-force remains intact
Body bone
Running on spirit reserves
Why is that?

She stands and cries
Staring into ether
I sit
Wringing my hands

Her tears strike the ground
In tree-gecko unison

'''

Pacific parasite super-strains
Blood coated throat
The full range of abuse’s color on all fronts
for decades
Attempted assaults, ****
Dengue
Giant Centipede venom to the skull

But worst of all
Rootlessness and fear

the monkey on her back
had a monkey on its back
   and was smoking a cigarette

'''

Have you ever seen someone
Completely broken?

Corpsic shell of a woman
Gaunt, wan in the tropics

“Don’t put your trust in walls…
…walls will only crush you when they fall”

Brick-bludgeoned body
The shrapnel lay like
Sun scorched
Novice-woven baskets
At her feet

But now she can see
And breath
Real breath

'''
Genocide’s a *****, yes.

Africans seem fatalistic to Americans
Baby boy body, Grandpa human- shield

“They’re your babies”
Short-lived, yes
But now they have peace

Witnesses still weave the jungle

What do you do with a friend who’s
Seen real atrocity? Evil?

'''

I’m learning.

Prayer is power
Will transcends the concrete (Bunkle, too.)

She serves realness only
Her seeking hands unweave the sacred
Time is of no luxury right now

Serve people through love
and Grace awaits discovery

'''
I’ve never carried a bleeding body.
I needn’t “fear the terror by night,
Nor the arrow by day”

But I saw someone perish
And resurrect

What a gift
What a gift

Gubaadagem, Tinmad.
You never did manage to see
The final nail on the casket nor
The 9 years it has taken me
To unweave it from my crown of thorns

You say you shout you scream
You could not have foretold
The bullet I held clenched between my teeth
Heavy to the touch, heavy and unbearably cold
Not as I my mouth became a steal barrel,
Not as it came racing out
Not as it came to meet your creased forehead's third fold

I shake with loss
I shiver with relief
My silver armor melts away and evaporates into flesh
The life you had left ahead of you was anyway brief
Unlike the fruits you stole from my long life that once lay ahead of me
An ugly, loud, rampant, hobbling thief

I leave my pills to you
For all the times I failed
Trying bleed your blood out from my wrists
Bullet blown, skeletons thrown, casket nailed
I walk back up the stairs light as a feather
A crested crow, my wings unfurled, a crested crow unveiled
POSSIBLE May 2022
God is spoken
From a potent Thing
we smoking Trees

Gaia birthed the bloom
breathed the boom
in the canopies,

In the wind flew the bees
and grew the pleasantries

Prana pushing
thunder through

sQuishing lemon trees  
like a hundred new

Whisps of mists
and heavy deeds
Sit with honeydew

The gist of this
the lemon breeze
(We) Going tunnel view

Fits and Shakes,
seeking remedies
digging under you

Might be
dicking under you

Might be
Torn asunder true

Pirate borne to plunder you....
Sweat means gold,

what's been found
with lemon -ease?

I've been told
What in our eyes
is what we ever see's

7 seas,
more like 7 deeds,
filled with deadly feeds

Demons like to pleade
with ready rease,

Virus, the life that
spread disease

(it alters our sense
and what we please)

~Ahem,  

no te comas
la verdad
del diablo,
  

today to trust
Might feel bad, but
none brought low

There's an easy in
WE  Strong Standin',
N0ne brought low

and now we win
amen, a man
none start south

Its begun...

Light as
Potent as my prayers
**** the make-believe
I can't wear it, ah

Dark is
Ever reaching
What do you receive?
What you carrying hah?

Balance
(Is) an even preaching :
What we choose to be
*I can bear it ; hah

Come  and help me unweave
those who have been so deceived

Those stuck in in the mud of ...
sputtering " how can it be ?"

**** the you or me, mentality
When Neurons Fire free
and Serotonins drained in me

You Might find Saraswati
sweetly swathing me

In glowing rivers,

poured off the moon
With Omens looming soon

With Omens looming soon
I been choking on my doom.

Dreaming
with Both eyes open

and a heart awoken ,
poorly stoking gloom

Too blind to see hope
but stoked, still
mocking roving

Vroom : im off to tokin soon.
****t this blunt be totaled soon

I Might be total loon
an inverted magic man

who most often enwomb
those caught on the moon

Those stuck in the tune
For those who hear
this earworm, this tea room sloom.

