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Lone Luna Nov 2015
I am a broken glass.
I am an empty mug.
I am a withered pine.
I am a tasteless gum.
I am a burnt out pipe.
I am a falling star.
What should I do?
Where should I go?
Luna
gracie Feb 2018
a million years ago
my mom told me
there’s a light at the end of every tunnel
but I don't hold my breath
as we drive through them.

it's always cold
when I come home
'cause I'm the dark one
in my household.

the silent halls howl
with aching echoes
as my heels
clickety clack
  across the linoleum tiles.

beside my bed
sits a vase of withered roses
floating like corpses
in milky water.

I hate them.
every petal, every thorn
but I can't bring myself
to let them go.

is a beast still bad
if she cries in her sleep?
‘cause she’s broken and numb
but the world still turns.

she doesn't try
to be evil
she just forgets
to achieve perfection.
Jasmin Jun 2018
i plant seeds of solitude
water them at 12 noon
it sprouts every midnight
dies when you’re around.
but you were never around, were you? || it's my fault to depend on you
Timothy Jun 2013
Withered flow'rs from long ago preserved still,
Though long since dried they contain no perfume;
Gone is the loved one, lingering at will
On the memory and within my room.
Withered thou might be, but I love thee best
As thou wert, but now within my frail mind;
I see thee as yesterday, but thy rest
Among the angelic choirs I shall find,
Thy form once more as that delicate flow'r.
This cherished thought shall always be within
My heart, and henceforth each and ev'ry hour;
This is my love and it shall never end.
Throughout all of these—my remaining years,
The memories of thee, shall rain as tears.






**~Timothy~
© Timothy 3 June, 2013.
Umi Aug 2018
Tell your tale to the wind,
Be scattered across the sky, sing without ever being rewarded,
The falling of the leafs may be a sign of change, a warning of colder times crossing your path in this loitering darkness which takes over,
Allure is the thought of hope guiding, leading, escorting you through the misery of your own conscious, out to a far more pleasant world.
Wretched, you fight on as it slowly slips away, loses its strengh,
It is heartbreaking to watch them trying to get back, not flinching despite their wounds and scars they carry from the river of time,
Stained in crimson at last the flower petals of the falling season, reflect upon death repeatedly, with each one falling the soil cries out.
Take a dance with me in this distorted somber dark there is nothing to be sad about, the fate to be forgotten is the fate of every face, one day,
They wither over like the roses during autumn, fall from grace alike the petals of the sunflowers when their time to leave for the next generation has come, or alike the dandelions scattering their seeds,
But most importantly, is to not forget that whilst existing you can make a change, for yourself, for the better, for others,
Maybe you are their light their flower of a spring dream.
Even if humans continue to live wretchedly,
Living, is what I find very beautiful.

~ Umi
Don't cross the border of the conscious too early, fall when the time to wither has come.
As he walked through a forest he knew so long ago,
He sees a withered oak.
A proud thing.
A proud memory.
A proud day.
A proud history.

And yet all he feels now is the darkness of the shadow it casts.
He sees the leaves the rain soaks.
He has no song to sing.
He has nothing to be.
He has gone no way.
He has her in his dreams.

The rain continued as his clothes get wet, smiling at the memory of their first kiss.
It was like this...thing.
He can’t say it another way.
It was something to see.
It was something to light their day.
It was something meant to be.

He sighed and sat down under the far reach of the branches and watched the drops float down slowly; watching them made him happy, and yet they made him sad. They reminded him of the way the were happy, then sad. He laughed at his deep, philosophical banter. Is this not like our love, my dear?, he thought. One moment you’re soaked to the bone and trying nothing more than to run away when all you’d want more is to rush and play in the mud with eachother like children? Hm...and when the cloud are done weeping and they’re once again light with joy, what becomes of us? We simply dry our selves and go on with our full lives again....
Although...if it were meant to be...we'd simply fly and run in the field and let the sun have its way on our skin, no matter how sweltering it makes us feel.

