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Hi hello hola
My buttercup,
How I've missed your eyes
I've been waiting to embrace
You with mine,
I'd take a picture
But it wouldn't
Do you any justice,
Nothing like the real thing
See how my fingers quiver
I'm itching to trace
Every feature of your face,
Beautiful in every light
Even more so in the dark
Find your silhouette
Beckoning,
Overshadow
Your own shadow,
Outshine
That big ball in the sky
With that smile
I've yearned for
Make you laugh
It's the sound
I wish silence
Was made of...
© okpoet
Alan S Bailey Aug 2017
I have never tried harder in my life
Just to accomplish the so-called "easy,"
This world is so full of hate and violence,
Why can't we ever believe in making things
The way that they are meant to be?

I've been doing the same things for years
I guess I still **** at "easy,"
I guess I wasted all of my years it seems,
Losing so much now, or they just want to
"Easily" overshadow you and me.
Rachael Aug 2013
Every man for himself
We stand alone
It's a game of survival
Survival of the fittest
In this dog-eat-dog world

The people you think you know
The ones whom you really trust
That eating feeling

A feeling tugging
At the base of your blouse

Are they really your friends?

Define it.
Define the term friends.

Because the line between
friends and strangers
is so fuzzy

Clearly defined? No.
Definitely not.

I wonder
Who will really be there for me
When the skies grow gloomy and
Dark clouds overshadow

Will those people we once trust
Stay by us
Forever?

This feeling of doubt
Paranoia

It's consuming me

And I can't do anything about it

I'm falling into a spiral
Of loneliness and depression

Because I can't find the strength
In me
To save myself

I can't
Tiberias Paulk Feb 2015
In pools as black as midnights gaze
I lost myself to fervent haze
a lady no, but through and through
ensnared was I in eyes of blue
she was fond of broken things
and I in search of words to sing
met her there upon the edge
of what is known and what is said
we as one to dance and play
at things that only grownups say
til time and life and all it seems
would overshadow childish dreams
A graveyard speaks in gentle groans,
While winds whisper to lonely hills,
Chilling stoic standing stones,
That display cold names departed,
That overshadow buried bones,
And shade the brokenhearted.

Climbing vines grasp as they creep,
Turmoil settles as winds calm.
Distressed decades drift to sleep.
A moment to rest anguished ages.
Yet dirt sown remains to reap,
Wisdom of forgotten sages.

Awakened, a dusty breeze enhances,
Fluttering leaves and stirring grass.
Lives lived are in these turbulent dances,
Men and women you may never know.
Their dreams, loves and lost romances,
Triumphs and tragedies of long ago.

Transformed, into breath -- inhaled by lungs,
Personal particles drawn from air.
Unpaid debts and deeds left undone.
Regret, anger, fear and despair,
Battles lost, exhale the same as victories won,
As do the prophet and the prayer.

Perhaps the body is not my curse,
Reality so fragile as to change with a gust.
I sense my thinking was in reverse,
If my soul's intuition is a force I trust.
Then I know I am not lived to death,
But dying to birth, the living dust.
Hear this poem: http://youtube.com/poetryspoken

Gust by Nathan Elliott Stephen Green
is licensed under a Creative Commons
Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike
3.0 Unported License.

Dedicated to my late uncle, Kenneth B. Zeitler.
Gods1son Jan 2020
I've seen grace overrule unmet qualifications
I've seen grace speed up promotion
I've seen grace overshadow flaws
I've seen grace open up unexpected doors

...Amazing grace, how sweet the sound!
Poetic T Nov 2014
Twins of opposites, cradled upon
Darkness
&
Light,
Each brought up in the beauty
That beholds each,
Darkness looked upon all of it
Surrounded, it had beauties not
Seen, elegance beheld
The sky at night, the opposite twin
Sparkled,
Flickering,
Glints,
Gentle pin drops in the heavens,
Bringing a mergence of both
"A beauty to behold"
Down to earth all sleep
Embraced in the  silence
Entwined in night,
The gift given away from  light
And so
Illumination
Radiant
Light
Did end the time of  darkness
And so one twin left for the others
Time so shine on and all was seen
In all it glory, but even in light there is
Darkness
But not of the twin, but of mankind's heart
It was a contrast of the twins,
Shifting,
Changing,
Mixtures
Of both at once, But light was good
For beauty shined through, every inch
It gave light, nurturing growth
That all reached for above
As if to touch the giver of life,
Darkness could have fun with light
Taking the sky up before the light
Eclipsing
Overshadow
Shrouding
Taking the limelight away from its twin,
But the mixture of both, excites
Those below, the spectacle of each
If only for a short time in the skies above,
So the twins are of Darkness and Light
Play with each ones given talent,
They were mischievous but each held
Their own beauty and dangers,
But they are twins of opposites,
From the beginning till the end of time.
agalwithwords Apr 2012
Looking through the window
Into the graying sky
She founds a overshadow
Rushing through and fly

The wind is blowing high
Sound is piercing the mind
Wings are wide in defy
Dust is making her blind

She wonders through the wilderness
Amazed by the stubbornness
The storm is against the flying wings
Yet the bird is fighting things

She was crying and sighing
Alone she was denying
For the things she will never have
For the things she thought she had

Into the storm she saw the bird
Majestically the life is stirred
She knew the truth out of a sudden
The bird in the sky opened the Eden