This is for Those muted in zoom:

I've found traction in heaps
Breaking as hard and often

As the risen yeast
When you pass on the least

My Passion is to find
the passion of peace

its Stuck In the  grasp
Fashioned with the sap

of my last energies...
This is for the wynd
Jeremy Betts May 2022
(song)

Dark is older than light so that might be why fright is what I'm accustomed to
Neither vast nor confined, maybe both at the same time, it leaves no clue
I don't know how to get my point across to you to help you to see what it is I go through
It's a nothing that consumes my everything, there's not a thing you can compare it to
Similes only vaguely paint the picture, but it helps to toss in a few
If there was only a wind that blew, even once, maybe it would bring a familiar view
But this void in its vastness brings nothing new, allows nothing to continue
It's the solvent to my glue, everything I've done it's managed to uproot and undo
And it's so quiet but yet this silent surrounding is deafening to an alarming degree
In it I use to find beauty, now it's my captor, one of which I'll never be set free
And it's convinced me, or maybe I've convinced myself that I am unworthy
Of anything else and its that false certainty that cleverly keeps me in captivity
I carelessly embraced this darkness that slowly replaced the old me entirely
I scream, cry then whimper softly as the misery slowly embodies me
Then lay back in submittance, in silence and plea for swift mercy
I can't stay in this purgatory so give me my life back or take it from me completely

I feel numb, I feel numb, I feel nothing, there's just nothing, nothing, nothing...
I feel numb, I'm so numb, I feel nothing, there's just nothing here for me

I had light once, I actually got to hold it
But it was a betrayal, only staying for a moment
In its wake the dark returned to claim what was stolen from it
The door was too heavy, I couldn't shut it
The nothing engulfed my everything, I couldn't outrun it
Panic set like quick cement, begin to sweat, my feet became heavy, I began to resent and regret
All those scary movies I watched 'cause I knew for sure that this was it
But that's just it
Nothing happened, I literally mean nothing was the constant
No up, no down, no light, no sound, I couldn't even pick up a sent
Then in an instant it hit me, before my head hit the pavement, I knew what it all meant
Light, so faint and vulnerable, so young and naive
It didn't stand a chance against the dark, give a **** what you believe
Just because you achieve a small glimpse of hope don't think you'll never grieve
When your life starts to unweave that's when the dark races in like a thief
Every religion and belief labels it differently depending on the way they perceive
They have to cause a mind can't conceive it so it almost has to make it make believe
But please believe this is real, don't mis conceive
Best heed my warning cause once you're here you can never leave

I feel numb, I feel numb, I feel nothing, there's just nothing, nothing, nothing...
I feel numb, I'm so numb, I feel nothing, there's just nothing here for me

©2022
vircapio gale Oct 2013
awakened cows chewing
a mountain pass
dawn warms their massive eyelash rows
clinging drops of dew
spark in rhythm with the cud

darkness rumbles distant now
clouds dispersed to other nights
while metaphoric bull unhinged resounds
the cosmic rut

must i hide my love for this
unweave my judgment from my sight?
what in me defies all sacred holiness forever sung?
bees will ravish even newly opened buds
who am i to battle with the lightning's surge?

presumtuous coverings
can net me willing lustful
stars i see a field i open fertile
ecstaticly unblessed enough

lost heroic i had thought to know
pretends a second thrum
i see in random eyes the breaking sky
and lightning branches over snaking crevices
a sound of faultlines folding free
tectonic sexplay deep
in lava belly
far behind the summit mount--
there i see the sun a base as well
earthen seedbeds heating heights of life

