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Osiria Melody Feb 2019
It is I, who is shaken by the subliminal
lies said through your eyes
Which are unfaithful to the truth
I'd rather feign my sadness, lest my
existence disturbs you
Drown me in my apprehensions, a
labyrinth of my fragmented ego
Savor my tears, for I have cried enough
to **** my pride
Yet, it is I who is still shaken
My dearest friend, lover

I do not know how to mourn by the river
Taking my soul, all torn and withered
No one can tell me where I lie
Standing upon my ground, goes awry
Hastily making the gravest mistakes
My heart trembles, never quakes
Such tender darkness, so trivial
Makes my voice come alight through my upheavals

Oh, tell me if my fears mean nothing
Throwing my tears against an unknown something
Only burns, the reprimanding light of day
Night, only sense of freedom, in shape
Thunderous words strike my being
Negative washes do cleaning
To breathe is to draw in one less breath
To speak is to utter one less regret

I don't know how to mourn by the river
Drawing me in, my faults come hither
Relentless suffering that visits my head
I wish something else could visit me instead
I don't know how to mourn from the river
Secret despondence, my only killer
My dearest friend, lover
Show me how to mourn by the river



Melody
2/14/19
Grief is like a river which ebbs and flows.
Sofia Jul 2018
As a flower thou wither in the absence of light
With no rays and no heed where the agony hides
When the bloom is no longer a forthcoming bright
And the singing is now not a prayer, but cry

In the wisdom and bravery thou reckon the faith
And the spirit takes over misdeeds that were made
As a flower thou wither in the absence of light
Though thy soul is remembered, embodying might

~
7/17
js Nov 2018
It withers

near a bare
tree,

under skies
filled with
gray.

It withers

with tired petals
amid dullness, and

rain.

I see it wither

here.

I see what

remains.

Poor haggard

thing

with no place to
go.

I see it wither here

without
ever seeing
it

grow.
Rosely Medina Dec 2018
Oh dearest of friend,
After many disconsolate moons
It seems I’ve begun to wither
Passion Pete Aug 2019
Im lost like the dead
In a cool summer night
Winds weave together
Poorly
And i walk with all might
Serene Chaos
In ol pale moonlight
So pale, so pale,
The palest I'd seen
None would quite know
Your special black gleam
So Leave Me To Rot Here
In this Grove all my own,
Grown accustomed to rain
And the deaf silent tone
Strung Nov 2019
She left the gate agar
And the sun crept in to steal my time,
Adding the ever-careful wrinkles round my eyes.
Dead strawberries withered with care
And Rainy, ****** skies weighed down  with weeks of meager, longing stares.

Is there more I can hold in the folds of my fingers?
Drip through the cracks, I fumble.
I wish I could see my darkening eyes...
And hear the seeds of my labor
crumble
Are there ever enough days? Enough time? I’ll never do it all...
Debbie Lydon Feb 2019
I'm told that feeling and love are innate,
So why can't I communicate?
I'm despairing and longing for human connection,
But I'm met with indifference or even rejection.

Internally I harbour thoughts of kindness,
But they wither in the wake of external blindness,
I'm obsessed with truth and authenticity,
And this comes at the detriment of anyone knowing me.

An extreme fear of misunderstanding remains,
Despite me knowing that this is my ball and chain,
A depleting hope lingers on in my dreams,
So fragile and weak, a mere ember it seems.
A poem concerning the difference between the way you are perceived and the way you perceive yourself. A fear of misunderstanding is ever present in a society that is fueled by facades and a cold approach to eachother. It causes pain and this is becoming more and more overt in our day to day lives.
vanessa ann Jan 2018
this is a tale
of two star-crossed lovers
with a love so powerful
they tainted the heavens
with bursts of colours

they were never meant to be;
mischievous little kids
finding love in sinful glee
in laughter, between dreams and reality

and though it was lawless,
they found solace
because in every prison,
they found a rhyme and a reason