After the shadow there will be light
Fight the wind like the Kite
Open the arms and go ahead
They will be the wings wide spread….
Now when they came to the ford of the full-flowing river Xanthus,
begotten of immortal Jove, Achilles cut their forces in two: one
half he chased over the plain towards the city by the same way that
the Achaeans had taken when flying panic-stricken on the preceding day
with Hector in full triumph; this way did they fly pell-mell, and Juno
sent down a thick mist in front of them to stay them. The other half
were hemmed in by the deep silver-eddying stream, and fell into it
with a great uproar. The waters resounded, and the banks rang again,
as they swam hither and thither with loud cries amid the whirling
eddies. As locusts flying to a river before the blast of a grass fire-
the flame comes on and on till at last it overtakes them and they
huddle into the water—even so was the eddying stream of Xanthus
filled with the uproar of men and horses, all struggling in
confusion before Achilles.
  Forthwith the hero left his spear upon the bank, leaning it
against a tamarisk bush, and plunged into the river like a god,
armed with his sword only. Fell was his purpose as he hewed the
Trojans down on every side. Their dying groans rose hideous as the
sword smote them, and the river ran red with blood. As when fish fly
scared before a huge dolphin, and fill every nook and corner of some
fair haven—for he is sure to eat all he can catch—even so did the
Trojans cower under the banks of the mighty river, and when
Achilles’ arms grew weary with killing them, he drew twelve youths
alive out of the water, to sacrifice in revenge for Patroclus son of
Menoetius. He drew them out like dazed fawns, bound their hands behind
them with the girdles of their own shirts, and gave them over to his
men to take back to the ships. Then he sprang into the river,
thirsting for still further blood.
  There he found Lycaon, son of Priam seed of Dardanus, as he was
escaping out of the water; he it was whom he had once taken prisoner
when he was in his father’s vineyard, having set upon him by night, as
he was cutting young shoots from a wild fig-tree to make the wicker
sides of a chariot. Achilles then caught him to his sorrow unawares,
and sent him by sea to Lemnos, where the son of Jason bought him.
But a guest-friend, Eetion of Imbros, freed him with a great sum,
and sent him to Arisbe, whence he had escaped and returned to his
father’s house. He had spent eleven days happily with his friends
after he had come from Lemnos, but on the twelfth heaven again
delivered him into the hands of Achilles, who was to send him to the
house of Hades sorely against his will. He was unarmed when Achilles
caught sight of him, and had neither helmet nor shield; nor yet had he
any spear, for he had thrown all his armour from him on to the bank,
and was sweating with his struggles to get out of the river, so that
his strength was now failing him.
  Then Achilles said to himself in his surprise, “What marvel do I see
here? If this man can come back alive after having been sold over into
Lemnos, I shall have the Trojans also whom I have slain rising from
the world below. Could not even the waters of the grey sea imprison
him, as they do many another whether he will or no? This time let
him ******* spear, that I may know for certain whether mother earth
who can keep even a strong man down, will be able to hold him, or
whether thence too he will return.”
  Thus did he pause and ponder. But Lycaon came up to him dazed and
trying hard to embrace his knees, for he would fain live, not die.
Achilles ****** at him with his spear, meaning to **** him, but Lycaon
ran crouching up to him and caught his knees, whereby the spear passed
over his back, and stuck in the ground, hungering though it was for
blood. With one hand he caught Achilles’ knees as he besought him, and
with the other he clutched the spear and would not let it go. Then
he said, “Achilles, have mercy upon me and spare me, for I am your
suppliant. It was in your tents that I first broke bread on the day
when you took me prisoner in the vineyard; after which you sold away
to Lemnos far from my father and my friends, and I brought you the
price of a hundred oxen. I have paid three times as much to gain my
freedom; it is but twelve days that I have come to Ilius after much
suffering, and now cruel fate has again thrown me into your hands.
Surely father Jove must hate me, that he has given me over to you a
second time. Short of life indeed did my mother Laothoe bear me,
daughter of aged Altes—of Altes who reigns over the warlike Lelegae
and holds steep Pedasus on the river Satnioeis. Priam married his
daughter along with many other women and two sons were born of her,
both of whom you will have slain. Your spear slew noble Polydorus as
he was fighting in the front ranks, and now evil will here befall
me, for I fear that I shall not escape you since heaven has delivered
me over to you. Furthermore I say, and lay my saying to your heart,
spare me, for I am not of the same womb as Hector who slew your
brave and noble comrade.”
  With such words did the princely son of Priam beseech Achilles;
but Achilles answered him sternly. “Idiot,” said he, “talk not to me
of ransom. Until Patroclus fell I preferred to give the Trojans
quarter, and sold beyond the sea many of those whom I had taken alive;
but now not a man shall live of those whom heaven delivers into my
hands before the city of Ilius—and of all Trojans it shall fare
hardest with the sons of Priam. Therefore, my friend, you too shall
die. Why should you whine in this way? Patroclus fell, and he was a
better man than you are. I too—see you not how I am great and goodly?
I am son to a noble father, and have a goddess for my mother, but
the hands of doom and death overshadow me all as surely. The day
will come, either at dawn or dark, or at the noontide, when one
shall take my life also in battle, either with his spear, or with an
