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Renée C Mar 16
I never really understood
what it meant to
ache
with longing,
but now
I know.
I think too hard about
holding your hand
or kissing your lips;
sitting next to you on a train
or your couch --
or mine
and I feel it --
a sweeping pain.
Literal actual pain
from my teeth
to my stomach
to the tips of my fingers.
A reminder of how far my heart is stretched,
reaching for you.
Long distance hurts, even when it's worth it.
nicole Mar 10
we met in the winter
but became strangers by spring
GClever Mar 7
"Restless. As if you haven't really met yourself yet. As if you'd passed yourself once in the fog, and your heart leapt - 'Ah! There I Am! I've been missing that piece!' But it happens too fast, and then that part of you disappears into the fog again. And you spend the rest of your days looking for it." – Libba Bray, The Sweet Far Thing

I.
We were never really afraid of emptiness
Only of void, the hollow
Which will never be filled anymore
As of an ember dying to ashes
As a photograph blurred by times
We fear only when we know
Tomorrow will never come
So when we can still see further
We abuse distance, we corrupt
Aloofness, we betray the intimacy
Of nature, we deny time of its place
It's occurrence, we unconsciously
Disrupt a timetable set to make ends
Bearable––

Not anymore

II.
Why do we even put only thirds
of coffee in our cup,
only to come back for more
In fear of content, overwhelming space?
Distance?
It is this fixation to this fear
that we fail to think of coffee running out

III.
We think in fragments
We fear the whole
Of the day being morning and afternoon
We hate the night for being night
The long stretches of hours
We could have slept,
because the darkness justifies rest
The day we could have played
because the sun justifies the break from monotony
Instead, we go in reverse

IV.
To counter fear is to think backwards
The other way––not really forward
We cheat.
We do not sleep simply because we might not awaken
We do not go out simply because we might only be ushered in
We do not try because we might fail
It is okay to sit right here
In the middle of space
Filled with comforting thoughts
That distance is a choice
from something
Not from nothing

But we will all wake up one day
From a restless night––
The sun is up, the light seeps through the window
Where the cup was lying empty on the table
This time, when we ask for the whole of it
The coffee have run out.
Maryann I Mar 5
They told me I was loved.
Said it like a fact, like a given, like air.
And I nodded, let the words settle on my skin
but never sink in.

Because love—love is hands reaching,
but understanding?
Understanding is knowing why mine pull away.

I sat in rooms full of people who swore they cared,
but no one asked why my laughter always came half a second too late,
why silence fit me like a second skin.

They called me beautiful, said I was smart,
but never saw the way I flinched at echoes of my own thoughts.
They held me when I cried, but no one ever asked
what the tears were trying to say.

I used to think I was ungrateful—
to have love but still feel lost.
But now I know:
Love can be loud, can be warm, can be everywhere—
and still not speak your language.

So if you’ve ever felt this way,
like you exist in translation,
like love is the ocean but you are still thirsty—
I need you to hear this:

You are not wrong for wanting more.
You deserve to be understood.
****-Narrative | Yin

Twelve days have passed, and no word comes to me,
no painted stroke, no ink upon the page.
I fear the silence, yet I picture her,
a solitary figure, far away.
She seeks the earth, to ground her restless soul,
the water's flow, to cleanse her troubled mind.
The fire's heat, to forge a stronger will,
the wind's soft sigh, to whisper ancient truths,
Beyond the Element Mountains, she must roam.

She walks the paths where granite peaks arise,
where rivers wind through valleys, deep and green.
She feels the heat of embers, glowing bright,
the rustling leaves, a language she can hear.
I see her face, reflected in the stone,
a mirror to the strength she holds within.
She seeks the balance, lost within the storm,
the harmony that silence can impart,
a journey inward, where her spirit flies.

I wait for her, a shadow in the room,
where empty scrolls and brushes gather dust.
I trace her image, on the window pane,
a phantom artist, painting absent days.
I hear her footsteps, in the falling rain,
a distant echo, of her coming home.
I feel the longing, that the silence breeds,
the ache of absence, in the heart's long hall,
a story written, in the waiting time.

She will return, with wisdom in her eyes,
a quiet strength, that silence has refined.
She will bring stories, of the mountain's crest,
the river's journey, the fire's burning grace.
And I will listen, to her whispered tales,
of ancient elements, and inner peace.
For in her journey, love has found its way,
to bridge the distance, that the silence made,
where spirits meet, Beyond the Element Mountains.

--------------------------------------------------­--------------------------------------

Ci-Meditative | Yang

Twelve suns have risen, twelve pale moons have waned,
and silence stretches, a vast, unyielding sea.
No ink-stained paper, no painted breath arrives,
no whispered echo of your distant voice.
I picture you, beyond the city's hum,
a soul adrift, where ancient elements reside.
The earth holds steady, where your bare feet tread,
a grounding force where turmoil starts to cease,
a silent journey, Beyond the Element Mountains.