space is cracked!
vast width enwombs the narrowness i preen
in nervure's shine,
a sponge mycelial with soak of raining
carbon underground
the drumming hoofbeats shake and settle
days dehiscing spinning sun
to somber eve in active rest
dreaming pasture real
within a trailing effort's ease
based on a translation of the hymn "To Indra [primarily a deity of the thunderstorm]", x.89; from R.T.H. Griffith, "The Hymns of the Rigveda, 2 vols. (Benares: E.J. Lazarus and Co., 3rd ed., 1920-6)
Lora Lee Mar 2016
Yes it's time
time for me to
spiral up into new magnetic forces
a whirlpool of energies
They draw me to them
beckon me
with enticing whispers:
"Come closer"
and bit by bit
I am lured
to that river of
multi-hued edges
listening to the wild rapids
my heart beating with them
My eyes search
For the shy animals within the rushes
and I spot a golden eye, a whisker
As if bewitched,
I stumble forward
lovingly guided
by my own inner wilderness
no resistance
for
I am just where I want to be
in this river of colors
its currents rushing through me
refreshing all of the dark inner corners
pouring through my pores
reviving dead skin
my organs welcoming rejuvenation
one by one by one
I walk slowly
to relish
the coolness
let my fingers drift in the clarity
let my mind cleanse and be cleansed
from those metallic acids that stung
like salt in a wound
past poisons unweave themselves
from my karma like lanterns released
into a vibrant dusk
O River
Purify me
Drench me in sweet, liquid sparkle
Make me shimmer again from deep within
Draw out my dusty melancholy
And release it into your mellow,
                               rhythmic ebb and flow
Let me ride your mellifluous tides
Let my swamplands rise up
                                        and glow
in the sacred dance of darkness
of light
of sensuality
I am ready to dive in
I am ready to get
totally
         and completely
wet
Emily Morgan May 2013
SAD SACK ****, you are ******* drowning
Look, the rest of us can breathe.
We see your breaking bones, cracked and cracking.

Pity Party, cycling
deeper and deeper, c’mon your skin doesn’t seethe
SAD SACK ****, you are ******* drowning.

Further, Lower, Upward Clasping
To nothing, naive
We see your breaking bones, cracked and cracking.

Shoulders, tied down, heaving
Wailing, waiting for the weight to relieve
SAD SACK ****, you are ******* drowning.

Here is to hoping
Your mess will unweave
SAD SACK ******, you are ******* drowning.
We see your breaking bones, cracked and cracking.
Amanda Stoddard Jan 2018
here comes the crash and burn
here comes me keeping score
of every **** thing you've ever done
in comparison to me I think you've won

watch me unweave into a basket
of backseat insecurity
you're driving me mad.

I'm sorry for not being there enough
and I apologize for shutting you out
but when every word from your mouth
shouts "this is your fault"
it's hard to stay calm,
it's hard to keep going.

I took my last breath for you yesterday
and now I breathe much easier,
without the weight
of a thousand problems on my plate.

this is food for thought,
your universe is not as big as me
I'm as small as a pebble
and as frail as the dirt
but I can still become something more.

Dissemble myself from you
piece by piece.

I don't want to leave you with nothing-
but I don't want to keep on hurting

Myself.

I'm done trying for your sake
should've seen this mistake
coming around the bend again
but we're at a four way intersection
and none of us wants to go.

I'll guess I've make the first move,
to move on from being you.
to move on from letting you
love me.

it's a sad song,
on a good night
it's a long drive
with no goodnight
kiss.

I'm craving things
I don't seem to miss
and it seems I'm done
reminising
about you.

These memories
were good to me.
But the pressure was too much.

I threw myself under the bus
and I never looked both ways.
I should've looked both ways.
this is a song
Melissa Rose Sep 2018
I begged you
to unweave me from the confines
of this limited plane
and restitch me into
the richness of your tapestry

Instead you unearth my twisted roots
from the sanctuary of your soil
drain my crimson petals
unmoved as I whither away

I scatter desolation
a marred and stagnant bloom
Your unrequited love is conveyed
through the bitter winds of desertion
9/29/18
Craig Reynolds Jul 2010
previously
i would of said
love was the purpose
there was a heart to this universe
and it circulated
meaning
to every extremity

but now i wake
to toil
silver and gold pockets
finally a son to profit

my father was right
we're all just a number
and we cant add up to
lofty goals
or life plans
you're not a doctor.
i'm not a police man.

dream
no more my sweet
those are shores
we'll never meet

ithaca
is no more
and never was
and i'm not the kind of king to be waiting on
a prince, a pauper, a peon
i'm only a man in an argument with God
but its a problem
that is often
never solved

life is getting
what you dont want
and making the best of disappointment

oh penelope
it may be 10 years
or twenty
but i'll make it back!
i swear i'm coming back!

with money in bags
and cloudy eyes

'how're you?'