arrow sped from his bow.”
  Thus did he speak, and Lycaon’s heart sank within him. He loosed his
hold of the spear, and held out both hands before him; but Achilles
drew his keen blade, and struck him by the collar-bone on his neck; he
plunged his two-edged sword into him to the very hilt, whereon he
lay at full length on the ground, with the dark blood welling from him
till the earth was soaked. Then Achilles caught him by the foot and
flung him into the river to go down stream, vaunting over him the
while, and saying, “Lie there among the fishes, who will lick the
blood from your wound and gloat over it; your mother shall not lay you
on any bier to mourn you, but the eddies of Scamander shall bear you
into the broad ***** of the sea. There shall the fishes feed on the
fat of Lycaon as they dart under the dark ripple of the waters—so
perish all of you till we reach the citadel of strong Ilius—you in
flight, and I following after to destroy you. The river with its broad
silver stream shall serve you in no stead, for all the bulls you
offered him and all the horses that you flung living into his
waters. None the less miserably shall you perish till there is not a
man of you but has paid in full for the death of Patroclus and the
havoc you wrought among the Achaeans whom you have slain while I
held aloof from battle.”
  So spoke Achilles, but the river grew more and more angry, and
pondered within himself how he should stay the hand of Achilles and
save the Trojans from disaster. Meanwhile the son of Peleus, spear
in hand, sprang upon Asteropaeus son of Pelegon to **** him. He was
son to the broad river Axius and Periboea eldest daughter of
Acessamenus; for the river had lain with her. Asteropaeus stood up out
of the water to face him with a spear in either hand, and Xanthus
filled him with courage, being angry for the death of the youths
whom Achilles was slaying ruthlessly within his waters. When they were
close up with one another Achilles was first to speak. “Who and whence
are you,” said he, “who dare to face me? Woe to the parents whose
son stands up against me.” And the son of Pelegon answered, “Great son
of Peleus, why should you ask my lineage. I am from the fertile land
of far Paeonia, captain of the Paeonians, and it is now eleven days
that I am at Ilius. I am of the blood of the river Axius—of Axius
that is the fairest of all rivers that run. He begot the famed warrior
Pelegon, whose son men call me. Let us now fight, Achilles.”
  Thus did he defy him, and Achilles raised his spear of Pelian ash.
Asteropaeus failed with both his spears, for he could use both hands
alike; with the one spear he struck Achilles’ shield, but did not
pierce it, for the layer of gold, gift of the god, stayed the point;
with the other spear he grazed the elbow of Achilles! right arm
drawing dark blood, but the spear itself went by him and fixed
itself in the ground, foiled of its ****** banquet. Then Achilles,
fain to **** him, hurled his spear at Asteropaeus, but failed to hit
him and struck the steep bank of the river, driving the spear half its
length into the earth. The son of Peleus then drew his sword and
sprang furiously upon him. Asteropaeus vainly tried to draw
Achilles’ spear out of the bank by main force; thrice did he tug at
it, trying with all his might to draw it out, and thrice he had to
leave off trying; the fourth time he tried to bend and break it, but
ere he could do so Achilles smote him with his sword and killed him.
He struck him in the belly near the navel, so that all his bowels came
gushing out on to the ground, and the darkness of death came over
him as he lay gasping. Then Achilles set his foot on his chest and
spoiled him of his armour, vaunting over him and saying, “Lie there-
begotten of a river though you be, it is hard for you to strive with
the offspring of Saturn’s son. You declare yourself sprung from the
blood of a broad river, but I am of the seed of mighty Jove. My father
is Peleus, son of Aeacus ruler over the many Myrmidons, and Aeacus was
the son of Jove. Therefore as Jove is mightier than any river that
flows into the sea, so are his children stronger than those of any
river whatsoever. Moreover you have a great river hard by if he can be
of any use to you, but there is no fighting against Jove the son of
Saturn, with whom not even King Achelous can compare, nor the mighty
stream of deep-flowing Oceanus, from whom all rivers and seas with all
springs and deep wells proceed; even Oceanus fears the lightnings of
great Jove, and his thunder that comes crashing out of heaven.”
  With this he drew his bronze spear out of the bank, and now that
he had killed Asteropaeus, he let him lie where he was on the sand,
with the dark water flowing over him and the eels and fishes busy
nibbling and gnawing the fat that was about his kidneys. Then he
went in chase of the Paeonians, who were flying along the bank of
the river in panic when they saw their leader slain by the hands of
the son of Peleus. Therein he slew Thersilochus, Mydon, Astypylus,
Mnesus, Thrasius, Oeneus, and Ophelestes, and he would have slain
yet others, had not the river in anger taken human form, and spoken to
him from out the deep waters saying, “Achilles, if you excel all in
strength, so do you also in wickedness, for the gods are ever with you
to protect you: if, then, the son of Saturn has vouchsafed it to you
to destroy all the Trojans, at any rate drive them out of my stream,
and do your grim work on land. My fair waters are now filled with
corpses, nor can I find any channel by which I may pour myself into
the sea for I am choked with dead, and yet you go on mercilessly
slaying. I am in despair, therefore, O captain of your host, trouble
me no further.”
  Achilles answered, “So be it, Scamander, Jove-descended; but I
will never cease dealing out death among the Trojans, till I have pent
them up in their city, and made trial of Hector face to face, that I
may learn whether he is to vanquish me, or I him.”
