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all of a sudden passion suddenly

champagne1982 said:
Sometimes The Treatment Hurts More

My heart cannot bear another scar
or crease pressed into being
with weight of knowledge that I
do not decide your path. You must
choose and it is not for me to say
live or die. I want life to be the goal
but I don't know how hard
life can be when pain and exhaustion
are constant companions
and tomorrow only promises more.

But wait! I do! I know what it is
to stand at that brink and stare
down the black monster beckoning.
Promises of quiet subsummation
through agonies of not enough air,
of not enough peace, to lose
the now in memories of youthful
strengths and capacities.
I wish we could pretend it doesn't
exist and go on with a quick
and messy death instead of this.

A slow roll down an incline rapidly
increasing in degree so that too soon
the tumble falls to land abruptly
on a surface so hard we break.
I am not all the king's men or horses
but even if I were, I couldn't put you
back together and today, I'm not
sure I can keep me from shattering
completely. So I pray short gasps,
to whomever a non-believer prays.
Click to expand...
So I pray short gasps,
to whomever a non-believer prays
that later will be on time, that I
won't need to face that monster
lurking in the darkness, that you
accept what is necessary
to continue. Until later becomes
yesterday and I can forget
this torture of waiting.
 
Setting Aside The Burden

"This charge is to two
who understand me."
you said.

One, a disconnected friend
of my youth. Who knew me
before I knew any woman.
Who skied mountains we'd
never thought to sink
through powder on, who
shared women, love,
and minds when we'd lost
our grip on everything. He
gave me back reality.

The other, the daughter
of my heart who knows me
in a way you do not. She
shares a lifetime with me
and needs to share this
goodbye with a man
she's never met but who I
love nearly as much.She
grounds me in reality.
I want her to take me
and release me to the wind.

I know you hate to hear
that in this, I will not
share my need to go
with you. I want no sign
of my place left here.
I want no grief at this
farewell. Go celebrate
with our friends. Be you
once more, not the widow
you feel I'm making you.

I said that what comes
after death is solely
for the living.

You said, "Good."
 
Liar, Liar

is there something in my face
that leaves me open and to take
in good faith this contrivance
of how you work hard and rewards
though frequent and extravagant
have been earned and you deserve
so much more but only take this much?

is there something in my touch
that aids you in my deception
when you're working so fucking hard
at painting a canvas full of pretty
colours and lovely pictures that when
viewed with rosy glasses don't hurt
as much as the ugly lying naked at my feet?

is there something in my pain
that keeps you blind to the agony I see
written in the words you spin into mythologies
and histories we've never lived or never
had engraved on our chromosomes no matter
how fervently we need to believe the truth
that we're guilty of hiding deep inside this lie?

is there something in my life
that can redeem us both as we struggle
to turn the inevitable end of this illness
into something palatable and easier
to swallow than the bitter pill
they've handed us to hold beneath our tongues
until it dissolves into a warmer glow?

is there something in my soul
that can make this fact a fiction
that can make this death a sleep
that can make this pain a pleasure
that can make this mud a garden
that can make this sob a song?
I hope you can lie our way out of this.
 
every pen stroke slashes a blaze of black
as depth is added
midnight crawls on the back of a pill bug
scrawls and drawls dribble a puddle
as he shuffle steps along
zombie drugged he stabs a dot
to punctuate a plot in a whirl of dervish
precision slow motion movements
violently jab as he cries out to be free

hands smash the white table bright
polished to perfection
and through the glass they amasses
to cut down the insanity
to make it cease
because it's not right to lose your mind
but they'll help you find it, not to worry you're in safe hands
trained to treat you like less than you are
because your marbles are chipped and half are gone

so settle down to sleep a dreamless slumber
to awake in your own urine stench
drenched because the jab they gave you
was far more brutal than the punctuation dot
you used to emphasise that this isn't right
 