'oh, you know me
i'm making
it by
and by'

'but you're not you
you're not you anymore'

and we'll both get by
not really happy
but, hey, thats life

maybe one day
i'll wreck upon your shore
and your suitors will meet me
and my sword

i can string a bow
and keep my word

all at once

oh penelope
wont you wait for me?

wont you unweave
this burial shroud?

because
i am not
no no no
i am not
dead
yet.
Copyright 2009
Andrew Crawford Aug 2023
Heart beat,
bruised bittersweetened, bent;
passion’s capillary action
relaxes then contracts again-
a seed beneath,
muscle fatigued,
toils and spends;
roots, a web of arteries extend,
branching tree stemmed,
leaves shedding red oxygen;
veins shredded to the thread,
frayed strands bleed,
unweave and unhem;
rivulets spill, unquenched,
hemorrhaging hands,
their fingers search to mingle, blend;
a crimson cardiac attack, defend-
for a moment, pressure wavering, suspends,
then pulled back, we cauterize
and mend our loose ends;
every line a vine of growth we tend-
surrounding blossoms rose gardens.
Wrote this one a few years ago and not sure how i feel about it now lol... been going back thru old ones trying to put a book together and not sure if I should include this one or not.
Travis Green Sep 2021
I thought about tasting your lips
Your fragranced freshness
Your caramel honey flesh
Your **** short beard
Enormously delving
Within your masculine splendor
Your hot boy features
Wishing to unweave your universe
And explore you undividedly
mark john junor Apr 2015
she suffered in silence
the inglorious dirt of rumor
as she tried unweave the web it wraps round her
far from being willing to live this way
the lies and the stink of deception settle in
but she keeps struggling against the tide
she is a sweet beauty incongruous
the late day clouds roll in
and she casts a weary glance at the troubled skies
trouble enough on my own
don't need another fistful of snakes
but deep down inside she knew she could handle
another dark day
long as there is the bright promise of someday
and as the rain and stink of decay settles in
she rises above like she always dose
people will always talk
spite is a hunger that is never sated
jealousy is a disease that has no cure
she suffered in silence
the inglorious dirt of rumor
but she is made of better steel
and this will never break the likes of her
and as she unweaves the web of lies
she feels stronger with the knowledge that she will win
Di Nov 2011
I fill my soul, my heart, my head,
And then try, through my fingers,
To tame it, calm it, dilute it.
To take the raw and make it something less agonizing,
To hold, to clutch to myself, to weave into my skin,
I build a fire and hope it won’t burn all the way through me, and the floor as well.

There are the times when I revel in the glow.
And there are times when I consign myself to be nothing more than a pillar of ash,
Easily swept away by a passing brezze.
Yet to cease,
Is to unweave my core,
To let holes stretch,
Till I am more void then girl.
To never feel a blue so mesmerizing that its very existents taunts me to catch it on paper,
Never spend hours trapping butterfly wings on the tip of my pen.
Never see the subtle moments where life is gut wrenchingly, woefully, utterly, complete,
That fraction of a second where the sun breaks the clouds into a sea of many facetted pillars of amaranth , so tangible I second guess their existence, and turning back see that the sun has sunken beyond the horizon.
The instant where a man and his dog glance up in perfect unison, a single being with six legs, four eyes, and one heart.
A first flash of scarlet upon jade, the cherries hang ripe and inviting, tiny globes flashing from behind their leafy bower, as of yet untouched by bird or clumsy human hand.
And so I write.
Travis Green Dec 2021
I feel so weak
When you stroke me
When your lips meet with mine
When you take control and drive
You got me tripping
And sipping on some wine
Wishing I could find
The time for you to be mine

We could dine at a fancy spot
And make things so hot
‘Cause you are so divine
We must share similar signs
I pine for you more
I want to do everything with you
Under the moonlight, we can dance
And feel the romance emanate

You can take me on a vacation
To a galaxy imbued with bliss
Tease me with your impressive preciousness
Unweave my mind, body, and soul
Let your flow smoothly through me
Be gentle with me, baby
Call me your lady, your bombshell
And I will call you my Samson
Anonymous May 2013
Reach into the depths of your throat,
Demon
And wretch forth the words of blasphemy,
Unweave
That which was said in ill possessed will,
Spoken
In the tongue thrown against our Lord.
Begone
Servant of Satan, Bringer of Death,
Vanish
In the name of the Father and the Son,
Amen.
Find more at www.poetboi.deviantart.com
Juliet Casso Jun 2011
Diluted promises- watered down with doubt and wandering flesh
Jagged kisses pierce your throat and I have no bandage to place upon you
I was the bandage.  And now I must peel away
Quick, as not to inflict continued pain.  

