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Terry O'Leary Feb 2017
Awaking blithe each morning,
with eyes upon the World,
I wonder, are we mourning
with ebon flags unfurled –
or are they but a warning,
some draped like snakes and curled,
stray stars and stripes adorning,
sent from the netherworld.

I wander through the garden
with nothing on my mind
and say 'I beg your pardon'
alarmed at what I find
as winds begin to harden
and fate begins to grind.

Confused, I watch my neighbours,
they're wide-eyed, unafraid
to halt all useful labours
and join the death brigade;
the ritters rattle sabres,
the frail and fragile fade,
morticians tap on tabors,
the potentates parade.

The military blesses
(in tunics somewhat browned)
its crimson-stained successes,
hell bent and heaven bound.
Such scenes no more distress us:
a ****** battleground,
dissevered heads with tresses
and arms and legs abound;
the fourth estate suppresses
the heaps of bodies  found
(collateral excesses
discarded in a mound).

Society regresses,
now living by the sword,
with torture and its stresses
upon a waterboard;
a captive kid confesses,
his innocence ignored -
fallacious facts and guesses,
the guts of justice gored!

With canting vindication
a big brass bully brags
(with pearls of perspiration
and swollen tongue that gags)
of third world  subjugation
for gelt and oily swags,
of human rights' castration,
and on and on it drags.

The manifold migration
of refugees in rags
while searching for salvation
soon finds compassion lags;
uprooted populations
are fleeing from their flags
else dying of starvation
as naked hunger nags.

With trump cards politicking,
two little hands (all thumbs)
may send the Mad Dog siccing.
Insane! All sense succumbs.

Atomic timepiece ticking
until the Reaper comes
as Geiger counters clicking
drown out the droning drums.

Cast out for not conforming,
I wander day by day
to find the earth deforming
as nature wastes away,
with bees no longer swarming
(expunged with garden spray)
and ocean depths transforming
(neath plastic overlay).

With CO2 performing
the climate's led astray,
the atmosphere's been warming,
the grasses ashen gray,
eternal tempest storming
while permafrosts decay,
and ozone holes are forming
in deadly disarray.

The people profiteering
descend a slip'ry *****
destroying, never fearing        
of running out of rope;
instead they sit back sneering
“our wealth’s your only hope”.

Yes, Armageddon's nearing,
it's doubtful that we'll cope,
for Evolution's jeering,
she's scanned our horoscope:
we'll soon be disappearing
with whale and antelope.


           Epitaph

The multitudes were jumbled,
some milling ’round the mall,
while politicians bumbled
when bracing for the brawl.

The World around us rumbled,
our backs against the wall,
as bombs were tossed and tumbled
across our broken ball.

My kneecaps creaked and crumbled
but I, too proud to crawl,
took but a step and stumbled  
yet found no place to fall.

And no one heard me grumble
although I tried to call,
or maybe I just mumbled,
as strength began to pall.

Well now the World’s been humbled
I seek an urban sprawl,
but since the feuds were fumbled
there’s nothing left at all.
song shadows
soul and mirrors
will we ever see clearer
sweet life
oh the fragrance
the righteous mind
un-sees the danger
so many soldiers
so many women
are all of our fathers
really little children
move swiftly
into the windy recesses
the mind regresses
all the time
damp and wet
the owl cries
so long tomorrow
farewell goodbye
dunk your head
in liquid splendor
i am tender as the snow
pouring down from heaven’s fiefdom
morning's hunger is dissipated
by moonlight kisses and salty lovers
salves of calendula upon our skin
swim in juicy wonder
listen and dance with thunder
the fireflies swim through burning skies
making arcs and triumphant cries
what a silly blunder
all the noise and all the cover
hiding your heart in violet garments
streams of satin in your slumber
stroke the liberated arrow
weave the gardenia’s shadow
streams of consciousness and beauty
looking into eyes of human strategy
human shadows
start to suffocate us
instruct the timber
plundered
strumming humid arias
looms of butter start to melt
svelte and spelt
slews of wealth
heaven's belt is loosely tied
striated like the mind
grinding hind legs
selves neglect entry fees
sleeves of grass
embrace strands of ice
with a lover or two
on the side
Nicole Oct 2013
Content, clarity, no calling home
Surrounded snugly in sunshine’s roam
What naturally burns is saving
Cleansing the soul in its raving
Yet somber shadows induce chills of night
And the sun regresses in imperative flight
The moon brings forth its calming glow
So soon It’s realized she’s all alone
The gnawing proceeds from deep in her mind
Progressing forward without a bind.