  As he spoke he set upon the Trojans with a fury like that of the
gods. But the river said to Apollo, “Surely, son of Jove, lord of
the silver bow, you are not obeying the commands of Jove who charged
you straitly that you should stand by the Trojans and defend them,
till twilight fades, and darkness is over an the earth.”
  Meanwhile Achilles sprang from the bank into mid-stream, whereon the
river raised a high wave and attacked him. He swelled his stream
into a torrent, and swept away the many dead whom Achilles had slain
and left within his waters. These he cast out on to the land,
bellowing like a bull the while, but the living he saved alive, hiding
them in his mighty eddies. The great and terrible wave gathered
about Achilles, falling upon him and beating on his shield, so that he
could not keep his feet; he caught hold of a great elm-tree, but it
came up by the roots, and tore away the bank, damming the stream
with its thick branches and bridging it all across; whereby Achilles
struggled out of the stream, and fled full speed over the plain, for
he was afraid.
  But the mighty god ceased not in his pursuit, and sprang upon him
with a dark-crested wave, to stay his hands and save the Trojans
from destruction. The son of Peleus darted away a spear’s throw from
him; swift as the swoop of a black hunter-eagle which is the strongest
and fleetest of all birds, even so did he spring forward, and the
armour rang loudly about his breast. He fled on in front, but the
river with a loud roar came tearing after. As one who would water
his garden leads a stream from some fountain over his plants, and
all his ground-***** in hand he clears away the dams to free the
channels, and the little stones run rolling round and round with the
water as it goes merrily down the bank faster than the man can follow-
even so did the river keep catching up with Achilles albeit he was a
fleet runner, for the gods are stronger than men. As often as he would
strive to stand his ground, and see whether or no all the gods in
heaven were in league against him, so often would the mighty wave come
beating down upon his shoulders, and be would have to keep flying on
and on in great dismay; for the angry flood was tiring him out as it
flowed past him and ate the ground from under his feet.
  Then the son of Peleus lifted up his voice to heaven saying, “Father
Jove, is there none of the gods who will take pity upon me, and save
me from the river? I do not care what may happen to me afterwards. I
blame none of the other dwellers on Olympus so severely as I do my
dear mother, who has beguiled and tricked me. She told me I was to
fall under the walls of Troy by the flying arrows of Apollo; would
that Hector, the best man among the Trojans, might there slay me; then
should I fall a hero by the hand of a hero; whereas now it seems
that I shall come to a most pitiable end, trapped in this river as
though I were some swineherd’s boy, who gets carried down a torrent
while trying to cross it during a storm.”
  As soon as he had spoken thus, Neptune and Minerva came up to him in
the likeness of two men, and took him by the hand to reassure him.
Neptune spoke first. “Son of Peleus,” said he, “be not so exceeding
fearful; we are two gods, come with Jove’s sanction to assist you,
I, and Pallas Minerva. It is not your fate to perish in this river; he
will abate presently as you will see; moreover we strongly advise you,
if you will be guided by us, not to stay your hand from fighting
till you have pent the Trojan host within the famed walls of Ilius—as
many of them as may escape. Then **** Hector and go back to the ships,
for we will vouchsafe you a triumph over him.”
  When they had so said they went back to the other immortals, but
Achilles strove onward over the plain, encouraged by the charge the
gods had laid upon him. All was now covered with the flood of
waters, and much goodly armour of the youths that had been slain was
rifting about, as also many corpses, but he forced his way against the
stream, speeding right onwards, nor could the broad waters stay him,
for Minerva had endowed him with great strength. Nevertheless
Scamander did not slacken in his pursuit, but was still more furious
with the son of Peleus. He lifted his waters into a high crest and
cried aloud to Simois saying, “Dear br
Daniel Regan Feb 2012
With my whiskey in hand and my heart on my sleeve, I struggle for consciousness in this life I continue to weave. Walking in circles as my will drags behind, putting words to paper as my sanity slowly grinds. Into the significance my life forever will feel, as I struggle for purpose and to define what is real. The smoke never clears and the storm rages on, between the demons of past and those far beyond. Who await my arrival with arms spread out wide; their grasp is inevitable as our destinies collide.  Who am I to this world but a man with a curse, forever without control as I drive my own hearse. Down a road lined with faces turned away in shame, as they celebrate the death of a man with no name. A person whose life was filled with regret, for the potential lost in an unwilling bet. Over the soul of a boy between the devil and god, destine to fail despite all the odds. Fait played out as the boys forced to watch, turned away by maturity and a well-aged scotch. Not blinded to the truth as the world spins madly on, screaming for control with all his brains and his brawn. He is forever alone in his knowledge of the truth, as he pursues an identity that will overshadow his youth. Crying out in pain as he falls to the floor, isolated enlightenment waging a ****** war. Free me of this prison that keeps me confided, to a life of insecurity heightened by lyrics rhymed. Measured by a beat harmonizing with mine, the only window to my soul that can be humanly defined. Am I inhumane if no one can see, past the immovable guise that has come to define me? Or am I merely the boy who has yet to find, someone to take off my mask and give me peace of mind?
My Kite