todski28 said:
Kilburn
A fitting name for a place
they send trains and dreams to die
tagged grafitti slashes fence lines
even in the day the grey shrouds
the good, addiction runs these streets
everyone seems to be hunched and bent
by world weary weight
as if the decay of the freight trains
had seeped in and everything is rusting
in sympathy

her hero resides here
some dark knight from the abyss
hospital was a memory
he came every chance he could
when she was there
a silent predator watching over her
her infatuation was an obsession
he had saved her life and redeemed her
from the dumpster
she felt like a queen
Kilburn is a ring up from the gutter
not a high rung but she was climbing

this man was a fighter
a protector, how deep the subconcious
tricks the thinking mind
amidst the dreck of wreck and decay
she was a wild flower blooming in defiance
Click to expand...

her petals were too bright for this place
of steel grey, concrete and unrelenting heat
She drew attention
her protector was forced to stamp down
on her beauty, so he could posess and control
her wild fire to covet as his own

Dejected, infected with a sense of not being enough
she pulls her petals shut and blends in with the weeping asphault

constant pressure
denied light
Starved or water
A servant girl to stitch his mates wounds
fetch their beers, be there for his use
at his whim, to be the scrathing post for
His lust
His anger
an emotional tampon to be used and discarded
 
Four Letters To A Dying Man

1. Dear husband

I never figured this ending
to us, we're like a matched
set. I feel that I've lost
the dish for the butter
and I just don't fit over
the saucer I serve it on
now that you're broken.

2. Dear lover

Breathing is never again
going to be a union
of body and mind
without you knitted
to my heart. The breath
is the soul of a person
and without you I
don't think I can breathe.

3. Dear friend

I know my friends will become
more precious as I age. Death
is a mean theif who steals
who is most precious to us
and is irreplaceable. My treasure
is being plundered and I will be
reduced to a pauper at the loss.

4. Dear man

Somehow, the chaos of you
will vacate my hearth
with your departure and fly
up the chimney letting ashes
rest in corners and paper
scraps settle against the wall
to be picked up later. Will
we discover pieces of you
scribbled on those letters
and never forget you were here?
 
For Champs
from the front row

Few lights shine just
bright enough to amber
the depth of your instrument
in its chamber.

Hush lush carpeted toes spread
the terrible lean forward--a pretense
of readiness for what may come--
dissonance or melody,

admonishment or memory. Every
bow's pull crosses invisible rivers
into which we remember weeping.
 
Last edited:
sometimes we find a something that transcends the alone we feel
a smile that stabs a double tap to the cerebellum
joy in being known

every fault and flaw bared raw
when every flirtatious glance
every angered frown
indifference
excited little idiosyncrasies
and it feels as if they are the next page in your book
the flow that you pour into
comfort cradles you in their presence
no pretence in the sense of belonging

the fucking fear as time does what time does
the ride always ends
and getting off
fucking hurts

I ache, ache to smash plates
or tear the drapes
cut some wounds and pour in vinegar
salt it up
to feel something other than the ache
as miles of memories
cut me down
 
Miraculous every second of our existence so long
as we are connected to the tao, to the rest
at least a limb of it.

Everyone deserves that, don't they?
What crime would justify
the unbearable pain of exclusion?
Isolation? Purposefully shunning someone? What
terrible thing must one do
for such punishment to be warrented?

If it isn't warrented, if there were no crime, if
it is just sadism,
then the limb is diseased and the tao suffers.
 
Sonnet For An Unanswered Dream

Where is this rest that so eludes my heart
to beat a measured pulse, until the slow
shadow of evening creeps beyond the sill,
to cover the window all in shades of black?
They match the dying plants that freeze
in the untended bed beneath the window,
where exhaustion brings troubled sleep
and time is not important here today.
What is this if not rest? I dream an end
to worried moments and hateful sorrows
that mar the finish of a smooth brow,
and sully the clearness of bright eyes
with blue smudges of blurry bruises,
their red lids puffed with unshed mourning.
 
champagne1982 said:
Sonnet For An Unanswered Dream

Where is this rest that so eludes my heart
to beat a measured pulse, until the slow
shadow of evening creeps beyond the sill,
to cover the window all in shades of black?
They match the dying plants that freeze
in the untended bed beneath the window,
where exhaustion brings troubled sleep
and time is not important here today.
What is this if not rest? I dream an end
to worried moments and hateful sorrows
that mar the finish of a smooth brow,
and sully the clearness of bright eyes
with blue smudges of blurry bruises,
their red lids puffed with unshed mourning.
Click to expand...