Dropping, drifting, dying leaves
Just like their path her thoughts shall weave
To and fro between a mood
Sweet and caring turned suddenly rude
Cold winds lead to a chilling sight
Everything’s changed but It says all is right
Soon the world blends together as one
No longer touched by the warmth of the sun
Temperatures drop and so does her head
Leaden with sorrow as she makes for her bed.

Empty, endlessly enduring days
Isolation extends but it’s deemed okay
Dreams die, concealed by snow
She wants to leave but cannot go
Icy winds blowing cold as her heart
Frozen solid and wishing to part
Getting used to the pain
With no hope to gain
Too weak to worry with no emotions felt
She’s forced to awaken as the world starts to melt.

Free and flowering fields now bring
Hope to the girl who could not sing
Coming from the showering rain
The healing waters break through the pain
Finally she’s found the truest way
To stop and force her problems away
Soon enough she’s rediscovered her smile
And returns to the friends she hasn’t seen in a while
Oh but It’s smart, much smarter than we
So smart that nobody could ever have seen

Greatly, gladly going home
Swimming deep in water’s foam
A calm, warm night has come to cease
Their world is frantic while hers sees peace
Searching hard for a missing girl
Reaching the river, their stomachs curl
Soaking, dripping, they find what’s wrong
Realizing now how long she’s been gone
Eroding sadness, consumed by pain
Now they can feel what she did every day.
Honestly this is probably my favorite piece of writing I have and it came naturally as I was facing serious urges to start writing again, because it has been a while, and we are learning about poetry in English so I would start writing right after class and this is the result. While it may not sound like it took much to write, this is very important to me and deep in my emotions, with a few hidden twists as well.
Claire Waters Aug 2013
how the **** can i be angry when
you help yourself to what's left
after all love is
always the closest thing
to death

bethlehem is restless
terrorist holograms of mary teary unblessed when
death is living every day of your life forever breathless
breathing is all that is left in your chest when the stress hits
regresses to compressing aggressive obsessiveness
******* in pages to confess unspoken messages
the lightening and quiet screams promise me
they'll light my step through this
green grass in it's morning dress
uncaressed by pestilence
beth/rest
you're possessed by this

and the ghosts flitting between the trees
direct me to the places i must have seen in dreams
before i lost the connection to the earth long since
to the directionlessness of adolescence
every vibration left a crack
enough tremor to slide a pin in
and erzebet would visit my skin every night with rumplestilstkin
and they'd spin another needle through the muscle soft as linen,
they promised it would turn to gold, so long
as i stayed hidden at the loom in this prison

shoulders tightening as they thread it away
i look at the money in my minnie wallet and pray
everything safe always seems to go away in a flash
so perhaps it was just that nothing was ever safe
maybe they will leave if i say that i don't
believe in any of these ******* fairies anymore
but maybe i am older than the world is different
and they were just never fairies at all

it seemed to be such a small small place back then
when you could always cheat at LIFE
and run away and play pretend
in your imagination
didn't have to listen to anyone
now cops and parents hate you
and everyone wants to know
what college you've been in cause
surviving is neither irony nor blessing today
just simple catastrophe and endless dissarray
Pen to paper, the ink soaks. Dead.
Scratching assaults the ears; curse their successes,
To the back of the mind a lone idea regresses.
Assessment. Assessing? My political skills?
A half-formed venting, though calms.
I shift in my chair.