The view of purplish branches upon the trees and
Looking beyond grassy mountains on the horizon
Bring back memories of my childhood days,
Wading in a nearby creek and flying my kite before a sunlit sky
And then recalling the wind beginning to blow.

Magenta leaves would decorate
Branches of both growing and fallen trees-
Wild geese soared above and deer were running freely
While my kite was carried upward by the wind
As highly as those trees would ever grow.

My kite I believed would carry that mysterious spirit deep inside of me
Into which I had placed all my faith and trust
The tail of my kite seemed to cross the sun, though far above me
I feared the demons’ of the woodlands following me as I walked-
But with strong assurance I pursued my kite wherever it would go.

Dark clouds began to cover the sun one day and
Branches upon the trees were seemingly blackening
While lightening sharply illuminated the sky
I believed a storm was rapidly approaching.
As fright and haunting disbelief inside of my mind began to overshadow.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                     .
I have told others that my kite held within my protective soul which was always with me
Because I saw it to be an angel dancing freely in the sky
I believe my kite held inside the spirit of a seraph,
That saved me from all that betrayed and hurt me
As the voices inside of my mind had often told me so.

Years have passed and that wind was always fierce and deceitful-
Breaking the string with which I held my kite-
I sadly watched it as it flew higher and higher towards the sky
Until it disappeared behind those approaching darkening thunderclouds
Vanishing beyond my sight- leaving me frightened and alone below.

Years have also passed since I lost my kite which I believed was my guiding illumination
People would laugh and say my mind had escaped reality
Now I can see that there is no one to save me from those demons of this planet
I still hide the pain of loss of my spirit of salvation behind laughter and a smile
But that does not erase the void I feel inside and that is an unrelenting sorrow.

Claudia Krizay
T A Ramesh Feb 2012
All time bird can be crow only ever
Black in colour scavenging all day long
Caring nothing about neatness or anything!

Dogs eat the bones they throw clearing flesh
Efficiently bringing by hovering everywhere!
Full meals or bits of meats they share with all
Going by the policy of united we stand ever!

How healthy and active the crows are ever
I see standing on the balcony of my building!
Jack of all trade these guys do hard work long
Keeping their noise heard all round the place!

Loitering round us they pester us to give food
Many a time when we come out to see the sky!
Nothing we can do but offer some leftover foods
Obviously irritated to avoid their bickerings!

Popular among birds like mynah, sparrow, eagle
Quixotically crows overshadow them by numbers!

Regularly they start their chores like we do
Surprisingly very early in the morning itself!
Tickling nook and corner of all materials all day
United they raid everywhere sans rest ever!

Verily they are indeed hard toiling creatures
Whether it is summer or winter in the whole year!

Xerox copy of black crows reminds of uniform dress
Year after year without change or colour fade ever;
Zealous lot these creatures indeed we have to imbibe!
Alex P Gara Jan 2012
Shiiit

Maybe it’s just us

Maybe we’re not playing the game right

But every time we use the ouija board

It spells out

“everything is going to be ok”

And the spirits smile

And the weather aint that bad

These demons

These spirits

This darkness

I don’t know man

Lately our resilience

Seems to overshadow

The Shadows

See,

When it gets dark

We teach ourselves echo vision

And use our beating hearts for flashlights

Or, or

We reincarnate with night goggles

Perfect lighting

For messages in bottle rockets to the moon

When it gets dark

We dream under Zodiacal light

Writing sonnets

On supernovas

And shooting stars

On less inspired days

We wait for evil to combust…

Spontaneously

And light a torch

When it gets dark

When they toss us in black vines

And black flames

We’ll shoot out smoke signals

To our soul mates

When it gets dark

We turn on the **** lights
Serg Gromoff May 2016
A lonesome man on the subway,
Reading a book of dreams.
Live to fight another day!
Life is not what it seems.

You move in the shadows,
A fallen angel of love.
Farewell to sunny meadows,
Heart is beating, a wounded dove.

You roll down.
What’s happening in your brain?
Your mind's an empty town.
And love is  worse than *******.

Women with wild black eyes
Overshadow your weak mind.
You will never know paradise,
You have left it behind.

There’s no need to hurry.  
There is no story to tell.
And your smile is somehow blurry.
This road leads straight to hell

You roll down.  
What’s happening in your brain?
Your mind's an empty town.
And love is  worse than *******.
Daniel Regan Feb 2012
With my whiskey in hand and my heart on my sleeve, I struggle for consciousness in this life I continue to weave. Walking in circles as my will drags behind, putting words to paper as my sanity slowly grinds. Into the significance my life forever will feel, as I struggle for purpose and to define what is real. The smoke never clears and the storm rages on, between the demons of past and those far beyond. Who await my arrival with arms spread out wide; their grasp is inevitable as our destinies collide.  Who am I to this world but a man with a curse, forever without control as I drive my own hearse. Down a road lined with faces turned away in shame, as they celebrate the death of a man with no name. A person whose life was filled with regret, for the potential lost in an unwilling bet. Over the soul of a boy between the devil and god, destine to fail despite all the odds. Fait played out as the boys forced to watch, turned away by maturity and a well-aged scotch. Not blinded to the truth as the world spins madly on, screaming for control with all his brains and his brawn. He is forever alone in his knowledge of the truth, as he pursues an identity that will overshadow his youth. Crying out in pain as he falls to the floor, isolated enlightenment waging a ****** war. Free me of this prison that keeps me confided, to a life of insecurity heightened by lyrics rhymed. Measured by a beat harmonizing with mine, the only window to my soul that can be humanly defined. Am I inhumane if no one can see, past the immovable guise that has come to define me? Or am I merely the boy who has yet to find, someone to take off my mask and give me peace of mind?
Pamela Apr 2020
What happens to love unrequited?
Does it go back to the lover?
Or does it find another target?
Does it dissolve in the pool of tears shed?
Or does it stay in the heart and weigh it down?

What happens to love untold?
Does it stay in the silence of its own being?
Or in the many little gestures?
Does it find peace in the saddest of melodies..