The water's flow, a cleansing, cool embrace,
washes away the doubts, the fears, the stains.
The fire's dance, a flicker in your eyes,
ignites the passion, where resolve takes hold.
The wind, a restless spirit, whispers truths,
through rustling leaves, a language understood.
The metal gleams, a mirror to your soul,
reflecting strength, a clarity reborn,
a quiet passage through a world unseen.

I trace your steps, a phantom on the path,
imagining the landscapes you explore.
The granite peaks, the river's silver thread,
the burning embers, the sigh of forest breeze.
I build a shrine of thoughts, a mental space,
where your reflection lingers, calm and deep.
My mind, a canvas where your image lives,
a portrait painted with imagined light,
a patient vigil, where hope begins to bloom.

The silence lingers, heavy, yet serene,
a space for growth, a pause where love endures.
I trust the journey, where your spirit flies,
to find the answers, hidden in the stones.
And when you return, with eyes that hold the dawn,
I will embrace the wisdom you have found.
For in the stillness, love's true strength is shown,
a bond unbroken, by the passing days,
where silence lives, Beyond the Element Mountains.
Authors Note:
This is an experiment in a new style.  
**** is a style from the Tang Dynasty - Common to Li Bai writings.
Ci is a style from the Song Dynasty - Common to Li Qingzhao writings.
This is my modernistic take on the styles and my understanding and template to follow.
I am also trying to associate with Tao - balance in the poem, so I provided both.
Naturally, I would have preferred to interweave the stanzas, side by side, left and right justified, but HP isn't quite doing what I want.... thus the experimentation and request for honest feedback.
Funny thing is Yin is feminine energy, and Yang is masculine in nature.  Just like in China, the union (wedding) is represented with the Dragon (male) and the Peacock (female).   And in my relationship that I often write, She is the dragon, born to the year of the Dragon.  So roles reverse a little, again bringing balance.  This poem is no different, as the Yin part is written from my perspective, and the Yang from her perspective.  Much like the poets famous for these styles.  **** was feminine but used by Li Bai, a man to gain notoriety through its use during the Tang Dynasty.  Ci was male but used by Li Qingzhao a prominent poetess of the Song Dynasty.

"****-Narrative" (Yin): Love and Melancholy (No Rhyme)
Focus on a narrative of [briefly describe the story or emotional journey].
Use concise imagery and express [specific emotion(s)].
Use the 9-8-9-8 stanza structure, and do not use rhyme.

"Ci-Meditative" (Yang): Nature, Perception, and Perspective (No Rhyme)
Focus on [theme of nature, perception, or perspective].
Use vivid imagery and an introspective tone.
Use the 9-8-9-8 stanza structure, and do not use rhyme.

Rhyming is optional, however, I find that life doesn't always rhyme, so I avoid it letting the energy and thoughts flow freely and more naturally.
I also used the 9898 sentence structure in the stanzas because 9's and 8's are of significance to the cultures of the East for luck, happiness, and prosperity.

Sorry if this turned into an educational post.

Enjoy, and I look forward to the feedback.
The moon is 238,900 miles away,
I didn't even know that,
I guess you really do learn something new every day.
But if she loves me to the moon and back,
I love her all the way out to Kepler-438b,
640 light-years from today,
Guess you learned something new too, aye!
And all the way back.
raahii Feb 20
बदकिस्मती हमारी, नहीं है एक शहर हमारा,
वरना कर लेते दीदार, रोज़ किसी बहाने से।
Fate has left us without a city to call our own,
Else, I’d find an excuse to see you every day.
I S A A C Feb 19
i am attached to my past in a spiritual manner
i gather and gather but never get better
books flooding my head
words meant to mend
the intricacies of my fringed best chasing beautiful butterflies by the river bent
do you see the same visions?
do you see the same distance?
you seem closer in my head
do you deem me different?
do you dream of someone else instead?
let me know, to let me grow
unfold and grow again
let me know, to sow again
harvest and make amends
Miss Masque Feb 14
Haunting me in snow motion,
All on the breeze that set me free,
Floating, Drifting, Flipping, Twirling
All of my kinetic energy

Brings me to my knees
Taunting me, there's
no way to know if it's
Testing me,
I shouldn't be scared...
Should I be scared?

A Whiff of Candlelight,
Sulfur Burning in the Night--
The Shift in Shadows--Slight,
The Will of the Flicker
Getting Thicker and Thicker
Makes Me Start to--
Waver
Take that
Tumble
No Use
Aiming
Start Proclaiming
Your Name in
Reclaiming
the Energy
that Washes Over
Me--the
Potential,
The Reverie--
It's Potent--
It's Haunting Me.
Morgan Howard Feb 13
The silence is deafening.
How many days has it been?

I can almost make out the faint calls,
Of someone in the distance.

But just as quickly as they appear,
They vanish without a trace.

So, I sit against the wall,
Hugging my knees to my chest.

Scratches on the rough concrete behind me
Marking the depth of my agony

How long will I rot in this cage,
Before someone notices that I am missing?
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