But remember- pain is human
Or is it soul?
Soul is absent
Feathered and dusty
Everywhere and nowhere.  

Each weaving must unweave
And unwoven takes another form
But separate.  Two lines uncrossed.
Miles away from you and me

I whisper and it sounds too loud
My ears bleed for your departure
My heart aches for the end
My eyes are blind and I fumble around
Trying to capture the fraying leftovers
That have gone cold in our hands,

But I’ve lost my appetite for you
And I spit up your words
I’m sick on your lies
And I’d rather die hungry
Then full of your ****. And empty from your love.
Mary-Eliz May 2018
Opera's something I can take or leave
some I don't really much like
perhaps were I multi-lingual
they'd be more apt my fancy to strike

some I don't really much like
if I knew just what they were saying
they'd be more apt my fancy to strike
I wouldn't mind going and paying

if I knew just what they were saying
opera would speak more to my soul
I wouldn't mind going and paying
its beauty I then would extol

opera would speak more to my soul
if the story I could unweave
its beauty I then would extol
And opera I could take, not leave
Max Mar 2019
At fortnight it awakes and grows
It runs between a shoe and toes
It hisses, rustles, up it goes
And resonates

It softly comes, it quietly leaves
Behind a knot one can unweave
In hundred ways

The mist that falls upon the lawn
On summer days

Then, in the hour before the dawn
It resonates

Its tongue is pretty poor for words
It speaks instead in subtle chords
No one can play

There, in the shades, black, blue and green
There, in the cut between the scenes
There, where it hardly can be seen
It resonates
Marco Jimenez Mar 2010
How do you know it’s all over?
When darkness and time
Are as infinite as death,
And the world you know
Is at its final breath?

When all the dark has overcome its foes
To sink into your skin and between your toes,
And shards of glass is all you breathe
Into a web of despair that will never unweave,
When all your family has turned against each other in disdain,
And all your friends cause each other endless pain,
When the air you breathe becomes what you believe you don’t deserve,
And your most horrible fears replace your every nerve,
When such a time in the end of all things has no worth,
And lives can only be returned ruthlessly to this dying earth

This is such a time
To ask what questions I have that are mine,
For I don’t understand that in my heart
Lies a sense of meaningless in why I played my part,

Did I add to this dying world?
Did I kick the young and destroy the old?
Have I become what I have fought for so long?
Have all of my beliefs been proven wrong?
Am I blind to all I have done?
Am I aware that I hurt all and appreciate none?
When did I join this dying planet?
When did I receive my pointless part in it?

I just don’t understand
Why darkness and hate,
Have become the foundation
Of earth’s final fate,

I guess when demons finally rid themselves of what their trying to ****,
We humans will be at the mercy of our own will,
And earth will either be dead or almost gone,
And we’ll follow the road to the end of all things as it was meant all along.
BB Tyler Sep 2014
There's an innate feeling
of                                               
                                                      drift
                    that comes with
letting go.

The space we create for ourselves is,
by nature, weightless
until we fixate to the
points
in it which we made
to relate to;

because love is exactly like gravity,
and the points in space
are planets and stars,
celestial bodies
just perfectly warm enough for life
to explore,
orientations to look up from
and see
the rest of it,
but when we realize who it was
wrought the cosm
and we wake
stupefied and lucid
those pieces,
seeming both so distant and close,
unweave themselves from the fabric
and like magic
they disappear.

