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May 08
Burnt Black Petals's picture

until they don't

the warmth of a bony hand can be pale or pure the scent of cold air clinging on a sheet can be airy or dark the sight of eyelashes slightly obscuring your vision can be a headache or a lovely haze Static sounds and straining skin are here to stay until they don't . they leave and reality whispers 'come' under a velvet and oil breath
May 08
poem 1 comment challenge: Disaster
Max L.'s picture



A great wall of sorrow

Engulfing all in its path,

Rising from the earthquake of pain

Deep below the surface
A surface normally calm,

Broken only on occasion by

The rough seas of discontent

And the great storms of rage

Fueled by the high winds of stress
At last the great wave breaks,

Leaving naught but a swath of regret

In its massive wake.

May 08
poem 0 comments challenge: Disaster
livhastingss's picture

The Wave

Their feared upon,

They don’t fear anything.

Except themselves.

Although big and mighty like the biggest wave,

Deep down they are small and worthless.

Although radiate a confident stride, 

They shrink after a while. 

They put up a picture to hide their true colors,

Only after dying down do they show those hidden colors. 

They are confident and brave,

But show deeper personality on the inside. 

One that not many can see,

But everyone knows about it. 

May 06

Drifting clouds

My dearest friend,

The one who has been through it all

Along my side. 

Together, as we rest on the beaten grass of my childhood home,

We lie gazing at the drifting clouds.

As we listen to the soft sound of the wind in the trees,

You begin to speak aloud.

You speak in a gentle whisper,

Unveiling the truth you’ve never told anyone before.

The warm feeling of honor from your truth washes over me, 

Engulfing my body in its warm embrace.

As the faint breeze slows to a still,

The distant sound of traffic fades away.

With the silent new bond evident in the space between us,

We continue to lie in the delicate grass of our childhood.
May 06

Keeping My Eyes Closed

People walk with their families,
The sun shines brightly,
The crisp wind blows,
The birds sing from the trees, 
The peepers in the marsh behind my house chirp,
The water from our well drains through the pipe in our yard.
The cherry tree in my neighbor's yard has bloomed,
and the crisp wind shakes it's pink petals to the ground. 
Time feels frozen,
though I know it's not
because as the cars drive by I am pulled from my thoughts.
But if I close my eyes,
Everything seems normal,
it doesn't feel like the world is ending anymore. 
If feels like if I were to open my eyes,
I would be greeted by beautiful laughing faces.
But as I open my eyes,
I'm greeted only by a clumsy bumblebee dancing from dandelion to dandelion.
The sun has been engulfed by clouds now, 
and everything has a different feel. 
I'm transported back to reality.
A reality that I'm not so sure I like.

Marker ladies 2

May 04
poem 0 comments challenge: CJP-Miss

We once

We once complained about going to school,
some of us would pretend to be sick.
We once could sit in desks
for so long our backs hurt.
We once knew everything
would be OK.
We once could laugh and talk,
not through a screen.
We once could go and high-five or hug
to anyone we wanted.
We once could go out in public
without masks.
We once could go and walk down the street
without people crossing to the other side.
We once took all this for granted,
but what we would give
to have it back.
May 04

Out of Sync

It seems that time and my motives 
Are completely out of sync
That they don’t like each other
Or that is what I think

For when I’m high on motivation
I’m running out of time
And when all that must be done, is done
I have not the mind to write a rhyme

It seems that these two things
That should run hand in hand
Completely despise each other
Or so I understand

May 03

An Uneasiness

We are sitting in our houses
seperated by space and time
and the uneasiness of dreaming.
we may talk late into the night
we may ask ourselves
Do we like eachother?
Do we like ourselves?
just to reasure
our minds, incapable anymore
of fathoming ourselves outside of ourselves.
How is it that I may talk so freely
reapeating another man's words
trying desperatly to impress you.
It is a losing game,
and I play it alone.
Your own body pulses under a different sun,
How can I know your thoughts?
So I listen to all of your favorite songs,
in the hope of an unlikey understanding.
I am contantly aware of my actions, my thoughts, my words.
Should I not wait up for you?
Should I not talk so? 
Should I not ask?
Should I distance myself?
Try to play it cool?
Should I be nicer?
Its a constant struggle I think you may share.

May 03

Do the Stars Know?

Do the stars know
that on a planet
millions, billions, trillions of
miles away,
our lives are defined by the
distance of 6 feet?

Do the stars know--
the stars we
see as tiny, yet they're
huger than we ever could imagine--
that on this faraway planet, a
miniscule crown-shaped virus has
become the enormous concept that now has
taken over the lives of
every single one of us?
Do they know of
the lockdowns
the tests,
the worry,
the stress,
the lives at risk and
the ones already taken?
How our "normal" has
been torn into pieces and
no one knows exactly
what our future holds?

Do the stars know, with
their wisdom of years, years, years, of
shining down on us,
what we're
supposed to do?
Because, stars, none of us really do know, and
maybe we're only a speck or
maybe we're invisible to you but