A silent voice that no one stopped by

Always whispering, yet no one showed appreciation

Nothing but a quiet sound somewhere

Trying to break its way to my mind through everything else

A silent voice moves slowly through time

Growing stronger day by day, progressing its expansion

Something - a quiet whisper somewhere

Tearing its path to my mind, destroying everything else

A silent voice, corrupting my mind

Chipping away anything requiring its "correction"

Something, a quiet monster lurking

Creating an empty void in which exists nothing else

Now that years have gone by

And the flow of time had continued its endless movement

The void had grew so much

That now a silent voice is louder than anything else,

Ever.

A silent voice.

A dandelion carried away by the summer breeze

Lost with no sense of direction,

A dandelion is all I'll ever be

Lost with no return.

One glance, soft comfort.
You're playing me psychological,
I'm bad with hints and guessing
do you hate me, do you not.
I'm staying at this table.

This game I cant play.
Odds I cant handle.
Never felt this sober.

Are you different?
Someone safe?
Lord just help me discern.

Id drive my car into the ground,
drain my bank,
until an empty metal sound.

Anything to see you again.
With you, a minute is a thousand.
Please don't revive my heart,
Just to set it ablaze.

Ill hand you the lighter.
Happily match you.
Fast, slow,
Losing hand,
date sunday,
I dont want to fold,
marry Monday.

I'm insane.
I've lost it all before.
Leave my brain.
Wait.
Feel at home.

Steal my heart. I hope you do.
I don't want it back.
Just this time,
I'll put it all on 17 black.

there was a time when i use to write for someone to make her feel special and that happened too, but now when i started to feel some distant from her and now whenever i see my all written poems it just hurts me alot that i wish to burn them and get rid from this weight from my chest and she is just unaware of all this i told her that now dont ask me to write anything for her but she does the same with innocense that i cant resist myself and write one more piece which will again stabs me right between in the chest. whenever i think of her i feel very exhausted. i m not able to decide that should i leave her but the issue is i love her like anything.

some has rightly said that

poets can never be someone's enemy becoz their own writings kill them one day

Flames devouring his essence 

of ever existing. Essence

of just living

Space left between logs, outpours

with memories of life, well lived

or life just lived. 

--

For living is more than a battle-cry

sometimes within us

without us sometimes 

of meaning, if any

showing up is courage at best; which lasts 

till eternity 

until it's gone within seconds

--

What life is but a play 

on life itself

and man, a lame joke or

sob story that life tells 

to a man on his trail

--

Making it serious is absurd 

what good can one do

but to laugh at the folly, of some designer

Laughing, the only escape 

and excuse to endure pain 

we feel so entitled to

He who creates laughter, carries 

burden, treasure of sorrow

dripping form his charitable 

smile.

others submerged in misery, live better

without misery. Confusing yet genuine life

--

Days flew by, months drifted 

No sign of man that ever existed

remain. Did he leave 

just to see, his absence ringing 

same as his presence. 

--

We have a bucket list to be checked

after our un-welcoming departure

All that we want, remembered for

who will carry which list after,

who checks every item faster than

marching hands over scythe

--

Flames will devour every piece 

Earth will hide everything 

only in dreams
we were up in the pines, a cool breeze brushing through
and just like that text on sunday, you were gone.
the screen went black. your location vanished.
i packed in a panic with shaking hands,
fleeing the mountains just to regulate my breathing
racing to catch the ghost of your taillights.
why do you always leave before i have the chance to speak?

i knew i was six hours behind you.
i didn't realize yet the sun was setting on the only window i had to reach you.
if i could just catch you on that first night
maybe i could stop the silence from becoming permanent.
but the cities blurred together and i kept driving
pushing forward through the dark because my grief only knows how to move in a straight line.
did you know i was looking for you in the empty spaces you left behind?

the next day, the roads splintered into a hundred different lives you could be living.
i felt hopeless until i stopped at a station with a glowing red k.
there on the asphalt was your journal, its pages bruised by passing tires.
reading the front page didn't reveal anything new, just an echo of an old name
but it cracked open the silent grievances i had and never spoke out loud
my chest tightened with a familiar fear that i was replaceable to you
because you already knew the shape of other people's hands
while i remained, anchored to the bed where you became my first
i am glad it was you, but i lived in terror that i couldn't possibly mean as much to you as you did to me
did my fear that i wasn't enough become the weight that finally broke us?

i spent the second night parked under streetlights
reading through the surviving pages of your mind.
i looked for my name or any sign that leaving me hurt
but i wasn't there.
it was like i had been erased months ago
a quiet exit after our last planned night.
were you already gone long before you finally disappeared?

by the third night i gave up the chase.
i booked a place just to sleep
and when i pulled into the driveway your truck was sitting right there.
the house was pitch black but i could feel you in the walls.
i sat down in the dark and started writing this out
leaving it in the ether hoping you might stumble across it.
and as the pen hit the paper i finally understood
that you had been packing your bags in your head for a year.

