Miraquill
Love endured, but the bonds gone.
©theemopoet
theemopoet
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Curses make guilty
©theemopoet -
Love or hate, I am inhuman.
©theemopoet -
Escaping inevitable pain just to be faced by cold murder
©theemopoet -
theemopoet
124w
The windows are flung open,
Yet there is no breeze,
To ventilate my room of chaos,
And lift off the weight, ease.
I choke on my silence,
And I scream light into my mind of ill,
But squeals escape my gagged heart,
As caliginous powers scourge me, kill.
©theemopoet -
theemopoet
124w
All the odds seem to be against me,
And my heart's desires,
And I feel as though, if I breathe my last,
I will be the least remembered,
And the least forgotten,
For friendship and love have expunged me,
And I don't find home in my lonely,
Anymore.
Not even the air feels thin enough,
Or dense enough,
For my lungs to keep my leaves alive,
And I don't hear the silent whisper of my heart beating,
For it ceased to beat, and I'm a corpse,
One that wanders like a ghost,
With no soul, nobody my own,
Anymore.
©theemopoet -
theemopoet
124w
Often times, I find myself dwelling in trenches,
A million feet below the surface of existence.
No cries heard, no tears seen,
Underwhelmed by mere happenstance.
©theemopoet -
.
-
theemopoet
124w
Read More
What is home?
I ask myself, as I lay in my bed,
Under the warm cozy comfort,
Of my blanket.
Is this what home feels like?
I interrogate the sweet silence, of my room,
Curled up like a newborn baby.
Winds whirring against the window,
Curtains cuddling against the walls,
Like my clothes hung on the wall bracket.
Is this home?
Four walls, no calls,
And a waterfall,
Of books and picture frames.
Soaking all in, I close my eyes,
As the chill of the night, boards me to my flight,
Of peace,
Sleep.
Will I wake up, home?
Where the dawning sun kisses my eyes,
And my feet touch cream ceramic.
The music of my mother yelling,
And that of my father, and my brother, synchronizing,
As breakfast is served,
Dinner, loved.
The aroma of every meal,
Wafts from room to room,
Till it hugs the walls,
And makes love to my sense of smell.
Guests, dressed in their best,
And laughter echoing from ceiling to ceiling,
With oceans accumulating, of joyous feelings.
Am I home?
Where TV commercials and family serials,
Paint the walls with their light,
And my parents are worried,
That I've not returned, from that birthday bash,
Now, that it's half past twelve.
This is the one place I dwell,
When I'm ill or well,
Be it with family,
Be it alone,
I feel best when I am nowhere,
But home.
Yes, this is home.
I am home.
#home #poetry #pod #repost @writersnetwork @readwriteunite @mirakeeIs this home?
Four walls, no calls,
And a waterfall,
Of books and picture frames.
Soaking all in, I close my eyes,
As the chill of the night, boards me to my flight,
Of peace,
Sleep.
©theemopoet
*Full poem in the caption* -
theemopoet
124w
Sometimes, I stare blankly at the whiteness of the backlit page,
Poetry and prose leave my mind in a static.
Attempting to create, I picture scenarios of emotional weight,
Rummaging through the junk in my attic.
Lenticular visions, magnifying my imagination,
I scurry, flipping cream leaves of books, unread.
Distractions arise, and I'm caught up in a net of pictures and feeds,
And as time passes by, no words sow their seed.
©theemopoet
-
love_poet
124w
Read MoreLove is like salt
It needs to be just right;
Giving too much of it is frowned upon -
"Being too clingy," most call it.
We give so much to fill their void
While no one is there to fill our own
That now keeps growing.
Sometimes it's not their fault;
Being given so much freely everytime
Could be overwhelming,
And having to accommodate someone else in life
Seems like too much of a burden.
At least , that's what they tell themselves
To sleep at night.
But the truth is - it's a human flaw,
People often just do take a good heart for granted.
On the other hand, loving too little seems quite,
But there's noone that's ever had the chance.
It's so; one who loved too little,
Is one who just never loved at all.
But even if you could love too little, it'd be foolish to try.
See, though in loving too little
It seems you'll hurt no one, trust me,
You'll hurt yourself and usually
You'll hurt them too.
First, you'll have to hide
So no one will notice your true feelings.
Even if you don't want your efforts acknowledged
(Which is unlikely), these feelings will grow
Till you can't hide them anymore.
You may keep hurting and pushing everyone away
But one day you'll realize you need someone
And something more, but it'd be too late
And there'd be no one to give you a chance.
So you'll have to live with a growing hunger and void still.
See, love too is poisonous -
Hearts break, when it's not in the right amount.
#podLove is like salt
It needs to be just right,
Too much of it turns toxic.
While too little of it
Just doesn't exist
Or it goes unnoticed or unfelt.
Trust me,
Love too is poisonous
When it's not right.
©love_poet -
_aakriti
124w
You are the medicine
To the bruises
Which my past...