What happens to love denied?
What happens to love destroyed?
Does it stay in the injustice of it?

Is love all-knowing?
Or is it an ignorant fool?
Is it a product of vulnerability, or maybe the cause itself?
Is it the stairwell to heaven or hell?
Is love overdosed, like *******?
Does it overshadow real pain?
Does love even exist?
Or is it a phantom of your dreams?
Is falling in love the vertigo 'dizzy' ?
Or the comfort 'fuzzy'?
Is the promise of love an eternal lie?
Maybe love is just that - a million unanswered questions, a thousand gazes unmet....
This poem is a result of my musings and curiosity about what love is, when it is one-sided. This poem is a conclusion.
Hi Jan 2014
I have always been jealous
Of the way you carried yourself
How you were able to get
The things I've always wanted
**** my parents couldn't afford.
I was always afraid of your might
And your scary words that your sharp tongue could conjure
I hated the way I idolized and copied
Everything about you
I was afraid you might figure it out
But I think you took it in a good way
And we became best friends
Still I feel so ever insecure whenever we go out
Your height and looks always overshadow mine
I feel like trash sitting next to your
Mulberry bag
When you speak and judge clothes,
I have to imitate you just so we could get along
I don't know what I call this
But I treat you as a best friend
But these feelings will never fade because they were the ones
That blossomed from the very beginning
I hate that.
I wish I didn't fool you
But to some point I hate you
Because you're everything I'd want to be
But can't achieve.
Silencer Nov 2015
Reigning
With the Heavenly Father
Whose rules are claimed by many
But very few follow

The Ultimate Truth

Which many
Are incapable to swallow

Even me
Mixed with
Wanting to enjoy my present being
Or
Being crowned with life for all eternity

Save yourself
Even if the rest decide to stay behind
Follow your soul and your heart
With no consideration of the mind
Where powers collide
Distinguishing the truth from the lies

No use in holding onto your pride
That is not why Jesus Christ died

A chance to overshadow all earthly delights
Offered by a devious serpent
That just isn't worth it

A chance to repent
A chance to be enscripted in The Book of the Lamb

Being with the ones I love
Hoping by the end of time I've done enough

To enter

Pray with me
Be with me
I shall do as you command
It blows my mind
I can't imagine forever being ******

Take my spirit in your hand
Son of Man
Take my spirit in your hand
Hebrews 8:12 "For I will forgive their wickedness, and will remember their sins no more."
Silver Wolf Jan 2014
The ink on your skin defines you
Spelling out plans for a better tomorrow
Pictures speak a thousand words they say
The lines define you, they bind with you
Patterns shapes and designs
It’s all the same
Despite what they may say
We’re all the same at heart
Shades and tints of the color of the day
Let the similarities overshadow the subtleties
The variances in the direction of the lines
But all ink fades away over time
Permanence is an illusion we all wish to hold on to
Yet deep down we know nothing lasts forever
Because the world is changing
Evolving ever so slowly
Into something more beautiful than before
As the hands of a greater universe
Entwined together they create a force
Exceeding expectations of a history past
Releasing a thousand sliver butterflies
Sometimes we see them in the shape of a tattoo
Flying high
Or
Soaring across your best friends back
And you trace your finger over it
Reliving the memories
And shaping them
Creating your own destiny
Out of
Love
kaleigh michelle Feb 2014
Tick. Tock.* One. Two. Three. Four. Lost in thought. Distracted and gone. Time passing by like a whirlwind. My mind is wandering again. The voices in my head overshadow my thoughts. I think too much. Sometimes my thoughts are too overwhelming. Why won't they stop? Why do all my thoughts lead back to this? I just want them to end. I want them all to end. I want to feel alive again. I want to breath without suffocating. Live without drowning. I lie awake at night. Crying. Thinking. Desperately wanting to find an escape. Someone please save me, before these thoughts **** me slowly.
mk Sep 2015
i am a paradox
i am a contradiction
i am an oxymoron
i am a hypocrite

i am a walking talking
"yes, no, maybe"

black one day
white the other
lingering between the two
because I have no morals
and I speak of fake values

never choosen a side
never made a concrete decision
my grand words oppose
my petty actions
and yet, still overshadow them
i sugarcoat them
with lame excuses for excuses

my faults are the night sky
the twinkling stars are but airplanes
polluting the purity
mistaken for a force of beautiful nature
when it is indeed
destructing
the good
destructing
the holy
with its very existence

i leap
from one pond
to the other
politically correct
depending on the situation

i am the northman
claiming to belong to the south

i am the liar
i am the lie

neither here nor there
never here
never there
*never anywhere
selfish, taking what i want & call it mine
Stephan Jul 2016
.

