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Godlink Sep 2017
In a garden full of daisies,
had grown a beautiful rose.
Something more unique,
than I had ever known.
Though its beauty is breathtaking,
its personality made it shine.
To pick up such a perfect flower,
would be the greatest crime.
The rose was getting anxious,
in defense it grew a thorn.
I pricked my finger,
hurt myself,
but caused the rose more harm.
So through my dumbest action,
the rose would soon deplete.
Here I stand with pain in heart,
a perfect rose had wilted at my feet.
Kaliedoscope colors, shaped as a rectangle outline of my door-
and I can't go out and see the beauty of it. A gray room,
with a blue face, laced into rushing in another pumping day.
Provoke the guilt, wilted meaning every breathing being has.
I'll leave someday, in someway, maybe not this moon fall,
but I know I can't live, thoroughly at all-
All feedback is welcome.
~

I am
Unpoetic, for
Isolation built from self-paved
Solitude has wilted my writing's
Possibility for sweetness
And sugar-faked beauty,
But poetry is crazed
For a taste of
Vast feelings,
So here
I am-


~
All feedback is welcome
OpenWorldView Sep 2018
Every day and night
my thoughts are on your lips.
That crimson temptation
and source of my life.

They smile in gentle red
and speak with unique truth.

Quench my heart’s fire
with sweet tender kisses
and revive my wilted soul
with dew from cupid’s bow.
幽玄 Jun 2018
To what her words were softly spoken,
Weren’t they heard from the pulling ceiling?
It had no way to carry her softly upon shaken ground
he held onto what she last felt then,
past his hearing the searing heart reveled
In the last whimper of sadness
Gone was her feeling
tears had dripped over her face..
..Fallen from his grasp the black veil blew upward
he witnessed the blinds closing, her eyes watching
Overheard with great loudness she was deaf
Silence hurried the rush toward the floors liberation  
a sunlit evening wilted dry in prosperity..
In a timely fashion she was not heard anymore nor seen
The extraordinary pain I couldn’t understand then
If only..
She no longer knows where to go..
She’s gone unnoticed..
I can’t feel her presence anymore
yes, we’ll see another once again
From a pain stricken moment
Left in the vespertine
Along those painless places
Where all that lingers high above the ambience
Will be your very childlike presence
Shown upon in your own exuberant smile
Thenceforth into tomorrow
Farewell till then
I have but one thing to say, please be kind to others as you would like others to be toward you.
And another thing, leap forward out of your comfort zone to help someone from leaping off the marked ledge of ‘enough’. It happens too often and I could say I know the reasons why, for others for their sake if only I could take on their pain. complicated is life huh.

—seeing her fall through hopelessly murmuring what would be her final words to the man striving to hold onto her pleading for her to stay within his grasp, she simply didn’t want to hold on anymore, tired by life’s hard trials. So am I. isn’t everyone
Martin Heath Sep 2018
Lonesome Pine -

T'day I knelt by your Lonesome Pine
Stroked needles from your face
Lying lifeless scattered alas
Revealed rose eyes still shine

'bove limbs shadowed Heaven's staircase
Swaying gently 'midst rays
Reflecting off worn weathered steps
I begged a last embrace

Knees felt weak amongst wilted grass
Straining to shed a tear
When glanced above then b'low I stared
Sand thru an hourglass

T'day I knelt by your Lonesome Pine
Stroked your Spanish Moss hair
Tonight tears rained thru trembling hands
'longside your lonesome shrine
devine Aug 2018
the flowers were blooming
so were you
your eyes were glowing
so were mine

waving deserts
drank water from the river
danced through the grass
you led me closer
with just a single glance

the sweetest taste
strongest desire
i've never dreamed of
it whispered in chemical symbols
something i've never heard of

there was a lot to learn
but time wasn't at our side

i saw right through the eyes
fearful when wish to fight
despite it all
we continue on
fools in a glimpse of paradise
you saw right through the eyes
let go when wish to hold on

it was okay
while the petals covered
it was insane
to control the uncontrolled

but the flowers were still blooming
the scent of lights and waters
blue to green
i found myself longing for you
for summer
before it wilted away forever