And with that his thoughts were clear as he sat in that knoll.
Under and on that withered oak.
Its leaves laughing with the memories.
Laughing at the two of them.
Sighing at the sight of them.
Praying for the child of them.

And with that rain, each drop gave life to the leaves.
That grand oak.
Withered under its memories
Laughing at its own roots.
Barely a look under mans boots.
And yet, still strong enough to give its support.

———————_————————__

She walked up to that tree they used to love.
And found him lying there.
His skin still so fair.
But pale in comparison of what it used to be.
So she played there with him. Laughing with the tears of the sky. At what they used to be. Then in each other’s arms, they die.

The sun shines, and a shadow under them begins to bloom, letting the sun do what it pleases on their skin. There will be no joy for them this time though; they ran their last the day before.
Part 1
Lyrical Dream Dec 2018
His tired mind
was locked in a wicked
cell of illusion,
bounded by a seemingly
impossible freedom

A forced vision
constantly replaying
on the surface
within his skull:

a fear that his world would

collapse
at
his
feet

Why does he weep without reason?

There was no sadness,

only an empty voice and a mind racing against itself to a nonexistent destination
Sky Nov 2014
Frown upon my withered heart!
and wipe away my tears.
Catch the nightmares, catch my dreams,
ensnare my childish fears.

Protect me, Catcher, put me down
and watch me sleep to-day.
the worries they encase me,
my dream’s the price I pay.

The morning comes unfiltered
the cycle is broken for now
Oh Catcher! my Catcher!
My faithful night snatcher!
Laid a kiss on my wavering brow.
I love my dreamcatcher
sara Jun 2018
I'm transparent like a window
but I'm prone to keeping curtains closed
to cover up my youthful,
aching, naked soul.

I used to be promiscuous;
my essence on my sleeve.
a charming laugh; a crystal glass
from which many a fool drew drink.

A chalice of life;
warm like cinnamon wine,
soft like angel's delight.
Beheld by every eye.

But it never felt right;
I was smoke off a fire,
yet still smouldering coal.
Just a young, beautiful

byproduct of desire.
There's no smoke without fire.
Although, I tried to fan it cool;
the flames ran only wilder.

But as the old wind blows, it seems
a withered tree still grows new leaves.
A dandelion spreads its seeds
but they lie far away from me.

Now, I move transcluently-
ultraviolet invisible ink-
I speak in soothing whispers;
they travel further than you'd think.
Iridescence is things seemingly changing colour on their own- I think we all have the power to grow and move away from our pasts.

I love how fire is a destructive yet cleansing force.
Jasmin Oct 2018
petal of a withered flower
you dance with such grace
though the wind carried you away,
away from your roots
far from what you’ve traced.
Cné Aug 2017
The weary mind in turmoil writhes
and slumber will not come.
The moonlight seeps
like latticed withered vines.
I listen to my heartbeat,
in the silence like a drum,
And through my shuttered eyes....
see strange designs.
The night will not take me prisoner,
and bind me to restful sleep.
No dreams, or any respite,
no way, my soul to keep.
Groaning as I turn myself
to rest beleaguered pain,
I stretch to ease
my tortured back and sigh.
Then I fluff my pillow
to deactivate my speeding brain...
Rolling in the covers,
as my body sweats and strains,
seeking to lose myself,
discarding all, my pains

But my eyes are wide...
and still the question..."Why?"
Brains on hyperdrive
Busted! Caught again
In a battle for your brain
Oh please, don't pretend

The nights! And the scares
Guilt built up inside your skull
Oh please, let it end

Curled, crying lies
Awake! Inside his eyes, glossed
In a withered glow

Oh! It asks as he
Blends into his wallpaper:
"Oh please, where'd you go?"

