Her Him.
A devil in disguise,
Growing through the night.
A fire in her heart
Yet a feather in her life.
A dream is taken,
Like dust in a breeze.
A lamp-post struck by lightning
Fierce fires never freeze.
Her diary sowly speaks
With letters of his name.
Sketches of his face
Fill her notebook’s every page.
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The Voyage of the Spirit
The wheel has stopped its turn, and I am thrust towards the sea,
I laugh with the rolling ebb as my soul marches towards the void,
I will finally be transformed
As I fly outside myself towards the breaking shore
The flesh locking me to existence is absolved of substance,
Numbing calm pulverizes me to my essence
I enter the womb,
To be born
Ankle deep, and I am fading out of memory,
Knee deep, and memory is fading out of the universe,
I am melting everywhere,
As cosmic ice
The pulsing stars shoot fiery, ancient light through my sinews,
My being is emblazoned with the multitudes of experience,
And I am now different from all else
I sink deeper,
Space roars through my shell in a dance of divine fervor
And projects infinity on my unready eyes,
I am an echo of flame in the unimaginable deep,
And am different from all else
I sink ever deeper,
My soul is flaming, eager to burst,
I have consumed the cosmos in my hunger,
All rests on an instant
Because I am different from all else
I rupture,
The force of everything tears my spirit asunder
The chains of existence are blown apart
As the pillars of creation crumble out of being,
The arms of oblivion creep in and root themselves in my naked state,
My soul is entwined and sustained by the ancient opposites,
I am now both strands of the transcending, universal braid
I am everything and nothing,
I am without time as a transparent eye
Gazing upon the span of history
Within every thought is the alpha and omega,
The infinite scope of the entirety is played out
In every place in every time within me
And I am all of those wonders
I have become not I,
The self extinguished,
Smothered by the sea
-Christopher H. Nagle
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(3 votes, average poem rating: 4.33 out of 5)
Work
Email
Bounces in ‘n
Makes my heart go
O
‘cos Karen sez ‘ello
I reply
She doesn’t
An hour later
We pass on the stairs ‘n
She gets off quick
In a tight white
Shirt
That matched
Her skirt,
Perfectly
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Love?
My love flows unbound
unleashed as if from the chains of supression
I look at you with naked love
and a longing desire
to be held in your arms and feel peace
You say
“Bind me not with your love”
And
suddenly my love’s flowing river becomes to me
A Burden unbearable.
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(6 votes, average poem rating: 4.17 out of 5)
childish love
Copyright (C) 2009 TwoTwenty@magicalblog
under the Free Art License 1.3
http://artlibre.org/licence/lal/en
I see something childish
so is it ignorance
a failure to see an answer
a poorly worded question
a fight for attention
I didnt know howto show you
so I thought I would join you, to help you see
then I lost my sight just as I began in the fight
weeeeeeeeee
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(1 votes, average poem rating: 3 out of 5)
As she was
As distant as time is to a child,
She cries behind closed doors,
As I when all I had was her,
Behind those doors.. Locked away,
Stolen from the eyes of the world,
Oh timely death do come now and end this pain that is love.
Oh to each their own and to own is each of which their pain can not conceive such hatred for the world for the love in which they share could not have provoked as which it has on this cold winters night.
To what unlikely sin do we owe this timely hate, lust? desire? greed?
All for the love of one, only one that you would need, the only comfort that you could ever perceive as to be perfection.
One love, One life, untrue and cruel to the majority, as we look deeply into our souls and find none but hatred and dispise for those who find true happiness and beseech their morals of love and themselves in our presence.
Oh how to find earnisty in such a world that is filled with such ignorance and hatefulness, but to cherish such people that hold true revolts to pashion should not be taken likely as we hold ourselves to the world and try to not spit on the flame and invoke the power which is hiding in the ever present metaphor which is love.
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(5 votes, average poem rating: 4 out of 5)
Infinity
We sit in this world
sweaty, crying and curled
Life is crashing down
and our fists we pound and pound
feeling broken and battered
and losing everything that mattered
while our dreams are being shattered
its the end of the round
and we’ve been kicked to the ground
pick yourself back up
and get out of the dump
life IS worth living
just keep giving and giving
your very best effort to
live this life through and through
when your at the end of the line
you can see how your life was defined
it’s not about being successful
or how you were labeled
it’s about living your life to the fullest
the possibilities are limitless
do not throw
away your life; get up and give it a go
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(3 votes, average poem rating: 3.67 out of 5)
Rain
What’s got these clouds so down?
So melancholy that they shatter into a wave of tears,
no seers, left
to explain the pain only scientists.
Even their work is but faith,
incomplete fragments they swear on,
swear until a new shard catches the eye
and converts the formerly holy truth to lie.
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(1 votes, average poem rating: 3 out of 5)
Truth of the Moon
Yes I have heard the tales,
these sordid rumors whispered down for the stars.
I have seen the bulge of her belly,
heard the tales of infidelity.
For the constellations weep,
“Why!?” they cry, in interstellar chorus.
So fair a lady, now the whore of the skies.