before you
slipped away forever
Call Me By Your Name
Jay Jun 2018
I'M MAKING nachos in your toaster oven. The chips fall in the pan without a problem. Beans, evenly distributed (if I do say so myself.) Salsa- good to go. Then the cheese. Generic brand shredded cheese blend. I dangle my (washed) fingers into the zip-lock bag, grab a generous pinch and rain mild cheddar down on my gourmet meal. And I feel the tears building. "No," my conscious scolds, "you will not cry over shredded cheese." I add another pinch for flavor, then another to assert dominance. I slide the pan into the tiny oven- triumphant! But the next task breaks me. I freeze when I try to adjust the heat setting. I hear your voice so clearly, like you're still calling from the next room: "you have to press the TOAST button, it cooks much faster."  The tears start to roll. I think about how excited you were when cheese bubbled perfectly- "just a little brown, ever so slightly crispy." We would joke about your persnickety preferences, likely a product of your superior taste. Of course, you would have appreciated anything I made for you, but it was always better when the dish matched the idea in your head...when I made it like you would have made it (if you were only well enough to cook for yourself again.) In the present, I poke the TOAST button and flee the kitchen as to not cry in front of the smothered chips. I sit on the sofa and break down, gasping in childish sobs. "I miss her," I wail to an empty house. Warm tears coat my cheeks in the air-conditioned room. I feel so small. I feel so foolish for crying over stupid, little things. I feel so... so... A bell dings in the kitchen. I wipe my sleeve across my face and traipse back to the toaster. Hand into oven mitt, mitt onto pan, pan onto table. I grab the plastic tubs of sour cream and guacamole from the fridge and a spoon from the drawer that sticks a little when you try to open it. I pick the non-wilted bits off the head of lettuce and rinse them under the faucet. I finish the recipe. I pull out a chair. I sit down to nachos for one.
Grief is such a strange emotion/process.

*Oh my! Thank you all so much for your support! I wrote this back in June when I needed to get it out of my head and had no idea it was chosen as a daily until I just logged back on and thought there was a glitch with my notifications number. I was slightly mortified that a piece of my mourning got exposure but after reading your comments I'm glad that I documented something many of you identified with. I've since journeyed a bit farther in my grief- slowly overcoming my initial instinct of trying to instantaneously analyze every feeling to determine whether I'm "allowed" to have it. I went to a group bereavement meeting offered by the hospital that treated the loved one in this poem and the nurse running the session made a good point- no one can fully understand another person's relationship with an individual who's passed on. Interpersonal relationships are unique and so is grieving. Being gentle with yourself (especially in times of struggle) is woefully underrated. And with that, I send love, gratitude, and positive vibes to this wonderful community
Danielle Suzanne Apr 2017
Leaves wilted
Roots dry
Hidden in the unlit
corner of the room
You miss the brightness
of the morning sun

Put there
to pretty up this
bare space
Unaware
that you need more
than admiring looks
and shards
of fading light
to survive

Where did your green-ness go?
Once glorious
now brown tinged
and limp  
Walking past you  
I can't help
but look away

I know
I should do
Something
About you

A leaf falls
Feelings of thirst and
Engulfing darkness
Take their toll

Soon
There will be
Nothing left
But a shriveled up stem
And you'll be tossed outside
Discarded
With the rest of them

Really, I'm a terrible gardener.
Emily Mar 5
Roses are red
Violets are blue
Time goes by
And I miss you

Just like me
The flowers grew
But soon they wilted
Just like you

You were sweet
This I knew
Like an addiction
I loved you

Now the roses are dead
The violets are too
The garden's all gone
And so are you

Your flowers died
I did too
Because all along
I was you
I wrote this a while ago when I had a crush on someone and it was literally crushing me. This is pretty metaphorical, but it also has a bit of literal meaning. It's a mixture of my feelings towards the person I liked and how I felt towards myself at the time.
melodia Jul 2018
I used to write the most beautiful things
When I feel loved for everything.

Flowers grew on papers
with every words written down,
Pain have never spoken

I always savor
what's in his favor,
Even I drench in ink
by the thorns he pricked

Storm crossed the yard
In the waves I tried to linger
Left soaking in tears
Waiting for the sunshine
Waiting for it to end

As sweet as yesterday
Captivated by his fragrance
Now I cannot breathe
I want to escape this maze of wilted roses

What have I done?
Why I'm no longer safe in my own garden?

Lost with the clouds
Sadness was profound
You came and painted new colors in this miserable life
I was found

From disgrace
You embraced me
As I suffer illness
You cured me

Even trouble I become
No hesitation, you choose me
Thank you so much for saving me
You are now my forever paradise.
Thank you for seeing the beauty in me.
em Oct 2015
When my heart hung in the stars
I'm convinced
my better parts got lost
on the dark side of the moon.

the doctors say I'm dreaming
but I could swear to you
that the man on the moon is crying
asteroids and wilted flower petals.

we revolve around the same sun but
our revolutions although
intertwined, are chasing
different horizons longing for unfamiliar faces.

the stars are in my eyes
but it will take years of staring into
broken mirrors before I find the planet
that my smile resides on.
I don't really know about this one. I wanted to try something a little more abstract. Please please please leave feedback, I want to do everything I can to mature as a writer.
Sana Jan 2015
My heart I bequeath you
O’ stillness of my universe
I bequeath you my sanity
Spreading this cloak of being in your dust
I bow to your twinkling stars
To the waxing sun and scented grass
I bow to your springing rivers
To the parched grain and blossoming flowers
I bow to the warmth of my lover
And want of my beloved
I bow to your saccharine figs
And honeyed nectar in chalice filled
I bequeath my mortality to your transiency
Blinded by this light in game of ruse
Into your cohesiveness, I fuse
In blinkers to win the race
Espying a king in glass
Presage of being a slave