Every detail grotesque, I shift my attention
To the blank face of my enemy and my saviour.
It must have been ten minutes. Twenty? No, two.
Dragging and dragging, yet engraining in my mind.
My kingdom for distraction.
I push back my chair, and sleep.
J Penpla Mar 2013
Versed
At random
A riddle wrecks  
The rituals of my day
But, I know what’s next
It regresses; fate must have its way
A tease that taunts and haunts me
For it won’t bestow me
Wisdom without first
Revealing ruefully
Simple solutions
In reverse
Cursed
Work break here. Decided not to let this idea go without a little 'form' restricitons.
H Phone Aug 2017
If my work were my child
It’d be the middle one
In between my perfectionism, the elder
And my self-loathing, the younger

I phone up inspiration
To help with the troublesome kid
But she never returns my calls anymore

Motivation, I haven’t spoken to in ages
She left when my insecurities
Got the better of me
Said I’d become a pathetic husk of a man

Look at me
I don’t even have the energy to rhyme
Better toss this one on the pile
With the rest of them

What’s the pile, you ask?
It’s where I keep all my
No-effort narratives
Forgotten frivolities
Miserable musings
Worthless writings
Inadequate ideas
Laughable lines
Soulless stories
Cold chapters
Terrible titles
Bad books
Garbage

The pile is large
And it only gets larger
As time progresses
Because the quality
of something I write
Quickly regresses
Nat Lipstadt Jun 2021
We Are So Lightly Here

“So come, my friends, be not afraid, we are so lightly here
It is in love that we are made, in love we disappear
Though all the maps of blood and flesh are posted on the door
There’s no one who has told us yet what Boogie Street is for”
Leonard Cohen “Boogie Street”


                                                     <~>

my body, my eyes, my entirety, tattooed, with a city map,
here, at this exact place, our eyes glanced, our eyes closed,
who among us does not possess such a living guide,
memories presented in a 3-D versions, constantly edited.

placed your hand on my privacy, bid you enter, not a dare,
more an invitation to risk, become a true love of mine,
share exhilaration, desert valleys that pockmark unexpectedly,
changes us to we, regresses, you and me, post-survivalists cut.

2 gather, modify highs/lows, meet & peaking@peculiar tunes,
ever embraces residuals a sour film upon our lips, a puzzling,
what excites, pacifies, returns us street corner, X’d our map,
glances exchanged across an empty street, seeing each, not.
Seth Milliman Jan 2016
**** all the things I've ever known,
Whether here or at home.
In all this world I've never seen,
Oh what to trade for a spirits gleam.
The smooth rich taste that takes the world away,
Dark or light.
Doesn't matter,
To each their way.
But here one regresses in life's scheme,
All for just a taste of liquors forgetting drink.
nja Mar 2019
Groans.
Drink yourself away,
Drain drown your sins.
maybe a new you will emerge.
A you that you could be proud to walk about.
On a leash, choking.
Poison suppresses your organs.
Success.
Faded.
Ar Bazian Jan 2016
She [Bee] said to me:
but i want to know more...you lift my madness, to a completely different level.
you're the turn... THE turn, of a double ended sword!
you dont make sense, and i lose sense!
if you cease to be clear, you're taking words away from me...
you unrest me...

