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rohini singal Sep 2016
I look at her from afar,
Laughter spilling from her soft lips,
Eyes ******* up in mirth,
Hand resting on his sleeve.
My heart constricts, fear renews,
And a thousand bejeweled words,
Are buried under the desire, the ache and the bile,
That rise with her smile.
Her mundane, uninteresting talk,
Washes over me as her animated eyes,
And feather soft tread hold me captivated.
A thousand fantasies spilling from the sight
Of her tongue roving across her mouth,
Her gesticulating hands, her glistening lip.
I, who she deems a close friend, betray her
By my thoughts, my wandering mind, my yearn
For her and everything that comes with her.
A harmless attraction transcends the mere physicality
Into the realm of emotion.
Àŧùl Jul 2013
What we're up to,
Until we're done,
With the wedding,
Until we're done,
With the first kid,
Until we're done,
With dying together.
'Never Know' series poem #3/3
^_^ ^_^ ^_^
My HP Poem #367
©Atul Kaushal
Mary K Aug 2016
The gap between the platform and the subway car
seems to grow the closer you get to it
Until crossing it seems like the worst idea you could make
But you close your eyes and brave the void
Taking care not to thin about the tracks beneath
So alive in their snaking routes and tortured screeches.
The doors shut abruptly once you've sardined inside
And its all you can do to grab onto something, anything
Before the wheels begin to turn again
And you're lurched into some other time,
Some other place
As the tunnels decide what your fate will be.
And the doors will open again
As a ghost of a platform appears
But commuters be weary
For the tunnels and the tiles can be deceitful
So as you leave the decay
And the fractured tiles behind
Take caution
You might not notice it at first
You might not notice it at all
But the subway tunnels are unpredictable
And they enjoy making the rules
So the vortex you thought you imagined with the tunnel's lights speeding past the windows of the train
Might have actually transported you to some unknown city
To some other dimension
And there's no turning back.
the finale of the series!
Mary K Jun 2016
the cracking concrete stairway practically reeks darkness
this is the entrance to the labyrinth.
step by step constantly downward until the sliver of sun that you always thought would be visible has finally disappeared
and left nothing but the blinking of the dim artificial light broken by time.
the warmth you surely felt outside has been leeched away
leaving a constant chill to raise the hairs on your arms
every time the ghost of a subway train emerges from the depths of the tunnels to all sides.
crude steel and fissured tiles paint the portrait of the lives that have passed through here
the tracks making no distinction between foreigner and local as they dole out their fates.
and every rushing train blurring the shadowy lights of the tunnel
reaffirms your suspicion that this is a vessel through a vortex in disguise as a breaking down train.
and as the doors slide open once the wheels lock and screech in agony until the momentum is stopped,
take caution
for the city you exited from into the subway
may not be the same you’ll enter here.
subway series #2!! check out my poem subway series no. 1 for the first part of this (although unrelated in that this is not a continuation)
GaryFairy Jun 2016
it's hard to believe what I have seen
in the steeples, they fill the seats
claiming to love the most and the least
they leave church and their love fleets

these creatures are just killing machines
seemingly demons of in between
people sleeping in deceiving dreams
never seeing what Jesus means

self-appointed reapers for the beast
grievous destroyers of the peace
driving jeeps with a sticker that reads:
we support our troops in the middle east
going to work on this later
Deeee May 2016
I’m seated…in an armchair…in an empty room…facing a glass wall. I don’t know if you can see me, but I can see you. Seated calmly on your own armchair…sometimes you like to look around…sometimes you close your eyes. I stand up and walk toward the wall…may as well be a one-sided reflector…and I gently place my hand on the glass. I see you get up to do the same. The look in your eyes is distant…you don’t seem to see me…but your hand is directly opposite mine. Only the glass is stopping our fingers from interlocking. Only the glass is keeping us apart. Only the glass…
The glass which I put up. The glass which I strategically placed between us. I drop my hand and begin to pace around the room. Throwing a glance at you, I see that your palms…now both…are pressed against the glass…but your eyes… so empty…so distant! And it’s all my fault. I drop myself onto the ground behind my armchair. I dig my fingers into my hair. I squeeze my eyes shut. I think. All my questions are whys. My answers make me hate myself. I would be completely fine had I been the only one yearning for you. Had I been the only one aching to know how you are. The only one craving you. Had you been completely oblivious to the reasons of my departure and the fact that it was a conscious move on my part. Had you thought it was just one of those drifting things… "Happens all the time!” But you know. You know why, and you don’t understand. Because hearts don’t understand. I would know.
So what do I do? I can’t bring myself to break the glass, but I can’t bear seeing you like this. I can’t harbor the thought of the possibility of you actually feeling this way because of me. I’m bound by the past…held back by previous happenings…I am in the ******* of past heartbreaks and prominent fears. I do wish I could break the glass, I really do…
That’s why you weren’t supposed to know.
Your temporary friend, Grinnie
Deeee May 2016
My heart is beating… beating against broken glass…glass held in place by barbed wire. Thump…thump…It’s poking…like the thorn crown on Jesus’ head. At least Jesus’ head wasn’t beating. I begin to bleed…the glass piercing my heart. But it beats on…bleeding…beating…I wish it would stop. I wish the pain would go away. But the only way it would is if my heart stopped beating. And I cannot be graced with such mercy as the mercy of death. So it beats and bleeds…each day anew.
ahmo Mar 2016
22
I never had enough time to
open myself and dance with you,
nor could I make dahlias and sunflowers shimmer in the reflection of the light
while you danced in circles
without me.

--

I can't wait to see what 22 has in store for you.

--

I just don't want you to think that I'm ready for anything.

Words and green jeans of
the hazel-stained dream scene
showed me a passion for humanity,
but love is just warped titanium,
and minimizes intimacy for polyandry.

You told me this was not your plan,
but
you drank and
drank
and you grabbed me inside out, knuckles tied to insecurities so tightly that bruises turned black and blue into a hue of comfort and confidence and everything that I needed.

You were the answer. You were my anchor. You were the alternative to the smoking gun and everything that I've lost a drive to attend to over the years.

I will always remember the smell of smoke,
your sweaters forged from low-hanging clouds,
and the seemingly fully-shadowed tunnels in my organs that you accessed and lit up like a sun longing to burn forever.

on another hand,
with my shoulders squared,
winter will not freeze my spirit
enough where I will believe in you.
nickfly27 Mar 2016
https://www.reddit.com/r/MagneticMusicFestival/comments/49mnci/greysanatomy1213watchgreysanatomyseason_12/
https://www.reddit.com/r/MagneticMusicFestival/comments/49mnci/greysanatomy1213_watch_greys_anatomy_season_12/
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