Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
xx Jun 2015
I've been losing
My senses lately
I can no longer
Hear your song
See your soul
Smell your skin
Taste your kiss
And feel your love
I am losing you...
*Slowly
L Marie Jun 2015
There is no touch, but sound and no taste, but sight
And I can catch a fleeting whiff of your scent
As you pass by me, trading it for my breath
That you steal, just like all of the unpaid rent
In my mind, the millions of thoughts you engage,
Your voice louder than any words on a page.
Pax Jun 2015
The day I stop dreaming
     is when I started my progress…

I never really understood to why, oh why
do we have to start a living?

In the city of progress, I became the mindless puppet
Of what we call ‘the clichés of society’
FOR NOW - I’m totally blind in all five senses
    to where my love should be place in…

From a specific today, I am robbed for my silence
Totally alone never wanted nor even needed
Conceivably A misplaced person in a ‘crazy world’
- or it is just me who thinks this way.

Sometimes I would think no one would ever really captured
                          - ‘the essence of my heart’
Or probably it was just me, who never did take noticed.
Guessing I am too
  - Perverse to feel anything within the walls of my five senses.

Despite everything else, I understood how Society lives by.
The imaginable ways it burdens and pleasure in
–> Giving –> Receiving –> Showing –> US
                                                         how life works with their walls.

I could never blame how our world becomes a harsh place,
Yet I could took the blame on US
   or our humanity is too faulty consecutively.
Too many Securities from any Insecurities.
Walls upon Wall of their Owning Glory,
      Almost nothing is free.

So I stand chained from cultural responsibilities,
for we were made to think this way.

Ashamed of what I discovered
So I hide in the covers of my pen
To write, just write,
A Written voice for the fallen..

A friend told me “I think life ends when a man stops from breathing and also when he stops from dreaming. What will keep us moving if we no longer have holds to aspirations, to hope...”

Then my friend, Kalypso answered a big part of it in her review on what I am talking about in this piece, she said: “being a dreamer for so long, having to pull my head and heart out of the clouds and start the mundane process every day, over and over again, would bring me into this realm of thinking. Wondering why we do ...what we do? What is the purpose of working just to pay bills and survive, but barely live? Feeling like I disappeared in the process of becoming an adult and taking on responsibilities. Having no time to explore the world. To ponder the mysteries of life...or capture the beauty of everything around us. How the monotony takes away your creativity and individualism, blends you into society, almost making you invisible.”

Then Rachelle’s questions arise saying: “Do we grumble? Do fall into a deeper pit of despair or do we try to figure out how to transform our reality such that the world is exciting and challenging again?”

With all those thoughts arises from my poem, I came to understand that despite I stop dreaming big, I still hold on to the little hope and a hint faith I have on myself that someday, in some way a dream could rise again from the burned pages of my bucket list.

I am thankful that I have find/found friends in my writings.
So I appreciate everyone who reads me, greatly....

http://www.writerscafe.org/writing/willyampax/1336541/
Maxwell Jun 2015
A bridge between the trees and above the water.
Stop, listen....
The trees are whispering their stories through the wind.
The water rushes under your feet.
Birds tells stories to one another back and forth, back and forth.
The air begins to get colder and the sin goes away for the night.
A blend of orange, pink, red painting a picture in front of you.
Smell the water and the trees becoming one with the wind.
And feel yourself letting go of everything and letting in the bridge.
This bridge is life's eraser erasing all those nasty words and replacing them with all different sights and sounds.
A bridge between the tress bridges the gap from one smile to the next
The prompt to write about was a time you listened to your body. Down the street from my house is a bridge that very few people know about. It's somewhere I go to when I'm having a bad day, it's somewhere I feel safe and happy
S R Mats Jun 2015
I can smell the heat of the day
The off gassing of materials
The decomposition of grass
I smell the earth drying in the bake
         of this southern sky.
After many weeks of thunderstorms it felt like summer had been postponed.  Summer is here and we are in the 90's.
Katelyn Sams Jun 2015
I've wanted to do a lot of things.
I want the experience and that thought attracts me to almost doing it. Even the bad things of life and I've always talked myself out of it. But what if I didn't?
This is being human.
You are attracted to things. You want experience. You want to live and be constantly assured that you are, be that by feeling things intensely like the rush of ****** or the strangling of someone. Or hearing heavy breathing in the middle of the night. Or classical music so strong it makes you cry. Or deep conversations with your uncle and cousin about religion and life at three in the morning. Or smelling something like fresh baked bread you made with your grandmother or the smell of an aired out house that brings back childhood memories or the smell of your lovers skin that is tangy and a little something else.
You must constantly satisfy your senses to prove to yourself that you are alive.
Mahum Siddiqui Jun 2015
I've let you close enough
To see the whites of my eyes,
Taste the bittersweet of my words,
Close enough to smell
The sweet of my breathe,
Feel the delicate shudder of my body
Under your oversized hands,
Hear the quiver in my low voice
And I'm left with nothing to say
but
"Come closer."
Cath Williams May 2015
Eyes squinting
Stopping the blinding rays
From blurring vision.
Red hot
But suffer in silence
It's a rarity.
Defend against.
Hide away from the dangers.
Pretend it isn't bad.
Listen closely
It's not that bad, they said
But the consequences thought otherwise.
It's good
To feel something that is.
Not an emptiness,
A numbness.
Or a burning pain.
A feeling.
Although
Even with this surface pain
There will always be an underlying drone.
A drone of sadness
A drone of happiness
Who knows?
But the surfacing daggers of heat
Glare through skin
To pierce the wounds within
Know more than you let on.
XIII May 2015
Smell nothing
from scents

Taste nothing
from sweetness

Go deaf
in the silence

Go blind
in the light

Go numb
in a touch

Only sense by
your third eye
Third eye is a metaphor to the human heart.
SunFlower May 2015
As I look up my eyes become consumed by that color
Light warm sun touches my face
Another color flourished on my cheeks
Moisture finds its friends and gets ready to dive
As I look down my eyes become consumed by that color
Next page