but even for a love so great,
they could not escape
the fates’ wrath and envy

destiny pulled on their threads
cut them loose, thrusted them into misery;
for their memories were wiped clean,
but feelings remained as strong as they had ever been

the boy exiled in a far off land
across the pacific sea
the girl trapped in her need to break free
in a realm both boring and bland

ensnared in a labyrinth of woe
the lovers yearned for anything—
for something, for someone,
to obliterate this endless longing

the gods answered them
in the form of two loved ones
polished in every edge,
a perfect someone

but perfect felt too perfect
and not perfect enough
to fill up the hole
left by a perfectly imperfect

until one day the gods whispered
for the winds to push the two
and the birds to tug at their sleeves
over mountain and sea
even through the darkest valley
so their paths would finally meet

and so they did.

in the flurry of a moment
a pair of brown eyes met
and time was frozen
once more

the two stared intently
as if remembering a broken melody
a lost childhood song
branded as a wrong

the birds fluttered and flew
taking the cursed red fibre
snipped them in two
and the lovers felt all the lighter

it was the girl who spoke first:
“**** the stars.
i don’t want perfect,
i want you.”


eyes dazzling, the boy nodded:
“we’ll invert the universe—
the night sky a blank white
the stars pitch black
the earth moving in reverse”


the fates saw and surrendered
as the stars began to wither
for this love is love
in all its splendor

so the lovers walked away with a promise
under their breaths, they both swore:
“i lost you once,
but nevermore.”



they say no one can rewrite the stars,
so i propose we orchestrate supernovas.
mariamme Jun 2018
i've just realized
i am a little too hungry
for the world's delicious hidden things
to sit here idly still
waiting upon those who watch over me
to figure out i'm not a figurine
to handle with care and
twirl on pedestals for the eyes of family friends
as though accomplishments
are only made of paper and years' hardships
and "look, dear, she did it!"s that
only bring bile to my lips
not proud smiles like i plaster
as though i'm only yours, nothing more

can you feel the furnace in my roots
lapping at the scraps of solitude
and fanciful imaginings that i throw
to sate the beast begging for death
of your dominion over my wellbeing
i don't want to be safe right now, love
i want to feel the rain on my face
and have permanence taper
until all that's left of me
is lived experience, no paper trails
and accolades that gather dust and wither.
so much to do and then regret later, until i'm past regret at age 87 with tattoos up my thighs and lots of fun stories about lived experience to tell.
gracie Jul 2017
Perhaps we never truly met
until I heard your voice of flowers
spill hydrangeas across the carpet
of my bedroom at 3 am.

Those whispers of nothingness
that smell oh so sweetly in the night
begin to wither away as sunrise creeps in
through the window I forgot to close tight.
Kimberly Sep 2018
The words you spoke
Awakened the slowly withering
Your thoughts were gold
Replacing the cracks
The crevices
The fissures
That was becoming
Of the once smooth surface of my sanity
When your fire warmed but didn’t harm
I longed and searched for ways to stoke it
Already feeling chilled
At the slightest distance from your flame
I didn’t mind suffocating
But you were air
And I realized I love breathing.
This is the first poem I’ve shared. Thank you so much for reading. ^_^
Lazhar Bouazzi Dec 2017
Make this want wither,
O Rain!

Dig a brook hither
In my vein,

And plant on either side
Of my pain -

Swaying thousands
Of bluebells.
LazharBouazzi (December 15, 2017)
Love has Degree.

- A Faithful Person creates a Shield against Evil and repels it;
A Frightened Person generates a Whirlwind for Evil and absorbs it.

- It's no use to call your Neighbour's Tree a Wither
When yours is all burned-up to Cinders.

- Dumbness is more Arid than a Desert.

- Everything has a Head and a Tail.

- Life is Gold whenst one Prospers,
Life is Rust whenst one believes no Hope.

- I'd rather take Jealousy
Than enduring Hypocrisy.

- Children are God's Gems. Treasure it.

- Everyone is Famous,
From Poor to Rich
Your Light reaches the Clouds,
But some reach the Sun.

- Sin is a Total Poison to God's Grace.