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(1 votes, average poem rating: 4 out of 5)
I am a Solider
I can play with this metal trigger over and over; watch it glint in the light. I can walk a million miles in one day and not think about my dieing feet, for I see death in the eyes of those around me and forget just how lonely I am. The children are young, barely walking but their eyes lay hollow in heads that have seen too much. And those that should care do not. They walk with pompous aire, with the smile of the devil painted across their uncaring lips. Their eyes are cold, deeper than the ocean, telling of stories so selfish and self-serving, so destructive; it makes me shiver deep with in my soul. I walk and look and speak a different language. I move through this dream in the heat and the wind. Rain does not fall here, heat swarms us like flies and picks at our skin. They turn their backs and walk away from the dieing heat, and we are left like ignorant cattle to plod through the desert alone. Don’t cry for me mama, I’m a soldier.
I got your letter today; I remember the smell of your perfume that woke me early in the morning. I can still see the light of your bedroom filtering under the gap in my door. I can hear your footsteps and your soft voice calling, wake dear, wake, it’s time to go to school. Did I make you mad when I would just roll over and fall back asleep? Did you want to shake me until I jolted out of bed? Were you late because of me? I read your letter every night before I go to bed, the paper is now so worn that it’s as soft as a chicks feathers. The smell of your perfume still lingers lightly on the edges pulling me deeper into them, as if I were just a line on this page, being able to be mailed far away from here, far and wide, long and far, until I am just a spot on the line of the page, insignificant. I wish I wasn’t holding this gun. Don’t cry for me mama, I’m a soldier.
Did you know children go hungry? Their stomachs bloat out like little balloons, pushing bellies; that perhaps could be tickled, into grotesque forms that hang painfully on their thin bodies. I can remember my brothers and sisters running through the yard, clothed with soft cotton, laughing, playing. These children do not smile, they cry, they hold their heavy heads in hands that are deformed and cry for food, water, love. They look at my uniform and think I am god, coming to save them from certain death. They do not notice this gun in my hand, do not care that I’ve killed someone in their family. I weep late at night trying to console the pain that they have seen, for the innocence we have stolen playing games of who takes what. The monetary gain does not out weigh our moral loss, are we insane? The day is gone and I’m crying again. Don’t cry for me mama, I’m a soldier.
We like to play cards at night to pass the time until dawn. I’ve gotten pretty good at poker; funny how the king and queen are so important, everything else is just numbers. I look at the cards heavily; as if they were a burden in my hands, I will win tonight, win a handful of sand or that ear that hangs around Lt. Ford’s neck. My souvenirs, a lifetime wasted in a tent with cards in my hands. The moon is like a winking eye hanging by a nail in the sky, it swings back and forth counting time, ticking on the axis of being, spinning, spiraling into oblivion. I watch the stars swirling shapes upon the landscape of night. Philosophers have pondered those tiny lights that wink at us from above. Are you watching the stars? Do they smile for you? Don’t cry for me mama, I’m a soldier.
I’m here right now taking god in my hands. The silver trigger was tricky at first but now it’s much easier to pull. The popping sound reminds me of popcorn, the bullets; of little bees that zoom in for the kill. I look through my sight and see a young boy looking through his sight at me. He’s lying flat on his stomach with hair hanging in his face. He’s tucked inside a hallway, just his shoulders and his head peeping out. Before thought goes through my brain my finger pulls this shiny trigger and the boy falls lifeless, I can see his blood through my sight, flowing like water from a canteen down the hall where his body is still tucked. I’ve been here for many days, pulling the trigger, making popcorn in my mind, thinking of movies that you talk about in your letter. The boy down the street with the dog that I used to play with has graduated from high school. He’s not a boy anymore, nor am I. My face is like steal; impenetrable; my heart is like bone; hollow; my mind is like sand, easily blown away in the wind. I can hear the men behind me, profanities flying like doves into the sky, guns cocking, prayers being said. It is time, we are going to rush, the desert in front of us is empty as if an invisible river flows between us and the town. I can’t move, I don’t want to get up. I want to pop popcorn and hold your hand as we walk down the street by the river… don’t cry for me mama, I’m a soldier.
He’s here, I hear his breath. His hands are soft, his eyes are loving. He shakes me awake and your perfume enters my nose. I look up and I ask where I am. He does not answer. “for God and Country…” the words seem futile now but they float through my mind like leaves on water. I am walking down a hall way, the desert is gone. The letter you sent me is still in my pocket where I carry it always. There are children here, laughing, playing, eating. I can hear a river running in the distance and music touches my ears like kisses. It is not hot, nor is it cold. I miss you, I haven’t seen you in a while. You sent a picture and your hair was different. I left you with only a kiss and a hug, I wish I could hold you now. He turns around and smiles, “you need not worry about those things now.” I wonder why I fought so much, why I was angry so often. I wonder why suffering ran ramped where ever I looked. He turns around and smiles, “you need not worry about that now.” for god and country, for man, woman, and child. For love or money, for hate and poverty. For selfishness and greed, for virtue and stature. For good or evil, for you and me… Don’t cry for me mama, I was a soldier.
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(1 votes, average poem rating: 5 out of 5)