Our fists
forced gently into grasplessness
panic at the lack of that
substance our tongues and eyes
and right-side-up sensibilities
wish so desperately was there
from the beginning.
We start floating
of some unknown accordance,
though undoubtedly, deeply our own,
towards the next and closest
brightest shining
source of love.
Brandon Jul 2014
Untangle my insides
Blessed to touch the skies
I think I'll break you
I'm told
If its in the clear
I fold myself into you

Don't taste
The rapture
You're too sweet
To understand

Lets take back
What we've conquered
Never to set foot
In heaven
Let's take back
And bless the heathens

Don't taste
The rapture
You're too sweet
To understand

How it wraps around you
Envelopes you
How it wraps around you
Envies you

Unweave my nerves
I'm a thousand miles
Of desert
I sell for a price
If you bid high
Lets take back
And touch the skies

Don't take to
The rapture
You're too sweet
To understand
mark john junor Aug 2014
the phone rang
middle of the night
it was god calling
but hung up got the answering machine
if only

but what could you say anyway
ask to do differently
unweave one strand of the worlds tapestry
undo one space and place in time
surrender the whole for one fragile moment
but you would say what beauty there was there
you would say how precious this thing i lost
in the ocean of the world
looking for that single drop of water you cling to
middle of the night

the phone rang for a brief moment
it was god calling
to say he is sorry but
sometimes just cant be
some people just catch all the wrong raindrops
some people see the rainbows but never get to see the smiles

so let me redefine this phrase
im sorry for all the calls you missed
nothing can prepare you for this journey
its only the warmth we find in others that make it bearable
and im so sorry you have had so much trouble finding them
the phone is ringing
its me, not god
hoping you were home
ill love you till you find the love you were meant to find
the roses bud and flower,
then darken like the dusk,

you fill me with the
sweetest love,
resonating like a bell,

i die crazy in your arms,
cry out for you,

unweave the stars.
I am trying to unweave the narrative that I've written in my mind that says pride is a sin.
That says- other people have the right to love your body but I do not.

And I am trying to navigate the space between where I see my body, and how others see my body because I've been told it's not a space that is safe for swimming.
The water is too deep too rocky to salty for life.
For me.

I am not scared of drowning anymore.
Zoë Jul 2015
Maybe and possibly
I was completely delusional
Believing in you
Believing you could help me forget the past
Believing you could help me build a future
Just believing you would treat me right
Yes
Definitely delusional
Now, stuck in a sticky web
Of my own heartbreaking thoughts
I wait for you to realize you don't love me
No one can unweave this tangled web that's slowly suffocating me
Killing me
Especially you
You pull it tighter around my neck
Each and every night
Waiting
POSSIBLE May 2018
Lets call me mr rhythm stick
secrets out and I’m the top of it

go as far as you want
but not farther than you need to
from CoMo to Vermont
the sky to me is ******* see through

man need not experience what is death
peering pairnoid breath embrace the threat
instead bring the condition where he rise
above life and erase karmic debt

body disguise the hunger of the pines
never affix to the world you were borne to
seek the mystery within and dodge the mines

like you were sworn to ,
I swear your like *** in a cup
and now I’m po'rn through

the soul frozen and stagnant Barely movement
bound  to the panoptic captivity we prove it
until we adhere to freedom
movement not improved sit .

the poets tell us the horse knows his master
he dances cause he knows what he’s after

life is a swing of light
striking the mirror of our hearts where the baby smiles and kicks
because there’s no reason not to enjoy the licks of life’s lumps
stuck in a slump
cause we don’t know of the night of power

W҉h҉e҉r҉e҉

spirits attracted angels descended prouder
the mountains and trees bow down to God
and in their bowing the soul rises above the flower

that’s the joy of nights respite
catch the moments of the souls and respond
past the material  and beyond the bombed despite

The sound of one bell when it rings and the others vibrate delight

man growin successful in the material world
but lost contact with his inner being twirled

spinning spiders silk round himself
hurled and hung from his neck like a belt
that sight can cause much unrest
to him where **** lies happiness ?

paradise where music dances
there is genius

your heart like a compass
but where does it ==point==>?
the goal of existence

what a tangled web
only a spider could unweave
these ****** up toxic templates we conceive

Submit the shining solution
Sunrise Mists Dawn and only a dream weaver could receive

Magically real with a potent message up my sleeve
I pray to god
I play with god
I dance for god
I sing for god
compassion taught by the body on the cross
sacrificial goat to be the salvation for our thoughts
and deeds, what our minds perceive
snakes in reeds
symbols and seizures

connect to prophetic illusions relieved but still fissure
truth absolute every word from alpha to omega

but you know I'll give you one better
act like we blessed
from the breath on our chest
wake up exhale the best breath in the west

because source came from
3 in the eyes
2 in the hands and
1 in the chest.