I [A.r.]replied:
But I am the curb, where the world pauses for safe passage... And it passes. That is all I am as all I know regresses, and I make sense still.
To the world, and myself, I made sense, still, and motionless, while the universe twirls around me for-to this whirlpool-like endlessness in where I am. And the world passes.
Death lingers, the memories too -perhaps... and the sense of necessity which compells that I remain in this unfamiliarity, where I stand -still, midst the passions and dispassions of our kind all the same, more or less confined in our daily desperation.
And we would remain. It is this sense of overlapse that by the end of the day, I find that the world is cruel, and that in truth I want no part in it. And I do what I did in school -for some time, compelled: I learn, cope, and burn to the ashes out of which I'd wake to the visiting beams of distanced hope... Hope that I and my fellow friend should come forth free! Only realise that I have yet another day to survive.
So passing the bend I'd glimpse at my aging on the turn of the sword you speak of, and I know nothing about or of myself this day. Nor of this beauty that pauses next to our safe crossing, or of the young dreamer whose vision -like mine, is reformed one day by the other.
And I insist to keep this distance, knowing that once these necessities for modern day survival become one's priorities, they consume you, and assume you. So I watch over myself become this silent street pole to resume my "functioning cog in some great machinery serving something beyond me".
And I know the truth behind the tragedy... my pole-ness I'm struck put for the safeguard of my passions that I accumulate and savour for my implosion. And they pass, like everything else, but we remain where we are -assuming there is someone pole-still too along the sword-line, or perhaps tipping it, with the same still fury that is fixated for this great urban vertigo.
And we'd pace, and pace, and keep still to make sure we'd find ourselves on the round, to remind ourselves of our withering dreams, and our collective sense of existence as human which is promised to ultimately expand unto the oneness of our ever varying uniqueness. Not as visitors, not as observers, but as citizens -women and men, of this lasting defloration of our simulated existence; the world. Free.
Death is -and in order too, an elaboration unto the unknown; and while we remain, decaying and rusting inside out, we ind ourselves neither dead nor free. I feel and know of the agony of fellow oppressed men. And I know of the pains and of abandonment. And I know too that the world will on spin with or without us. Our precious autobiographies becomes a mutilation along of their own becoming. And I pitty them.
But I pass myself poled into the concrete grasp of the ever benign to remind myself of my friends' struggles and agonies, that for them, I will stand still, and walk along to fortify my stillness, and for mine own, fearing that if I step out of the reach towards me I will be crushed into the very pavement were I stood.
So, I'm pinned motionful, neither myself or another, but both, and none. A world passes processed, observed, and I along with it, while  the other remainders I knew or knew of would fade into utter darkness or oblivion... But I'm still, being; amongst those who pass and those who pass on.
And I'm enraged, inblazed by life devaluating day by day, and I pray, for this frey of madness to regress, but alas it doesn't.
And I'm sad. All from point distance from my passing, looking at brassing steelpole monuments, decaying slowly. Is that sane enough for your fancy?

A.r. Bazian (Ft. Bianca H.)
*Oct 30th, 2013
This is one of many creative conversation with Bianca [Bee] Halaseh
Jon Sawyer Mar 2014
The storm on the sea is calmed
The twilight begins to shine through
The tear in my eye is like a raging waterfall
Keeping at bay the demons that fight in you

A little girl emerges from the inner deep
A hand dives in from the outer wall
They meet in the middle
And dance a dance only found at a ball

She gives him a sublime key, so black
He treats it like gold
For if she collapses from exhaustion
He can unlock the only door to her heart, he was told

As the years pass
When he’s away and she regresses back
She’ll remember the key to her heart
And how it is no longer black

He comes home every night
To find his dream come true
He thinks to himself hourly
I’m glad I’m the only one for you.
27 March 2013
NuurSeraph Jun 2014
Cascading Kaleidoscopic Visionary, not afraid to float away in a space regurgitating colors, one back into the other, rotation is none other than addition, " You know how fast we're already spinning??"

Temptress undresses and the dream regresses, back from infinity straight down to ***. "What's next? Let me guess...Psychedelic ***, Yes?"
She sauntered all night long, dancing till dawn, "You're Wrong, Sweet...Love. I will be your Drug any day, anyway...but never at Command, I will make the Demands, Give me your hands,
Touch Me..Just..Like...ThaaaAhhhh!!!"


