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Anoeska de Wit Sep 2024
Walls closing in,
Gasping for air.
Needing to run,
But not knowing where.

Every corner seems haunted,
There's no light to be seen.
Hearing such voices,
No one could know what they mean.

They chase me,
Everything does.
Everything is nothing,
Like how it first was.

Too much pressure, oxygen runs out,
I'm running out of life.

Is this how it feels like,
To be buried alive?

-anoeska
Moo Sep 2024
Shall the cries of the dead be heard?
When the world quites down,
Do the weeping winds coax their pain?
Seeping the ground for their comfort,
Will the rain find it's purpose then?
Will it be happy knowing it's not just a source of shallow joy for the living?
Will the clouds stop crying?
Out of pity for the dead,
once alive,
Does the sun apprise us of the regret of the day before or the one ahead,
Does it pity the ones it doesn't serve,
The ones dead
Queen singer Sep 2024
I can’t begin
Its hurts too much
The pain of this ending erases every grain of my love
My ability to care is gone
But I will endure
I turn away and walk with purpose to my new life
I am not whole, I have cracks in every joint
But I will live on
I will not forget you
For I will not allow your maltreatment of my spirit to prevail
But I will live on
The hurt will make me feel,
I know I am alive
I will not cry for mercy
I have no tears for you
If you were hurt, I would walk away never noticing the speck that is you.
I will endure and move on
T Chase Sep 2024
Am I alive or am I dead?
About this much can be said.
If I was dead would I know?
I might think I am here and just go
into the attic as a ghost,
and sit there for years  or decades at most.
Not knowing that time went by,
sitting there not knowing why.
Ghosts have no concept of time,
letting centuries pass by.
But ghosts cannot communicate and talk
with those who are alive on earth and walk,
they could go into the light but do not,
so on the earth they remain caught.
If they go to the light they can see past family,
and others that they wish to see.
So dont end up in between alive and dead,
as a ghost as I have said.
Go to the light when you die,
so you will not wonder why.
anonymous Aug 2024
i am a storm
in a world
that fears the rain
and lightning
and thunder

i dance on the edge
of moonlight and starshine
where wild hearts
whisper secrets
in my ear

you will tell me
to calm my chaos
to tame my spirit
i am 'too much'

but i am a wildfire
spreading through fields
of ordinary being

i do not fit
into neat little boxes
or follow
their straight lines

i am the echo
in the silence
of the vast universe and
the untamed breath
in the quiet night

i am wild
not because i must be
but because i am
and that
is enough
onlylovepoetry Jul 2024
75°F & Alive & Minding the Perfection

morning mindfulness,
surrounded by perfect,
once again, may it be
forever this-a-way

I have no idea what
I’ve done to be so
blessed; and I repay
with gratitude in this
psalm hymnal, poor
though it may be,
it is genuine, poured
from within the open
confines of all I have
learned, earned, & burned;

75°F & Alive  & Minding the Perfection,
the color contrast is  an overwhelming,
an all encompassed scheme
makes neighbors,
even,
total strangers greet each
other like beloved brothers & sisters,
this heaven is infecting,
an infectious breeze of the
stillness of early morn
born and carried in our cell’s walls,
strong are the nuclei, and this
memory, this poem devotion,
this ttributary of words
flows with slowed ease,
and the
troubles are banished to the
back of the pack,
tho the line be long,
the golden oldies music
banishes them to a temporary oblivion
and within a totality of solitude alone,  
momentarily,
my heart,
fulsome,
yes trite but true, is crazy
overflowing,
I’m in danger of loving everyone,
for to not,
would be
criminal
if it were even a
possibility

if i could snap my genie fingers,
beware, I’d summon y’all,
a global contraction perfect,
to convent/sit beside me, your presence
welcomed with a hot beverage,
a cooling drink, for every one
always get what they w a n t

*and
yea, yeah, yeah
this is a forever & always,
only  a
love poem…
10:53am
where perfection is  the ruler….
My Dear Poet Jun 2024
I feel so sad”, she sad.

Someone’s muzzled happiness and locked her in a basement”, I replied.
You just need to find her”.

What if I found her dead?”, she asked.

Then realise this one thing…
…it took you to be alive,
to distinguish that which is dead
”.
Frances Marie May 2024
My shadow was eating me alive,
I was becoming an outline,
Of the person I once could recognize.
My ambitions were fading,
Goals made for dreaming,
Left me feeling.

Aching for the life I could have led.  
With every day that passes,
my hands feel see-through.
My gaze is glazed with dull focus.
As if I am disappearing from who I once knew.
This was 2023, some time before finally coming back. I have changed in 4 years and feel more comfortable in my body.
RC May 2024
This fleeting moment with him was so sweet
looking back on this in ten years I could probably name so many
just know it was sweet
and you were understood
and right now you are happy and warm
and the sun looks like the guitar riffs floating through your bedroom
and the dog is sleeping
and your room is messy but it's okay
because we'll take care of it later
and you are alive
and you are alive
and you are still alive
Where Shelter May 2024
Inevitable, that the circle be completed,
celebrating our seasonal return to the
sheltering abode by river, bearing winded
surround sounds to our isle of near-perfection,
where slivered tongued foamy waves deposit
new & used poems on beach, emptied from
now repurposed sea shells and hardened
conchae's, evidence that the truest inhabitants
never leave, always return, with their markers

Inevitable, that I write this in premature
anticipation, amidst the towers of babble,
& honking taxis, imitating Canadian geese,
who await our presence to refute any paper,
that we fool human claimants, before Nature
pretense of ownership, are not mere renters, albeit
but for a few centuries, which by larger definition,
is an interim short term lease, writ in invisible ink, that tho it
yellowing disappears, the orange summer heat magic revives

Inevitable, that decades of worshiping this
place, now mindbound, as temple, shrine, to
a place extant in our minds, wherever we be,
as land that owns us; here, we have buried
super~hero figurines, sanded, polished memories
of loved ones, parents, friends, adventures, times,
confusing generations, for the children of earlier
children, whose children, now too scream with glee
& courageous abandon, familiar+identical to forbears

Inevitable, that we live here, though life demands
our presence elsewhere, in our minds,* for each
year burnishes our genes with sun rays, while sand
smoothes our roughened skin, and we are only refresher
modifications of our earlier selves, when we first were
lost, and stumbled upon this grail, with shovels and
red plastic pails, with which we commenced erecting
foundations, homes, gardens and vines, and images
that are always at home in our minds, living on,

in real time…
May 3 2034
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