Might as well call me Xross dress'd
for the material is so trans --
substantial you would think
it was more than a handfYl

of electrons, exotic like a mouthful of battles
mind full of enemies brought to you by dancing darkness
Mines full of ending these shadows and be blessed light shields

Welcome sacred meadows
advancing deserts burning bush
Thought to breeze realize it;;;;s Kush
[̲̅F][̲̅U][̲̅U][̲̅U][̲̅U][̲̅U][̲̅C][̲̅K] [̲̅M][̲̅E][̲̅l][̲̅i][̲̅f][̲̅e] [̲̅i][̲̅s] [̲̅h][̲̅a][̲̅r][̲̅d] [̲̅b][̲̅u][̲̅t] [̲̅w][̲̅o][̲̅r][̲̅t][̲̅h] [̲̅i][̲̅t][̲̅?/1-0/!]
Yanamari Oct 2020
Strings interwoven
Surrounding me
Spacious yet brushing
Against my torso and thighs
Suspended on spun strands years old
I can only
Gently glide my finger tips
Along strings floating by
I cannot hate
Only hurt
An unconditional detachment towards
The way they surround me
I am careful not to cut the intricate plaits, even if I have subconsciously done and continue to do so
For a cut in the lines that hold together
My reality are delicate,
Best understood when each small length is given its value and attention
But I worry;
If my world is strung
Then a lifetime may not be enough
To untwist each weave
To its barest of selfs
And then twist together
A new piece that surrounds me
Warmly and peacefully
Turoa Oct 2019
He came to me for solace
Relief
Shelter from pain
He thought he'd found brotherhood
Companionship
A means to shed
One's own shame

But instead he found me
Bitter honesty, truthful but cold
Like raw ore to the smith
In my care
He will suffer
Before he is gold

I stole something from you today
Something you'll very soon know
The last temptation of relief
That iron grip on control
The great escape
Your last thread of hope

You'll think I've betrayed you
Wrong or right I don't know
But in its place I've left something
One more day
To live
One more day
To grow

Perhaps I will fail you,
I honestly don't know
We are not that different, you and I
To you perhaps we are
To me, I don't think so

But you will understand
What I said when we met,
What I think and believe,
My reasons, my friend
Unravel, unweave

Pieces of the picture
You'll see in due time
When we met
You said, my hands are *****,
And now see why I said,
So are mine.
I had an experience today, a friend of mine, a vet whose lost a lot recently.. I know the average a few years ago was 22 veteran suicides per year and I can only assume that's grown. Please be cognizant of others and the battles each individual faces, look out for your brother's in arms and don't be afraid to do the right thing if it gets the help they need.
A misplaced firing pin and a wellplaced phone call might be all it takes.
Jo Swan Sep 2018
As an only child
my mind was my friend-
it enchant and beguiled
me in a foreign land.

The bills had to be paid
so mother left for work.
I had to be not afraid
and be alone at dark.

With no one to play with
I lived in make-believe
and land full of myths
as tales would unweave.

In my tiny bedroom
I was a female knight
who fought against her doom-
sword ready for a fight

In a world of fantasy
I was no longer lonely

(c)2018 Joanne Chang
Childhood imagination is very important, particularly if you are an only child. You have no siblings to play and if you are left in your own company because parents have to work, you have to learn to find joy in solace.
Evan E Sep 2018
The single thought lingers,
it won’t ever leave,
Waking up from the memory,
scared and can hardly breathe,
Curled up on the tiles,
feeling exhausted, numb, and cold,
Just wishing that for one last time,
I could have your hand to hold.

My mind is a war zone,
but I can never leave
Coming apart like a frayed cord,
starting to unweave
Thick fog clouds my feelings,
they are so hard to see
I’m locked inside my own cage,
but I’ve lost the key
And when I eventually break out,
and my happiness finally shows,
The memory comes in and steals the show, until the curtains close.
Last winter I got very sick and almost passed away. This poem talks vaguely about the event, as well as the thoughts of depression I still am battling today.
Sara Buzz Mar 2019
Once I was tattered
cut up, ripped apart
over time I learned not to
and God healed my heart

it's so strange how the transition began
being saved
forced to change
gaining all hope to love, understand

one day i was a cutter
until i looked into his eyes
I heard someone elses voice
and knew it was time to stop
to try something,
rejoice

to make myself new
I let God step in and guide me
He would help me with what alone I had never dreamed I could do

Scars started fading fast
new cuts never came
I started going to church
started praising his name

He gave me someone who helped me want to live
someone that someday will deserve everything I'll want to give

and the snakeskin started falling
I shed my old life behind me
for once in my life I looked at the future, another living day as a definite possibility.