Now after that treasured experience, I don't think I'll be needing Voyages into my own altered Abyss, cause I think I finally just found Pure Bliss.
This May or May not have occurred, I plead complete dissociative fugue
surface attractions are magnetic insurrections
******/ecstatic fornication is aqueous neurotic
loquats departing markets feverishly
his emergence is magic
her carpets were made to be rolled upon
in naked ecstasy
hungry like diners at a restaurant
humid and loose like comets
seeking markets to sell goods and services to
humid like germany in the heat of summer
drums breaking the silence like it was a sheet of paper
staples faking their commitments
bound to paper like razor blades to tape
jump up and scream your health is a miracle
sting like a needle the record player skips a beat
i am shown musical images yet perhaps we are meant to sleep
his dream is real and thirty feelers adorn her skin
her hungry hands caress his legs
forever peeling away the cucumber’s skin
respect is resolving to love despite the fire that shoots up your spine
go and wash the mind in a pool of liquid nectar
amrit is her sweater the sweaty and the sweet serum
salty houses of gingerbread demand repair

fair thee well 2016
your edges are rusted, frustrated and melancholy
i seek the middle where white lilies lie
waiting for someone to hold them
speak “know” more and refrain from talking
her arms hold the world in waking defiance
science is borrowed from metaphysics
statistics weaken the faith of our future
shoot the researchers and drown them in tubes of acid
like they torture cats and vivisect their own families
stab them and then steep them in water but add no honey

song shadows
soul and mirrors
will we ever see clearer
sweet life oh the fragrance
the righteous mind
un-sees the danger
so many soldiers
so many women
are all our fathers really children
move swiftly into the windy recesses
the mind regresses
all the time
damp and wet
the owl cries
so long tomorrow
farewell goodbye
dunk your head in liquid splendor
i am tender as the snow
pouring down from heaven’s fiefdom
mornings hunger is dissipated
by moonlight kisses and salty lovers
salves of calendula upon our skin
swim in juicy wonder
listen and dance with thunder
the fireflies swim through burning skies
making arcs and triumphant cries
what a silly blunder
all the noise and all the cover
hiding your heart in violet garments
streams of satin in your slumber
stroke the liberated arrow
weave the gardenia’s shadow
streams of consciousness and beauty
looking into eyes of human strategy
human shadows
start to suffocate us
instruct the timber plundered
strumming humid arias
looms of butter start to melt
svelte and spelt
slews of wealth
heavens belt is loosely tied
striated like the mind
grinding hind legs
selves neglect entry fees
sleeves of grass
strands of ice
jump in the lake for a quick refreshment
stand back you are lucky to undertake the treatment
come here and steer clear of fear’s inner critic
sinister sisters jump at guys
in gyms baring turbans in tournaments of blindness
sentenced to life behind stars
score cards grieve their own boxes
scratch the lottery cards
show them your hearts
small and beautiful
throughout the luminescent sky
i sulk waiting for the humpback whales to fly
street lights brighter than souls
do what you can and lift up the whole
returning to our goals and values
salutations bless the next expectation
the desperation of the departed
his investigation
feet fade into feathers
streets are named after leather
longing for loops of string
rings dream in desert timing
first rhymes decency gone blind
so we must find our light inside
held in bed against its will
vintage bells dressed in music
goose feathers use it for pillows
the west winds find his lips
respect turns to trust and kisses your bones
in bird language i speak tones of glowing stones
roses freeze the afterglow of darkness
dressed in moans and loaning their hands to anyone that passes
the dancers resume amusing stances
chances are France is falling faster than a comet
soaring like moorings in Spain
hours invested in self selection
hesitation to understand beauty
like mushroom filaments stints of style in tiny islands
steeped in courage still considering this weapon
resend the message festering in a fast vesicle
i feasibly neglect my spectacles
guess who came to dinner and wished you a happy new year
we live in order for our features to disappear
in Diaspora spores of ecstasy, mutiny and insurrection
rebel against tyranny and become the tyrant’s offering
sacrifice is ritual both real and useful
humid as the dawn in swampy storms of vision
precision is clueless less the virtuous resolve it
resourceful yes but nonetheless tired of twirling in groovy dramas
sand storms and bottomless pits
groping for history, mystery and freedom