Ruined me with.
©_aakriti -
jarraley
124w
Thunder, lightning, came and went
Full moons halved and quartered
Leaving the key behind
And the cage door open
Still I see no way out
No escape from this dark
~ Josie A Kerr
08.02.2020 -
juanogando
129w
Go Home
When I got in trouble
I ended up going home
To face what may come.
When I had news too
Good not to share
I ran home. When I
Was hungry, I had a meal
At the table with stories
To tell and songs being
Sung. When I was tired
My bed to sleep in with
The t.v. Speaking
Through walls and dishes
Clanking in the sink.
When I left for university
I’d come home on holidays.
I brought that girl home
Whom dad adored.
But then I finally left.
Moving often from
Place to place and person
To person. But finally
I have my home that
I come home to, regardless,
Of what is happening, when
One is dying, or better yet,
Getting married. Having children,
Gaining weight or getting in shape,
I come home, over and over and
Over again. I could go anywhere, really,
If you think about it, but,
I come home to those who
Know too much about me,
And still love me.
It’s a home where we
Can breathe easy.
Such an odd thing, animals
And insects have them but
Humans fill them with photos
And stories of everyone who
Has a place in their home, whether
They are in the flesh or the spirit.
We can be free and roam anywhere,
Yet, we are compelled
To always come home.
©jnani_shakti -
laconic_
124w
and your aroma
carries me into
the cosmos
whenever i aim
to catch you in
my poetries -
juanogando
124w
Read More
A ballad about the lovelorn of a young man
#writersnetwork #mirakee #ceesreposts #writerstolliLovelorn
You don’t see me,
You can’t see me.
There’s no way to be,
Impossible to be free.
Stop calling me best friend,
This torture never ends.
I don’t want to be friends,
I want this love affair to begin.
But all you see is him, even when it’s only us.
Imagine the chagrin, invisibility really sucks.
You don’t see me,
You can’t see me.
There’s no way to be,
Impossible, gotta get free.
But how do I get away,
When I only want to stay?
This is no game to play,
I will never be okay.
Because it’s only him, it’s always only him.
Give this love a chance, it’s more than just a whim.
You don’t see me,
You can’t see me.
I got to break away.
Survival is in decay.
I’m a man on the run, escaping all alone.
Heading towards the sun, destined to only roam.
You won’t see me,
Because I had to flee.
You didn’t see me,
Sadly, now I’m free.
Escaping all alone, I’m a man on the run.
Destined to only roam, heading to the sun.
©jnana_deva_shakti -
juanogando
124w
Read More
A young man loses his love
#mirakee #writersnetwork #ceesreposts #writerstolliMy confusion needs a chyron
Looking for a shoulder to cry on.
My confusion needs a chyron.
I’m afraid I am going to die from
The total silence that you dropped on
Me. I don’t know why you’ve gone.
But I feel so miserably.
This is total agony, you see,
This can’t be, I’m too lonely,
To keep it low-key.
Please don’t leave me.
But you’re traveling to other shores,
Chasing dreams with so much more,
Than the cage I can only offer,
A love too small for you to foster.
My obsession is causing war.
But I can’t force my love upon
You, unable to hear my love song,
You made it clear of you’re alarm,
Of being dragged down by my storm,
So you cut away escaping harm.
But this is not the love story
I wanted, this has only fury
Separation without glory,
Clearly seeing you’re in a hurry,
It doesn’t help to say I’m sorry.
But you’re traveling to other shores,
Chasing dreams with so much more,
Than the cage I can only offer,
A love too small for you to foster.
My obsession is causing war.
©jnana_deva_shakti -
lily_love
124w
~
I made stairs
To escape you,
But every time I tried
To escape,
I fell down
Falling for you.
©lily_love -
Poplars and pines are
animate quills that Nature
uses to tattoo
her songs and poems onto
the Sky's ethereal skin.
©artemiswrites -
the_fox
124w
the repatriate
driving around town
in the rusty, old Ellington,
cellophane wrapped seats,
effluvium of rancid leather.
the freeways are talking
to me,
and my eyes are an inch away
from weeping.
happy faces that these fog-lamps
are cruising past,
ignite a matchstick
down my throat, and
all the way down
to my stomach.
downtrodden philosophies,
that have a half-life
longer than my amnesia infested
overthoughts.
and, the wheels rotate
forth the catholic church;
the sunday choir still sings
about how
the good die young -
instantly reminding me
of my immortality;
sinners are never owned up
by the heaven,
phantoms do not wither
but the tombstones do.
oftentimes, tiring
to witness these families,
smiling couples, joyous kids
marching past
the township park;
bringing a stark,
heart-wrenching perception
that glares down at me,
reminding me
of my stature,
of my failed trials
to love, and be loved.
still counting down the days,
to my probable end,
one way or the other,
a placid death;
and until then,
I will drive around,
with my eyes, an inch away
from weeping.
with love,
your deathless peasant.
©the_fox