Yet when darkness falls
I furl my cloak and solemnly rise
For I bow not then
To your barren fields and waning suns
I bow not to your garish colors,
To the cloying drupe and wilted blossoms
Bracing my feeble transience
With my tenet and trail of faith
I bow to the King of kings;
Whilst I beseech for emanating hope,
In my tigers clasp, my God’s rope
I beseech,
Till the noise becomes music again
And as I gaze in the glass now,
All I espy is a beseeching slave
True, the brightest light casts the darkest shadow but it is in darkest that brightest embers can be found.
"Inside the womb, silence whispers;
Darkness wombs the light
Raging storms give birth to light"

Our fate is storm,
We are the light
We are the raging storm
Heidi Shavill Feb 2013
My wilted heart beats,
and quivers inside this cavernous hole
Crying weakens me
and salty tears drench my soul
I believed in this,
I guess the jokes on me...
the love of my life you are
honestly.
I cannot look passed our time together,
  I could have loved your *** forever!
hopefully my impression on you will linger
it feels wrong without you here  like a song without a singer
remember please time and again
this brave broken heart that let you in...

Heidi Shavill
2013
Nicholas Mar 13
Scattered across my bedroom floor,
glimmers of light staccato on wilted rose pedals

Memories of us, 
the faintest slapback of the person I was with you,
flicker with lethargic buoyancy 

Fondness for fondness sake,
denial as a delicacy

Your face, obscured in these floral polaroids
Impressions of who you were;
what you meant to me,
a struggle to behold
but recognizable in ripples across the faces of others

Remains of an entanglement that seemed to answer
why the universe was even formed to begin with

This omnipresent truth laying abed the other
jagged reality of our affair;
it was never you,
it was my self-possessing pursuit of wholeness
Musings on the idea that love can be a very selfish act and that, in it's absence, we sometimes look back on a former relationship, not because we still love or miss that person, but because we love/miss the way that person made us feel about ourselves.
Zoie Marie Lynn Nov 2017
i gave my heart away to a traveler in ****** shoes,
he had pretty eyes that made up for his pretty lies,
and now i don't know what to do.
i gave my soul away to a girl that said she worked for god,
she had oil in her hair but i didn't really care,
but she wasn't at all what i'd thought.
i gave my dreams to an artist i met down the street,
he knew what buttons to press to make me scream,
and now i'm not so sure that was a good thing.
i fell for a rose i thought was thriving,
but she was wilted, she was dying,
and i left quick as lightning.
i gave my limbs to a walking light beam,
he was made of this steel that tightly wrapped around me,
but these indents in my bones are a little too extreme.
i gave my poetry to the monster under my bed,
she crawled in and promised in the morning we'd be wed,
and now there's no rings but a shadow begging me to turn off the sun instead.
i'm just a moment, so don't let me pass you by
Benjamin Apr 2018
I could hold it in a breath,
bury it inside my chest,
watch the cilia react,
a current sent with each contact;
alas, I cannot keep it in
considering the broken skin;
with crimson ink, this razorblade’s
a fountain pen, I scrawl away:

“Hear me now, in sight of God,
first all is still, then comes the flood.”
The little blackbird hushed her song—
she could sense something was wrong—
pitchforked lightning bent the trees
and fireworks consumed the leaves
where my better angels hanged—
this, the Province of the ******.

If you were kept inside my chest,
you’d have slipped out with the rest,
while the vultures had their fill
picking piece by piece until
I’m left bone-bleached in the sun—
all the others turned to run;
but you were steadfast through it all,
from the spire to the fall.

The willow whispers from outside
where my history resides,
ghosts of angels hide beneath
the wilted branches of that tree—
I still catch glimpses of the scythe
from the corner of my eye,
but morning’s come, I cannot sleep here
in the shadow of the Reaper.
Stupid Jupiter Aug 2017
flower whose well fed,
which love and happiness was led
to dance with the wind
with the free mind

are either lucky, or unfortunate,
as the joy feed by their love ones,
could affect them nor normalize
it's their choice not to value things,
and to accept things as it is

you're either a rose or a sunflower,
you may be an azalea, but you're still a flower,
and it's your choice to be a vigorous flower,
or to be a wilted flower
Stephen E Yocum Oct 2014
I can not seem to see you anymore.
Not clearly anyway.
Why do you hide in shadows,
Avoid the light of my love,
Cover your face with you hands?
Speak in hushed whispers,
That only I can hear?
I miss your face of sunshine,
Your hugs of reassurance.
Your inviting laughter of gaiety.
Your innate wisdom,
So liberally dispensed.
Without your light to guide me,
More and more, I am often lost.

Grown man or not,
Without you I'm still a child.

The flowers I brought you last time,
are now brown and wilted.
And your headstone
Needs a good cleaning.
For my mom, died too
soon at only 54.
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