you are a dumpling dressed in the afterglow of sunlight
with melancholy nectar dripping from your elbows
Richard j Heby Aug 2018
How

when knowing,

understanding my faults and redresses my halfhearted heart and weak regresses

do you insist on everything, and make sure I’m all right, and sing a stinging song, wrong

why

do you want to cry, every time I write, I lie?
Nook Aug 2017
In our last breaths,
memories would be all we possess.

All the laughter and sadness,
all the sorrow and madness

Tales of pain and regret,
may we forgive and forget

But as time progresses
our mind regresses

Turn distant and foggy memories will
these voids we cannot fill

There will come a day
forget these times we may

Though we may forget.
try we must, to live without regret.
#6
Alexander Coy May 2016
What if,
by the time I am forty
all I have are black curtains
preventing sunlight
from coming in;
or a full-time job
on a minimum wage?

What if I lose all
my possession in a fire
caused by a cigarette
I didn't put out properly;
what if all my files
were wiped out
due to faulty hardrive?

Would love still show
it's face around these parts?
Or would love walk
around wounded, looking
to score a fix?

Does redemption
exist for a man
with guilt-ridden fists?

A man with nothing to lose,

and nothing to gain

once the world ends.

What if by the time I'm fifty,
all the progress I made
regresses, and the house
I built collapses,

and every detail

I kissed with *****,

chapped lips,

loses it's preciousness?

If I don't let go of the past now,

it only repeats itself over

and over in the present.

The current state of events

is last year's confession.
Sitting released in remorse, what should I do
losing so much, the demon rests, sleeping
and dreaming takes to much time, only hurt
is what collides in my impending flow ...

Where has the time gone, were you really real?
that should be the question that ripples my mind
my voice regresses of what the sound should be
that keeps echoing through the walls,
as he walks out the door ....

I lay perplexed in this storm of raging sadness
that overwhelms me, tears come of a deluge
of a wasted time, salty in taste and bitter
on the tongue, there's no sweetness left to behold ...

I walk around in the daze, looking maybe just one more
time, you might be there, the darkness has set in, blackness,
with no heaven in sight. only the painful gilded happens
of a love that is lost, no special treatment, no more "I love you,
baby" no more sweet love  ....

The goblins curse, our dream resides lost in my mind
erasing all mémoires that might have been kind, in an
unmindful sleep, of an incubus if you will, rogue with
a ripping heart, that is torn apart ....

Seizing the words that hold the heart in check, the tears
rain, as a banshee screams, and vanishes me from my
ambition, evil is the demons of past seeds, your words
ring, oh so true, as you abandon our life, dreams,
hopes, and it seems, never to end,,

Our dream is cursed What did you say?

Debbie Brooks 2014
Logan Robertson Sep 2017
We once threw caution to the wind
on a drunken night of spree.
It was just two teens having a good time
with smuggled beer and lost inhibitions,
parked on lover's lane.
This was back in '74,
and I remember Terry Jack's
crooning Season's In The Sun,
the radio music guiding us along.
The moon and stars stood watching in horror,
their hands covering it's mouth in shock,
and her father's wrath soon following suit,
his hands ruffling a kids feathers.
But who regresses?
At first we walked over twigs,
careful like,
soft kisses here,
soft kisses there.
The usual fare,
where we knew the line in the sand
was the console and gear stick,
her father's subtle reminder.
Yet this time we ran *******.
Like two polar bears snuggling,
in a tree of a magic forest.
At first, playfully
touching our noses,
eyes a dancing,
and lips a smacking,
pausing at new discoveries,
magic dust floating in our eyes.
Our breathing turning into moans.
The wonderful fur.
Then auto pilot kicked in
and my seeing eye dog springing to life,
leaping onto her bucket seat,
onto her,
her eyes and face inviting,
our maiden voyage
chaste,
all natural,
erecting in flames.
Our little hearts a racing,
racing,
racing,
keeping up to the rhythm of the sea,
riding the wave into shore,
expended,
like two beach whales,
basking in the moment.
And it was a glorious moment
introspective of whom you ask.
Our lives grew from that night on,
years later into beautiful blossoms,
and her father,
yes her father,
the last of the forgives me not,
now preens over his granddaughter,
and her daughter. 