I've sat under the stars weeping for death, sitting there in your arms
then the next day in the sun feeling love, you praying for me, stopping my self harm

before we knew that God had planned this for us
the moment I'll never forget, the park, so late at night...
you held me and I held my breath

I cried
let everything out from inside
told you I just wanted to die

I couldnt face another day at home
you told me your story
how God saved you,
how He redeemed your soul.
and how you live to show His glory.

you helped me make a decision soon after
to let darkness consume me?
or I could choose to walk away,
trust in Him,
leave it all at the altar

All my life I wanted to be saved
it was something I hated
yet inside my heart craved
even though I enjoyed the depression
God did it in the way where He made sure His holy presence made an unforgettable impression

I looked time and time again but didnt choose to believe
I fell into heartache, into agony, constantly falling and laying there upon the ground
venturing further into grief

i looked to the darkness to cope
i never knew that I was weak
so I let my future go
it was the devils only job to unfold me
it was his pleasure to unweave

But God didnt let me stay there
he dragged me up above the ground
I was ignoring His voice actively
so He gave me another, different sound

Loves voice pierced my blindness
it peeled back  my wall and forced me to see
I could make the effort to know you
or live in my misery

So God sent me first an Angel for protecting my life
and then an Angel to save my soul
He interrupted my dark hateful nights with a hopeful knight of Earths own

and the snakeskin started falling
I started moving forward
for the first time in my life I wanted to see the future

another living day,
another better way
so I kept going to church
I kept praising his name

and the snakeskin was molted
I was saved and I was loved.
by myself,
a new family, friends and others,
but more importantly by God above

and the snakeskin fell off slowly
it took some time but I was on the right track
There are still times I feel troubled and have to allow myself to look back
through the dusty window, my past
now only visible through thin and fading cracks

but only ever to help others
to bring them forth and help them BE
The girl that I once was that wanted to erase my sad existence
is now thanking God for making me, see

I'll remember His light is enough
now I see the invisible red lines on my skin not as they used to be,
all those cuts...

im overwhelmed by the red letters of Jesus,
the power of His words
everytime I think of blades now
its replaced by righteous swords

everytime I feel like crying, giving up and falling down
I put on another worship song
and I'm wrapped within those chords

I've made it another day
ive lasted another year
and all it took was losing the snakeskin
that held me down before I got here

and the snakeskin disappeared
like I never thought it would
I've successfully run away
escaped the darkened life I've feared
I never thought how my soul was ever good enough to be by God and rightfully commandeered

I look forward to the heavens
I see all He has sent me
I see my life now just as I should
a boyfriend beside me, a happy life in front of me,
and the knowledge that God is always good
Andrew Crawford Apr 2020
Heart beat, bruised
bittersweetened, bent;
passion’s capillary action
relaxes then contracts again-
a seed beneath, muscle
fatigued, toils and spends;
roots, a web of arteries extend,
branching tree stemmed,
leaves shedding red oxygen;
veins shredded to the thread,
frayed strands bleed,
unweave and unhem;
rivulets spill, unquenched,
hemorrhaging hands,
their fingers search to mingle, blend;
a crimson cardiac attack, defend-
for a moment, pressure wavering, suspends,
then pulled back, we cauterize
and mend our loose ends;
every line a vine of growth we tend-
surrounding blossoms rose gardens.
Carolann Feb 2019
He looks into the air ,
Himself falling rain
Dripping of sorrow
Drenched beneath pain
Insides so heavy
Riddled with shame....

A whispering spirit now,
An angel through the air
Falling breeze whispers
You'll always be there.
We wait for answers
Feeling such pain
Searching for some reason
Someone to explain .
Unweave these mysteries,
These secrets you now hold
Only souls passing
Such mysteries be told..

Searching through the book of fate
Desperate  to erase this  tragic date.

Clouded judgement as i recall
Cast upon this shadowed wall
Memories made in the blink of an eye
Reflections of you in these tears that i cry
Trails of tears scattered debris
Spread your wings my friend
In peace may you fly free

— The End —