By tare
It can't be switch on like a tv box,
Tho' it gets hot like a frying wok,
Two can't fit onto a single bed,
It is fragile like a mirror frame.
Connect like a phone regardless of zone,
But your razor sharp words cut me to my bone,
Like a cup of coffee spilled over the table,
This love is dumped like a panty made of paper
By Kimosabe
The silence speaks aloud,
Words disgraced..
My sanity is waning,
Blade in place..
In one fell swoop it is over,
a melancholic existence...
T'was a feeling then, and now..
A futile resistence.
Crushed beneath a monstrous pile,
of demons, ghouls and evil thoughts..
I end my life tonight..
For I am the poem best forgot.
By dsnake1
Love Is
is an old 16 inch TV that sometimes acts funny, snowy,
we laughed and we don't mind
because it is the first one we managed to buy.
is the stars in the sky, in the constellations,the heavens
when you explained their names
Sirius, Cassiopeia, and she smiles and shakes her head in
bewilderment
is a six-pack of beer you shared with her on New Year's eve,
laughing ,kissing,
as we tossed empty cans into the sky,
the ships in the harbour honked, tribes chanting ,twelve
midnight.
is a teaspoon of morphine , a bitter surrender of battle,
without it she cannot forget the pain
the razor sharp stabs, the cancerous cells pushing against her
brain.
is a serrated knife that slices the heart, twisting bleeding
till in your numbed grieving
you no longer feel the pain, the loss, of her leaving.
is a marble slab with a photo and indentations in the stone
that was her name, as i brushed my finger
over gilt letters, sobbing, do I realised how much I missed
her.
By choco B
LOVE
it is channel surfing on the telly but always returning to a
favorite channel
a link like a telephone cord that flexes and stretches but never
breaks
it is a mirror that reflects the same affection, yet different and
inverted
a seasoned wok that absorbs past flavors, changing with each
stir-fry
it is a bed you hide in, play in, it takes your pummels and
abuse
a knife that needs sharpening and oily pampering time and
again
it is a sobering shot of espresso or a comforting cup of
latte
a liability of a mess of old newspapers or an asset when sold
away
it is comfortable, unpretentious and less-than-pretty like old
underwear
By ShrodingersCat
Love.
the Television was a splitting headache this morning
because you have forgotten to turn it off
for the fourth time this week
and countless times this month;
and I sat on the edge of my bed
head as heavy as a Wok that's on an elephant
the Telephone rang a cold heartless ringtone and
i staggered to answer it
and when i said 'hello'
i heard the familiar click
of the person i know who was calling for you
your tell-tale Underwear looking innocent as you slept
with it on the sofa
The Mirror was talking as I walked past it this morning
I tried to ignore what it was saying to me
and as I read the Newspapers
It calls out to me - a low seductive tone
a song of revenge and freedom...
i glanced at you
your body inert, inept mass on the sofa
the slow rise and fall of your snores
i gulped the Coffee -
black courage -
before the Kitchen Knife took my hand
and led me towards you.