The morning sky is dark
as I stand in the shadows waiting
on an empty Tuesday disguised as a Monday
Hoping for a happy welcome but finding silent
rejections in unwritten emotions left
elsewhere for those who remember
what it’s like to smile within the
playful intentions shared,
and a frown is all I am left to wear

All I wanted to do was love you and
feel like I was someone you cared about,
not a brittle twig lying underfoot
waiting to be stepped on
as you run to the others
who beckon your heart,
make you feel special,
give to you those things that you need,
unlike what I bring, embarrassment
wrapped in a frilly bow

Still I am here writing to you,
hoping my words, my verses are read,
so you understand how I feel,
all the while knowing full well
I don’t meet up to those who . . .
those who satisfy your needs,
those you can't wait to be with,
those who make you happy,
those who overshadow my sunshine
in a place that is much brighter,
a place where you thrive,
a place that you love,
a place I am not
nani Jul 2015
you dreamt of him last night.
you can't remember what he said
but his mouth whispered poetry
and his hands made a screenplay.

he wrote a note on a napkin
with a blue ballpoint pen,
you can't recall what it read
but such a phrase could start a novel.

you crumpled the paper towel in your hand with rage,
he ran back into your mind and lit a fire in your heart
causing your pulse to waltz and hum
to the song that played.

you dreamt of him once more
for words he said the last time you met his eyes.
you were drunk, of course
and a sentence can become a masterpiece in the blink of an eye.

draining half a bottle of cheap *****
merged with sour lemonade and stale diet coke
won't stop you from making similes between running your fingers through his hair
and the bubbling sensation of a fizzy drink.

i know you tried coffee and it made your hands tremble
with a wariness that obliged them to write,
and you compared caffeine to his touch
and the colour of coffee to the specks in his eyes.

i also know cigarettes didn't work,
their bitter taste reminds you of the arrogance in his expression
when he utters your name,
the despise contained in those two words until articulated by his face.
you don't need another drug that inspires metaphors longing to be made.  

his scent can't be replaced by twelve glasses of perfumed champagne
and even if caffeine makes your heart beat faster than he ever did
all you see in coffee grounds are his big brown eyes and his chocolate mane.
reeking of cigarettes won't do more than cloud your windpipe and put in mind the burn of your hands intertwined.

no substance will ever overshadow the drug a human being can come to be and no abstinence syndrome will be as dreadful as waking up from a dream.
Will May 2017
Crystal blue waves lapped against the shore.
The sun began to set.
Wind gently brushed through the palm trees, rustling the leaves. Tenderly shuffling the birds who rested insides its leafy embrace.
Looking down the beach I could see her standing there.
She was always there. She was always smiling.
Her eyes were closed as her hair gently blew in the wind, face lit by the dying embers of the day’s last breath.
Every moment in time was captured in her simple existence.
Every toil and pang was expressed in her sheltered eyes.
I waded through the mushy sand towards her, thinking of how it would feel to hold her close.
I pictured her turning towards me, opening her eyes, and opening her arms to embrace me.
The sand slugged between my feet.
Every step was erased by the oceans never ending grasp on the beach.
The closer I became the more I saw of her beauty.
Her brown hair seemed to hold an infinite amount of splendor, as if all of creation had taken a rest on her strands of hair.
They say that the journey is better than the destination.
Maybe they are right.
Maybe my image of her would overshadow her actual presence. Could it be that her simple existence was nothing but a shadow compared to my artistic portrait of her?
I was almost there.
The person I had waited my entire life for was a mere walks distance from where I stood.
I was not wrong, I knew that every glorious detail he had longed for was true.
As I stood there staring at my life’s desire, she turned towards me and opened her eyes.
This was it, this was the moment I had dreamt of for so long.
As our eyes met, a lump formed in my throat and tears welled up in my eyes.
She was perfect.
Inside of her eyes I could see everything.
Every single wish I had ever made was inside of those two spheres. They glistened in the orange glow of the setting sun.
Like two pools holding the one soul meant for me.
Jonathan Noble Jan 2014
Sweet Angel of Death, overshadow me tonight,
                                                        ­           no fright;

You come as welcome guest to ply your trade,
                                                       as I have bade,

In mercy to wield your sickle to give me flight
                                                          ­    from blight

Of hallow life to worlds unknown to be remade;
                                                      let­ hope pervade.
Kris Prevel Jun 2014
Why are you so complex?
Why does covetousness never snooze?
Why stir emotions into a vortex?
Why inflict this mental bruise?

Must you always be larger than life?
Must you always overshadow?
Must you act like a desperado?
Must nothing in your life be adequate?

You don't see me frown
You don't seem to see, you clown
You don't seem to empathise
You don't seem to realise

Always it happens
Always it's happened
Always I'm sighing
Always I'm silently crying

Overshadow my quiet mind
Overshadow my sadness
Overshadow my gladness
Overshadow any recent find

Everything must jointly entwine
Everything must not be out-rightly mine
Everything must glow!
Everything does not, it's in your shadow

Why? Oh! Why?  do I end up feeling like a sideline?

Written
By Kris Prevel
June 2014
Kaeli Hearn Sep 2018
As the air transforms the summer sun into a crisp, chilled orange canvas, the leaves begin to transform.

They grow older as their complexions fade into all the shades of autumn. The clouds begin to overshadow the sun’s gleam, yet it is friendly.

The air shifts – chilled, crisp, breezed. The vibrant tints of red, orange, yellow and brown paint cities, towns and homes.

An eerie, yet cozy fog drips down from the sky and rests upon the mountain tops. The fire begins to burn and crack warming hands and souls alike.

Although the leaves begin to wilt, there is soft beauty in the dying. The crunch of the fallen leaves being changing seasons, moving on and starting afresh.

There is a calm amber, colored, brisk, changing, vivid calmness to Autumn.

As the leaves begin to fall, hearts change, souls soften and eyes get a gleam brighter to welcome this new season.
Katy Laurel Oct 2012
These autumn sunrises bring a remnant

Of cool spring mornings we spent
In 
moments of content, encompassing silence.

What is the foundation of this feeling

You once claimed to brand me with

Inside other lips?