Logan Robertson

9/14/17
taylor holmes Feb 2019
her face growing more red with the fever of fear and the after thoughts
of a motivational heart.
for the crickets are venturing to sing
only a solemn view.
in a liquid splendor, you dunk your head with a
farewell goodbye as your mind regresses.
in a house of reason, he will choose to neglect me. as for his thoughts they remain, his feelings will not be felt.
a new found solace in this empty place, as my mind becomes my own antagonist.
to yield a timid longing while time does keep whispering, we gently stole from curious eyes
to escape our own.
a stain where she use to lay, a bruised patch of her panicked eyes. where white chalk was put around just measures the
distance between us now. as you stare in seduction and endure her carved words, mindfulness moves to fast at this world.
with elusive hands i embrace in an empty room with a plastic pin point.
now with your hollowed touch, you turn everything to white noise with a static urge.
yet the buildings became a blur as i stared through your moms car door window, with a flashback of music and watery thoughts.
(11:28 pm)
Traveler Oct 2017
What wondrous power
a word possess'.
To start a war
or to clean up
messes

Threatening letters
in your alpha message,
will only lead
to sudden regresses
in your numbers
and friends - even your bestest.  
So try to be kind even if counter-intuitive
For the words you weaponize affect how you will be digested
Traveler Tim
And Friend
JovialPup May 2018
Dwarfed by concrete and steel, I struggle to
catch, to grasp that which has been stolen by
swift phantom hands and soft dying light who
whisper, caress, remind. They draw my eye
to the setting sun, the dying fire,
the phoenix’s last embers burning out.
The day’s enchantment will soon expire.
Lips drawn down, brows furrowing in a pout.
The same spectral breezes tug on my shirt,
Pull me towards the tracks that lead me home.
Night sweeps across the sky in silken skirts,
richly colored, bejewelled with precious stones.
I must hurry. Must leave promptly, before
Night regresses into a ****** *****.
Lexie Dec 2017
Still as I speak
She tears apart herself from within
Using her own hands
She prys apart all that she is
And in her mind
Such a battle is this

Make them cry.
Make then scream.
Let them produce a bucket of tears to add to the ocean that is her own.

Crazy.
Yes.
A mind that has to long wandered afar, aloof and alone; and been pushed through many things that should not be endured.

All at once she crumbles
And who cares for such a thing as rocks and ruin when they no longer are walls.
None.

So such is this, that she would die, to herself. For fear runs her over and she regresses into all that she has fought so long to be free from.

I have endured enough
For every battle I fight taxes me and I am spent
My pockets are empty and my mind much to full
So I relinquish to the night all that I am.
Sabika Oct 2018
Alone again,
Like how it was before I was found,
Before I could hear a sound.

My head has turned bleak.
Slowly approaching my peak,
I find it hard to find the words to speak.

And the shadows seep into my cracks
by your command
doubt and drought invade this fertile land
as my world regresses in a state of chaos
and loss
and confusion
with the fusion of hope and contempt
to my ignorance and to your method.

You held me in your palm
and hear my imperfect soul cry from across realms
that shield me from the truth.
I become sad...
Am I mad for wanting better for myself,
better than myself?
Make me better for you.
Spiritual starvation.

— The End —