This is beautiful and deserves an edit for perfect metrics. Let me know if you want me to help.
 
our most precious commodity
spent on idle dreams
in passive stances
where the words dance
there to be plucked
as petals that love you not
this whiz that whirs into was
the now that is spent on borrowed credit
interest compounded daily
because patience virtue is for those that
have time to burn
 
Requiescat In Pace

This labour of breath
has drawn
the poison of death
in through each
lobe of lung
no longer pink
no longer snored
in peaceful slumber.
 
The woods are devilish deep dear
and the rocks are quiet as tombs
though leaves will yet crunch underfoot,

though branches crack. The ground's still soft
in spots and one's feet navigate
the rot, everything turning brown
crushed to gray, Autumn's last decay.

Have you heard the birds sing today?
The Sun's alight, the mountains proud,
content to be allowed like me.
 
serenity borne of concentrated thought
thud-thud, thud-thud, thud-thud
eyes closed
listen to the course of blood beneath the skin
and know that while life holds me still
I will remember you
for all you are
for all you were
and for all the times you made me feel

I feel now
and it hurts to smile
but for all it was
you still make me feel
 
sell me your vision for a nickel and dime
so I might have a reason
to place one foot forward onto the escalator of motion

help me move the inertia wielded by sad thoughts
smile from the dark
the candle light vigil that guides me home

sell me your vision
so I can see the worth in a sunset
in a dawn
sell me some sight so I can see past
the blinding lights
fights that bicker in quarrelsome quarrels

lend me you smile
mine broke on the edges
 
Terrified
maybe I've lost the words,
maybe they've withered away.
A victim of disuse,
of abuse.

How long can I enforce my own silence?
Till one day I'll have nothing to say.
Am I so weak as to let fear conquer me,
Are these thoughts so dangerous to tell?

Do we not all feel doubt and indecision?
My tears make me no less strong
Why must I wait for exhaustion to overcome me
before I let these worries free?
 
tremulous night's moon
sickle scythe cuts a stream
of dreams on sweat soaked skin
400 watt halogens burn their flickering beams
as house lights dot the horizon
false stars that offer little to wish upon

a promise brought
a promise made
a promise met
by the strength of my back
and the blood from my hands
I have dreams
they're dying softly
the slow fade of light
dims
a switched off halogen
 
Talking to the Mountains

I'm here without the gleeful
smile pasted on a Snik First-Class
Cremed face the grin on mine
reflected back from silvered lenses
on that lift up Olympic to the t-bar
for that steep ride where you steered
us out of the tracks onto a path
carved in fresh snow snaking
us up the mountain to Whitehorn
Summit made me feel so amazed
looking northeast to the valleys
where the jewel of Louise shimmered
sapphire in the frost haze from my lips.
I'd always thought we'd be too old
to have our wishes fulfilled to stand
on Outer Limits and watch eternity.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wGRKiXK4XRo <<< someone skiing Louise
 
Last edited:
The words have fled
dust and dread in my fingers
lost muse is alone somewhere
and I'm too busy to search
 
limits
tested with swearing curses
feet that drag and muscles cramp
stuffing dust into the bags under my eyes
to feel the grit as it bites deep

ligaments strain under the use of abuse
and yet still a smile as if the rawness of effort
the hurt of the push
each plodding step of weary stagger
is another toward the dream
the oasis
the mirage
head down resign that sigh
stretch wide
and push
another barrier to breaking
 
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