The truth comes out,
coated in masks,

And unknown hopes,

That we have already proved to be wrong.

Can we rewind?
Can I bring your mind

To understand the beauty of the present?

Will ghosts always follow the trace of footprints

You left when you took flight from me?

But this language of ****** magnolias dipped in salty water

Recognizes the impossibility within her pleadings.

How selfish I become with the possibility of magnificent love.

Perhaps all I do to you now is inflict pain upon the

Wary navigator who sails the ocean of your soul.

I feel the weight of your ship sink into the water well of my mind.
I let it sink into my numb mind.
This juxtaposition fills my veins with anxiety,
For all that places itself in my hands
Quickly dissipates, melting under my overbearing love
And insecure need to be fully loved.

This has led to a natural novocain,
Which I am unable to keep from filling my blood,
And infecting the dear heart within my ribs
With nothingness.

I sink into the comfortable, encompassing black
With a blank stare and shiny scars.
Reminders that this abyss,
Often leads to insomniac slicing.
Watching my own blood leak out with happiness.
Sickfully joyful to see my liveliness,
Praying the physical will call upon frozen passion.

This is the secret.
This is how I could bear to look at you for years without emotion.
Your love sang too true for my many masks to survive,
And my fear of feeling became cold, guilty friendship.
Perhaps, my guilt hoped for your understanding.
I just couldn't commit you to my own insanity.
Too many times have I tried to find fulfillment in lips,
I would never permit inside the lost water well.
You were better off without my tactless attempts at love.
Perhaps, that remains the reality…
Doubt haunts determination.
My difficulty in recovering our old language
Begins to overshadow my bright hope.

So now I contemplate the truth in my journey.
Am I merely chasing down your ghosts
Fighting to show you the value of your own love,
When you are so pridefully aware of its worth.
I wonder if you have ever truly observed my own love?

It existed, long ago, once within childhood
And then transformed into trapped, teenage hubris;
Prideful of my naivety, and what I then called fate.
But almost all evidence has been destroyed,
Out of selfish preservation.
How could I expect you to understand,
I only continue to breathe to rebel against these violent memories.

Yet, my fearful pride continuously tears at my honest ambition.
So, I call upon rhythm to release me.
Bon Iver breaks all my honor,
Evoking all memories of my ******.
Moments of time I keep deep in my silent sorrow.
Only this particular pain,
Allows me to isolate my words,
And continue singing.
I realize I have become lost in the water well.
When will this precarious ego finally shatter?

The silence returns to the mountain night.
Frigid, soft breeze breaks my blank stare,
As I fight with my twisted nature.
I continue to hold out my hand,
Shaking and trembling,
As you stare at me with shocked confusion.
I am no good with promises of the future.
So, I remain in the present,
And believe,
In the vulnerable emotion,
You unconsciously paint upon me.
Trelon Grant Apr 2019
The Hurting, - they say some things are worst than death and this is one of them.

Sometimes, in instances of grueling
                                 pain
I think
of being
with the                 clouds

you made
that decision
&
you’d have
no idea
How much it
hurts.. where
Was your              judgement
*** this hurts
More than anything.
&
I’m sorry, you had to
go that way.
The clouds lament
your passing on
clear, sunny days.
They overshadow the
very demon you
tried to escape from.
&                                  
I’ve made a promise
To live for you.
To show you
that it didn’t have
To be this way.

You’re gone forever.
Lost within the fabrics of time
I’ll carry you as a lantern -
inside of me
till the end of the days.

&
I hope you finally can rest.
For once.
                                          
                                     Goodbye
                                      Forever
                                      Bao Bao
We miss you already.

Bao Bao - 2000-2018
Suicide........... I want to rip the word from the fabric of time, set it aflame. Erase it from the memories if anyone contemplating it. I know it hurts... but pain is temporary, even when it feels like it’s not. Please, talk to me, talk to anyone. Your life isn’t worth it. And trust me, it hurts the people who love you and there are those that do LOVE YOU even if you don’t believe it. Please don’t. You’re so important. You are.
Mahima Gupta Apr 2014
If the power lies within
I will reconcile myself and make it believe
That the truth is indestructible
And those chasing pavements have found their ways

If the truth is indestructible
I will fight for my life
Utopianism will become a model of nothingness
I will cross the boundaries

If I fight for my life
I will beguile some time by living for myself
And be oblivious to all those worldly claims
Live for people encumbered with debts

If I live for people encumbered with debts
I will monopolise the crass ingenues
And help them overshadow the mighty
I will be immune to the white lies and .
Thy soul shall find itself alone
’Mid dark thoughts of the gray tombstone
Not one, of all the crowd, to pry
Into thine hour of secrecy.
Be silent in that solitude
  Which is not loneliness—for then
The spirits of the dead who stood
  In life before thee are again
In death around thee—and their will
Shall overshadow thee: be still.
The night—tho’ clear—shall frown—
And the stars shall not look down
From their high thrones in the Heaven,
With light like Hope to mortals given—
But their red orbs, without beam,
To thy weariness shall seem
As a burning and a fever
Which would cling to thee forever.
Now are thoughts thou shalt not banish—
Now are visions ne’er to vanish—
From thy spirit shall they pass
No more—like dew-drops from the grass.
The breeze—the breath of God—is still—
And the mist upon the hill
Shadowy—shadowy—yet unbroken,
  Is a symbol and a token—
  How it hangs upon the trees,
  A mystery of mysteries!

— The End —