- Man's tongue has certain taste;
God's Tongue has Every Taste.

- Deception is like a Light which reflects from the Mirror it hurt
Then strikes it back at the Source.

- Man is a Masterpiece:
A Shining Sculpture of God's Creation.

- Your Mind has Endless Travels.

- Anything has Hope when you are still Alive and Well
Till Death do you both Part.

- True Beauty is always grown beneath the Soil.

- Our Heart is a loving Pet
When fed with Love and Care
A Renegade, when studded with Stones
Of Hate and Harm.

- Fire is Strong when there are Sticks to burn it;
But when the Camper takes the Sticks away,
Will it still be Strong enough to Survive?
Shane Rowe Nov 2018
Do you remember me the way I do?
Of course you don't
It's interesting to see, though
You miss me,
But how?
Who was I with you?
Was I delicate and not fragile?
Was I missing pieces and not broken?
Your perspective of me is clouded by rose colored clouds
Am I a one way ticket to what you thought we were?
Sugar coated sweet nothings
Stained my lips in the past
I was consumed with doubts
That you fed not tamed
We covered each others bruises with flowers,
Hoping it will make them beautiful
But flowers are not forever
And so I saw them wither
I don't know who you miss,
But I do not think it is me
She told me she missed me tonight. I don't know who she was talking about. She remembers a different me.
Shofi Ahmed Feb 2019
The sun was so close to
the fingertips of the earth mother
while the rose bloomed so bright
the first morning the sun rose on the earth.
The sun spaced up high up to the blue sky
so the colour of the rose may not wither.

The mother Fathima smiled even brighter
upon the rose, the sun draws back every sunrise
is ever closer till to date a colour never withers!
Onoma Jan 2019
life is a ceaselessly

smelt flower...

enfolding wither

to its scentless

core~
Zane McHarris Mar 2016
When we met, your body was in bloom,
Roses of purple black and blue,
Planted without care. Strewn about
the bed, your flesh now painted.

Frozen blue buds pushing
through snow, brushed onto skin.
The petals soft and smooth, spread
Across your body, like a vine.

Blossoms of summer, with shades of winter,
Their roots went deep, coiling and constricting.
They became your arteries and veins,
Your nerves and bones.

I cannot pull these flowers,
Without destroying part of you.
Only time and careful tending,
Will wither the roots.

Only when the flowers fade, if you
will let me, I will plant my seeds.
Shin Dec 2013
I don't know how to write happy poems
because I don't really believe in them.
I thought angst would die with adolescence,
but alas I can still feel its cold dint.

Perhaps like virginity this goes too;
no longer a creep standing idly by.
Plastic smiles taped to our cardboard faces
and yours alone I felt the need to prise.

That's okay, because the teenaged rosebud
that we claim to be so very unique
is beginning to wither, can't you see?
And now it's the thorns society seeks.

So look out over yonder cityscape.
Your mask shall be shed only by the moon.
Until then, a cartographer of love;
yours that is, we'll still pathetically swoon.
Empty halls filled with echoes of lost cries
Passageways
Dark
Damp
*****
Neglected by human hands
Leading to a chamber
Nearly empty
Except for one thing
Chained to a corner …a heart
Alone,
Crying,
Dying
Left to rot and wither
The tears turned to rage
Of loneliness,
Brokenness,
Grief,
Damage.
Ahnaf Jul 2019
A towering wooden frame
Lined with fake lotuses  
Written all over

Here Lovers' promises
Sit unscathed, untested

Words etched
In just a single moment of love
Live forever
As love elsewhere dies away
Laine Viv Aug 2014
I've told people not to let others
plant flowers inside them,
for they will leave,
and all the loveliness inside them
will wither and die

I've said it as if
it's the simplest thing in the world.

But clearly, it isn't.

And you don't get to choose
who will do it,
when they will,
or whether they will.
You won't feel it when they finally do.

