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greatsloth Dec 9
When the dream ends
And the dreamer dies
Would the world stop to mourn
Or would it continue its revolution;

With neither an impressive gun salute
Nor just a simple cry of sadness
How long until the warrior's song fade
Into the reality's cruel silence;

When the dreamer dies
He dreams of an eternal edifice.
Boris Cho Nov 24
Act One:

It takes a year to learn loss,
to feel the weight of each day without its rhythm,
what once was, is now only a shadow,
what was here, has slipped away.

It takes a year to understand the space
you still hold in my heart, in my mind.
What was once hollow, now aches with memory.
What was once vacant, is now filled with longing.

It takes a year to fall in love,
and a moment to take it for granted.
What was once ours, has drifted beyond reach.
What was once ours, belongs to the past.

It takes a year to regret the deepest mistake,
to lose everything; even yourself.
What was once within grasp, is now gone,
what once was life, is now distant.

It takes a year to mourn the loss,
to feel again what was missed and forgotten.
What once broke me, has now faded,
what once shattered, is now still.

It takes a year to feel the sting of absence,
to realize the love you held is no longer yours,
and in the stillness of that truth, we find peace,
carving space for new beginnings, for what’s to come.

Act Two:

One year ago today,
I spoke those words,
I never thought I’d say again;
‘I love you,’ and in that moment,
My world had forever changed.

— Sincerely, Boris
Nahin Nov 21
He expects her everyday
longer than hope.
Sitting on benches,
leaving coffee cold.
A stranger sits beside me everyday.
A love like yours
Has got me weeping at unknown doors
To be heard,
To be mourned,
To be something,
Under this sky above.

I had to pray
Thunderstorms in my way
When you would never stay
A price too big you asked me to pay.

And I can't undo the candles
The lightning and the thunders
And the passion I poured into you,
You truly never had a clue
All I did was for you.
Izzy Oct 7
my beloved,
what do i do
if i never see you again?

what if
words exchanged
were the last ones
to be so?

what if i
were
never
able
to let go

what if i
have to
keep on
turning
in my grave
Alex McQuate Sep 30
Oh how I wonder,
How Napoleon felt on that ship,
Seeing the coast of his beloved France recede into the distance,
Never to be seen again?

How did it feel,
When the Emperor stared out,
Upon the ocean and horizon
The salted spray that kissed St Helena,
Also kissing his brow?

In those last days,
Did he recall his beloved France?
Did he visit his men and subjects,
Did he see it in his mind?

In those final hours,
Did he hear the people chant,
Liberté, Egalité, Fraternité!
Did he hear his army sing Le Chant du Départ one final time?

Upon the arrival of that grande finale,
The final moment,
The End,
Did he think of François and Léon as much as Josephine?
Did he feel that laurel-wreath upon his head one last time?

Was he scared?
wading through the faces as they fade into the portraits
swallowed by the room of fresh pressed funeral suits
cold eyes boring holes into the back of my head
all the boring jokes i've told to best dressed mourning guests

the rest, my best guess
arrived to celebrate your death
no one thinks to bring flowers for the living
april showers bring may flowers
but you pushed daisies into my hands
when you're left holding the bouquet
you won’t stop to smell the roses
Zywa Apr 10
Don't mourn for the dead,

grieve only for the living --


Do it for yourself.
Novel "Midnight's Children" (1981, Salman Rushdie), chapter 3-1 "The buddha" (old man)

Collection "Low gear"
Unpolished Ink Sep 2023
Do not mourn for me in sombre colours
black and grey was not my way to be
do not drown me in sorrowing hymns
praise me with the tunes of larks
I always loved their spiral song in flight
celebrate the spirit that was me
forget the dark
embrace my light
Claire Elizabeth Jul 2023
How does one lose a creature gracefully…?

Is it possible to just be okay with a quick goodbye under the hum of those awful fluorescent lights? Would it have been easier, kinder, softer, if the lights were lamps scattered about the space, yellow and murmuring? When does the gut-wrneching tightening stop? Will I ever let the sadness of it leave my chest?

Sitting in this complacent grief even months after it all is kind

I know that the grief will let me cry and I know that when I do, it doesn’t judge me for my “I wish things could go back to normal.” Because regardless of how familiar the New Ways become, it still isn’t the same. I am bookended by these two creatures that have and continue to adore the Earth I walk on. But the Old Ways stick with us for longer than we’d maybe like.

But in filling that little empty nook, the small nest where a dog named Nelson used to lie, I’ve forced myself to grow, to become changed.

My adult life started when I got Nelson, and it started again when I had to let him slip through my trembling fingers. And it continues on with this new creature named Franklin, who sits just to the left of that Nelson shaped divot.

Loving things that leave you utterly shattered is what makes us so mendable, forgetful, endlessly desperate for devotion…

The whole scene will replay in 10 years time, and I will be even more ruined then.
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