Silence Screamz Oct 2014

Show me Silence and I will make it scream.
Enjoy my muse, because this is my dream

It sounds ridiculous but only I feel productive when I'm doing nothing.
Sitting back, just relaxing.
Popping blue beans, burning bowls of green.
And just thinking.
Daydreaming about how things could have been.
How things could still be.
But how things will probably be.
Just close your eyes and let music be your guide.

Entire lives constructed and played out
in grand fashion. A world so detailed
I would rather get lost,
And never come back to this travesty of a society,
so raw and primal.
so human.
My world is so beautiful and yet so depressing
because it's what ours could be, but never will become.
Anything to distract me from this.
The 24 year old burnout grinding through school because there aren't many options left.
So where will I'll be in 5 years?
I wont.

My wife, a psychiatrist, sleeps
through my reading and writing in bed,
the half-whispered lines,
manuscripts piled between us,

but in the deep part of night
when her beeper sounds
she bolts awake to return the page
of a patient afraid he'll kill himself.

She sits in her robe in the kitchen,
listening to the anguished voice
on the phone. She becomes
the vessel that contains his fear,

someone he can trust to tell
things I would tell to a poem.

Like a thousand nights before I'll sit here
with music in my ears.
Thinking of you, what could have been...
What should have been?
No, if it should've than it would've but it wasn't, so fuck it.
But I can pretend.
I can imagine,
I can dream.  
My thoughts drift away and suddenly I'm someone else
in a land far away, living a different life.
Slowly events unfold of stories untold
and I'm lost living a life inside.
Behind my eyes I've lived hundreds of lives
with no one to judge me but myself.
Yet you're here to make another appearance.
No matter how far I run,
I just can't get away.
So, here we are again.

From a fewple years ago.
elsa angelica Dec 2015

Insomnia eyes
Eyes that write and never sleep
A sleepless poet

Insomnia

I can fake my identity and try to look happy,
but its all just a cover.
Take a swig from the flask and remove the last mask
only to find another.

There was once a time when I knew myself,
but now I'm not so sure.
All semblance of self-worth lay eroding in the dirt,
and its all thanks to her.

It's not really her fault, I'm truly to blame.
I grew selfish out of fear.
Afraid of being alone, I couldn't let her go
and now she's nowhere near.

A quick freestyle that I did.
elsa angelica Nov 2016

Feeling the urge to write
It's when your soul speaks to you
It happens at any moment
Sometimes in middle of night
It wakes you up
It gives you  insomnia
Happens in odd moments
And even when you are speaking with someone
You will say things like,
"sorry I'll be back."
It's a strange feeling
But it's also unique to you
The urge to write
Is like  writers anxiety
A need
It's your souls longing to be heard
And you just do it

Just write
pencaricahaya Oct 2014

A blue fountain pen that writes in blue
That and blank paper are my tools
To write these words of mine
While I'm thinking of you

You still haut me,
For how long?

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.

Write, for example, 'The night is starry
and the stars are blue and shiver in the distance.'

The night wind revolves in the sky and sings.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

Through nights like this one I held her in my arms.
I kissed her again and again under the endless sky.

She loved me, sometimes I loved her too.
How could one not have loved her great still eyes.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her.

To hear the immense night, still more immense without her.
And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture.

What does it matter that my love could not keep her.
The night is starry and she is not with me.

This is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance.
My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

My sight tries to find her as though to bring her closer.
My heart looks for her, and she is not with me.

The same night whitening the same trees.
We, of that time, are no longer the same.

I no longer love her, that's certain, but how I loved her.
My voice tried to find the wind to touch her hearing.

Another's. She will be another's. As she was before my kisses.
Her voice, her bright body. Her infinite eyes.

I no longer love her, that's certain, but maybe I love her.
Love is so short, forgetting is so long.

Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms
my soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer
and these the last verses that I write for her.


translated by W.S. Merwin

Elioinai Oct 2014

When I'm not writing,
I have the terrible feeling,
That I do not have feeling,
And can no longer write

poetry is my joy
Lunar Love May 2014

beware when you fall in love
with an artist
be it a painter, a singer, or poet

for the artist will
paint you
with strokes and hues
in shapes of every kind

sing about you
with heartbreak lyrics
and feelings which rhyme

write about you
with the simplest words
and a secret message she wants to say

beware of the artist,
and her love
one wrong move
and you're an artwork in her display

addy henderson Nov 2014

I would write
a thousand rhymes
a thousand times
if my words could chime
through your mind
to remind
you to unwind

when your mind is upright
theres no need to fight
turn off your light
and dont invite
your thoughts tonight

Goodnight, my love
goodnight

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