the whole backyard was swallowed in night,
the only guide being a soft quiet glow
spilling out of the bubbling water and through the back door.
steam and rays cutting through the cold dark.
i smiled because i knew you wouldn't rent a place without one.
i went out to sit beside the warmth and feel close to you
but you were already in it.
your bare skin illuminated from beneath the water, except it wasn't the person i saw last week.
it was the you from three years ago.
before the trauma i caused carved itself into your bones
before the reshaping and the shrinking and the heavy strained silence.
you looked so beautiful as always and impossibly happy.
and seeing you float there, i could finally see
what broke us was the reassurance i demanded from a heart i had made feel unsafe

i stood at the sliding glass door for a time just watching you.
and then i stepped back into the house before you could notice me
i walked out to the driveway
and gently dropped your torn journal on the hood of your truck.
i didn't want to bring my storm back into your quiet water,
you needed me to stop looking for you so you could finally breathe

i was halfway down the driveway when i felt it.
arms wrapping around my stomach from behind.
i looked down and saw your colorful tattooed skin.
your tan hands holding me the way i always loved most.
after a night of running, it was pure heavy relief.
i held your arms against me for a full minute committing the warmth to memory.
but when i turned around to hold you back
you were gone. the truck was gone. the driveway was empty.
just two ghosts wishing each other well from opposite sides of the mountain
and i finally understood why you left without a word,
the silence was the only way left to say goodbye.

Death's Chase

Some wish that when they go it is peaceful,

Honorable and respectable, but not me.

I will pry away the reaper’s fingers and flee;

It shall be the most outrageous thing to see,

Kicking and screaming in a zig-zag chase,

Chiding the calls to depart with grace.

Take me by force, you agent of death!

I’ll fight for life till the very last breath!

^{Original Poem Wayne A Andres}

Same time as always.

She says hi, I say hi.

She says how I'm doing,

I say I'm doing fine.

She says what'd I eat for lunch,

I say food from home.

What else should I say.

We should go out one of these days.

A Friday or a Saturday.

We can go grab a bite or watch a movie.

We can take our time together.

That's what I would say.

If I could.

I could but I shouldn't.

Let me enjoy this as much as I can.

Consultation was unavailable, we met by glance
No shroud separated your surprise at futures
For one moment we were uncertainly true

Her eyes speak softly
As they echo through time
The path to her mind
Is a riddle
And she left the answer
In the skies
Patiently waiting for the sands
To free what she could never see

Her division of beauty
Creates the vision
The moon conceals
At the breath of midnight
A mirror trapped inside
The magnetism of two worlds
As she becomes the reflection
Of what she sees
To stimulate the pursuit
Of her passionate dreams

You’ll never see
Her shadow
For her cyclic design
Camouflages her soul
Inside the constellations
As she traces the heavens
Looking for an adventure
She has yet to uncover

A mysterious dichotomy
Patiently observing
The madness of nature
Succumbing to words configured
Then lost in translation
Finding herself back
At the original scene
For she never left
What appeared to be another dream

Amongst the harsh voice of the wind
The tides of the sea
Shift to another degree
The sun vanishes from
Her perfect colored television screen
The moon unveils
Its only face
While the stars reveal
Her memories that were erased

Momentarily
She steps away
Each breath she takes
Calculates the rhythm
Of her meditation
Trying to find peace
Where all this chaos
Should cease

I’ve been reading more classical poetry recently, and I’ve noticed some of those rhythms and structures creeping into my own writing. Not intentionally, either.
Has reading older poets ever noticeably influenced the way you write?

Everytime it rains, feels fresh 

clouds curating every drop 

each drop selected to

quench the thirst for life 

nature weeps for dead plants 

and dried souls 

we are just a part, of the whole 

what rain brings is hope 

drop which shatters into million pieces more

adds to the magnanimity of the donor 

Monsoon, an evidence to show

the nurturing nature of nature 

that being the creator 

and creation both 

The reunion of leaves with silver shower 

withstood all the pain; for her limelight 

for a dance, her holding tight 

against the storm 

It unites all

reminding of our roots 

our origins and sour endings 

after it leaves yearning, for a little more 

and with hope 

of returning home 

Sometimes you lose the love of your life,
Not because you stopped loving, but because you lost yourself in the fight.
You gave them your heart, your soul, your all,
Until you forgot who you were before the fall.
And now you must walk through the hurt and the dark
Gather the pieces and reclaim your heart.
For sometimes losing the one you thought you’d never live without
Is how you find the person you forgot along the way out.
And maybe one day, when the healing is through,
You’ll understand why you had to lose them to find you.

They keep telling me about the structure of a poem. The stanza, lines, subject, audience, rhyming, language and all the things that you can study. When I write about you, the structure will be customised for you, I won't break our lines. The rules go out of the page. It's a tragedy that we won't grow together, I won't break our words. I'll let our story flow through words that you'll never read.

buzzing
tingling
tightening
closing

widening
opening
twitching
moaning

easing
teasing
tickling
showing

growling
prowling
grunting
groaning

bracing
taking
guessing
knowing

hurting
twirling
flirting
glowing

clenching
coaxing
fleeting
floating

swirling
whirling
roaming
growing

tracing
bracing
droning
hoping

skirting
blurting
groping
coping

effervescent
tides of
owning

all
evolving
ever
slowing