One day you'll wake up
with a garden blooming inside you

until they leave,
and you've got nothing
but tears to water what they've left.
Autumn

Leaves
Wither
Surrender
They fall in retreat
Grasping
Visions of your splendor
They die at your feet
ConnectHook Sep 2015
[Infernal Dialectic of Ongoing Struggle]

Spoke Mao Zedong to Kim Jong Ill:
We languish here in deep red hell—
Let us confer and analyze
What factors revolutionize
The contradictions still.


Replied Lil’ Kim: The running dogs
Beguiled by class and capital
Have overdrawn and overspent.
They bank on debt, and make lament
And flounder in their fogs…


Kim chee does stink, but tastes so good
Do have some more, oh comrade Mao.
Fermented cabbage goes so well
With Hennessey and blondes (in hell)
when
Juche’s in da hood!

The Fearless Leader (now a shade)
Responded thus: Just give them time.
Our doctrines spread, their God is dead
Their sons shall sing ‘The East is Red’
Our party’s got it made.


Ill Kim displayed a wicked grin:
Our rocket-launches make them fear
They scold and cluck, and then they duck
While Hillary tries to pass the buck
I think we still could win…


The Chairman thought and sipped some fire
in communistic reverie, and feeling very clever, he
Replied to Ill: This place we’ll fill
with dead reactionaries still—
fifth columns to inspire.

Now let the thousand flowers bloom
And let one thousand thoughts contend.
Remember **? Remember ‘Nam?
We triumphed over Uncle Sam—
He’s limping toward his doom.


A wizened ghost now drifted in
Because his name had been proclaimed
A wispy beard (as yet unseared)
Revealed the mastermind once feared:
Old Uncle ** Chi Minh !

** **—old friend! Draw near! Draw near,
Spoke Mao: In solidarity
We hail your work upon the earth
You showed them what a war is worth
You’re always welcome here.


Ill Kim and I were wondering
How best to make the forward leap—
conspiring ******* their cow
and smoke their duck and drain their sow
while they are buying bling.

** Chi, old warrior, why the frown?
Upon your wisdom now we wait.
The forces red you bravely led
You staked your claim until they bled
And brought their nation down.


Old uncle **, the sage revered,
did smolder with his cigarette.
Viet Cong thought is hard to grasp
It slithers like a jungle asp…
** paused and stroked his beard:

You speak without the people’s light!
I criticize in strongest terms
Your revolutionary thought.
We need to ask our friend Pol ***
How best to steer this fight.

Such gradual change, a halfway measure
stalls the Bourgeoisie’s demise.
Our true Khmer Rouge was not a stooge
of Kapital. His fame was huge
for plundering their treasure.

True, he had to purge his nation
such is revolution, gents…
The traitor classes see the masses,
through reactionary  glasses.
Death or re-education!

We ought to sow his rural seed
for pure agrarian reform.
The bodies in the rice can rot
to fertilize the harvest plot—
the people’s mouths to feed.


When Pol *** heard his tactics lauded
he flew in to join the jabber:
Take a tip from Kampuchea!
Listen well and I will teach ya!

Kim and Mao applauded.

City folk are useless eaters
glasses-wearing foes and cheaters!
let them slave – and always save
their corpses for the fertile grave
Until they love their leaders.

From the barrel power grows—
(I don’t mean kim chee barrel, boys).
Now learn my way.We’ll have our say
Their weakened states will wither away.

The Red dictator rose.

Prepared to ramble on for hours
(the way Fidel so loves to do)
Pol ***’s harangue now fired the gang
like rockets falling on Da Nang
emitting sparks in showers.

Hell is known for lack of stasis—
Sudden throes of quaking fire;
fitful flares from from Satan’s lairs
and constant similar affairs
the population faces…

Thus Saint Pol ***, still naming names
along with Mao and Kim-Jong Il
while ** Chi screamed, and then blasphemed
were swept en masse, and unredeemed
into the surging flames.

Yet still they plotted in the blaze
with dialectic deviousness.
Philosophizing, strategizing
stinking sulphur brimstone rising;
ghosts in the yellow haze . . .

        ☭ END ☭
http://tinyurl.com/q6uyx34

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