~Humanity, I don't know~
nathaniel Sep 2018
august’s withered days swing from view.⠀⠀
flicker of a breeze caresses earth’s cheek.⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
crinkle of a leaf, a wail beneath your feet.⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
a wispy veil of dew covers the dried remains of a summer’s past.
treetops glistering, vibrant golden hues⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
first flicker of daybreak rising slowly.⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
an infant’s feeble cry of autumn’s might.⠀⠀⠀
although november is my favorite month, september has always held a special place in me, even if it feels like it flies by so fast.
I would rather die a withered rose with its thorn intact,
Kept between my children's diaries as a beautiful memory,
It's thorn reminding them of a mother's fragrance.
Not as petals scattered over my grave,
Blown away by the wind.
11/3/2019
jules May 2018
she had flaked away her memories
and stepped up
with a ponderous heart,
held by two gentle hands;
and saying goodbye, did she,
as she slipped off her skin,
for the moment blood stains
the kumari's tender soul,
bereaved, will she become,
for a goddess never bleeds.

her feet shall never touch
the tattered, naked ground,
for it engulfs and devours
and burns off the kumari's flesh.
holding her pure spirit, and
  accepting a cruel death sentence,
her quivering soul
cupped but a glimmer of hope,
as the fire would flicker
and lash and whip
as her skin flakes again,
and the kumari vanishes.

but, if she remains unscathed,
blood shall be drawn,
and the gods will tremble and
her body will collapse.
the world will consume her
once again.

a kumari's blood,
drawn, now at death,
trembling and alone,
had she sobbed tears of joy,
for no longer the weight
must she bear in her heart,
of being a kumari;
but a kumari is she,
and the world has not chose her,
but she has chosen to be.

she had withered away,
heart no longer ponderous,
she stepped up.
and her wishes from within
passed on to the fearful others,
held by two gentle hands, and
with a gentle flutter of her eyes,
next to her charcoal stained skin,
had her heart stopped;
for her bejeweled crown had been stained with blood,
and the kumari realized that
she had died long ago.
i worked really ******* this
Nalini Oct 2014
Illusions of permanence are cutting the very
Depth of this mind while it
Overflows with thoughts and
Never-ending clouds bring
'
Tears to remind how
Knowledge is the whirlwind while
Not-knowing is the silent center; still the
Ongoing winds keep tearing down every
Withered leaf from the tree of my heart.
October 23, 2014

Another one of those late-night poems. Of the kind that don't let go until they're written down on paper, but the moment they're out there, a serenity overtakes your whole being...
Esmena Valdés Aug 2018
The sky is a bowl of withered stars.
With emotion veiled
in the corner
of those truly murky blankets.
I spoke with the ghost of a fulminated tree
he told me his story
that is mine.

So his indirect revenge.


I will make a prayer to the rainbow after the flood,
after us,
after you and me.

There is no solution outside of love.
Dark shadows enfold
my heart that
I gave you to hold.

Every time you walk past,
without even an hello,
Omni, I get so cold as if my
soul will freeze then fold

Your being completed me,
so tell me Omni, how is it that your strong and bold when my being has disappeared, from what
your eye's use to behold.

I'm as a withered plant,
without your sun I'm done.
The end of my species,
never to see the sun.

Oh but when you did grace me not too long ago to bloom,
I was the most beautiful in the room!
*
Thank you for that.

~SacredInkedBlood
(Author Ven J. Arnold)
©2018
A metaphoric piece written for a kindred soul, a poet here by the name of @Omni. A fond kindness that I have developed for this poet as if we were souls that have once met and I'll never meet him in this lifetime.
Osiria Melody Feb 14
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.
Jeff Stier Jul 2016
My avid gaze
spoke to the rosary
of your flesh

My heartsick tremors
marked me as a wanted man
and burned the villages
of my ancestors

I was a refugee
from time
a friend to no man

My tears washed the blood
from my hands
my eyes withered
the tender bud

So when did I read poetry
on your lips?

Did your mountains fracture
and disintegrate into
sparkling shards
as mine did?

Was the moon an egg
in your basket
as it was in mine?

Little do we know
of the other
when first we clasp hands
and agree

In time
and with luck
we learn.
I tried to write a poem in the style of Pablo Neruda.
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