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 5017° 
Carter Ginter
Waking up to a heavy chest
My body begging me to sleep again
And my anxiety begins the second I realize I'm alive
I'm trying to learn to function
With all of this negative energy inside me
I know it'll pass and
I know it'll get better
But right now it hurts
I feel unloved
Unloveable
I feel lost inside myself
A place I can't stay too long
Before I lose my mind
I can tell myself I'm worth it and
That my worth isn't defined by others
And it works for a bit
Until something else comes up and
My heart loses its energy
And I either feel like giving up
Or ready to fight everyone
 2410° 
Onoma
as air browned

a broken apple,

the sound that

opened it replayed

across a tongue.

an itinerant dust

was tasted, unable

to betray a word.

as from whence, as

to hence--what

cannot be bridged

as it passes between

things.

lest you plot the

coordinates of religious

experience.
 1160° 
Lora Lee
Lick the words
from my lips
let them slide down
your throat
like fruited jewels,
   dark, hard candies
   that melt into cream
a healing liquid  
oozing into my
               ventricles,
pumping milky beats
out through
           your cells
permeating the deep
of my wild
  
My syllables will
   wrap themselves
      around your syntax
frothy hybrids
of buttered silk
                and irony
heart-to-heart
conversations that
flow into the ether,
as heaven's night
endlessly begins

We twirl our tongues
into guttural utterings,
lustful verse
that glides from
slick-fervored ice
to an outpour
                    of lava
We feed each other
dreams
our saliva like honey
dripping with dawn's
tender glow
as we open up
like baby birds,
begging to be nourished
at all costs

Here,
in this lingual forest
Your breath finds a home
on my tastebuds,
my tongue
in your
          cheek
            
In between the tumults
of our
exploding oceans
This
     is how we
  love
 684° 
TSPoetry
The flowers bloomed this morn
sun drenched, love permeated
a bright blue vision pierced my eye

the winds shifted ever slightly so
grabbing my attention and view
with her boundless and beautiful sky

brightness gripped then lingered
in the newness of dawn
greeting with a vigor and a song
that played softly in my heart

style gave way to form
grasses bent and lilacs swung
colour bursts grazed my cheek
as Monday up and swirled

the dew turned and kissed my being
a crisp chill concealed
and contained in every feel

thoughts hesitated then hushed
you entered and eased my mind
blooming with the flowers
ever pretty, you're just too kind
 447° 
harlon rivers
.
Red sky at morning ...  sailors take warning !!!
First dawn's light steals away over the towering Cascade Head.
A heavy autumn dew dripped from the Whaler's bow rails
as sun rays  flashed like beacons from rain-forest  headlands on high;
where Pacific Northwest rivers September equinox dawning ebb
pushed us mercifully unto the chilling stiff autumn sea breeze.
Dappled sun reigning through the pinkish purple morning sky,
patchy fog adorning the awakening inshore headlands atop the bay,
shining from the pearly gate’s mission bells higher ground ,
beckoning another fisherman lost and found at sea come home...

Heaven’s lighthouse alerts the celestial sky
of the impending eminent soul journey,
highlighting the distant horizon’s breaking swells
capped of white meringue  sea foam.
Sea gulls escort precious cargo's final voyage,
gliding gracefully in the shadows of the firmament,
our lungs filled , revitalized with the salty air's poignant elixir
Pelican vanguard's white light reflection guiding our vessel seaward ,
alone in a perfect storm...

Northwest gales standing up the ebbing tide’s uprising crescents,
waves pounding in rhythmic flow;
calling all angels!   ― my ruminating mantra and plead
The Clatsop Spit’s dangerous song resounds the stark reminder,
life's raucous changing seasons, prevailing winds beckon
with the allure of siren’s call,
that now is nearly here ...

The countenance of flowing salty tears liberating release ,  
vast ocean's raw sheets of saltwater spray would not hide .
He just sat and stared at the seaward horizon
while the telltale tears flowed,  perhaps an unspoken dream
of a merciful final surrender with eyes wide open,
love steering our vessel west where sun shines to set ;
now far beyond the visible ache,  for mine own eyes blur
trepidation teardrops rained as sheets of frothing sea.

The wordless conversation known,  the compass full circle drawn  
like the sacred salmon's cycle ends to nourish back ancient sage
unto its own mandala ―  forever beginning life,  eternally drawn
through river estuaries ― stirred by ebbing infinite tidal pull ...

There is an oppressive weight found within paternal understanding,
and yet,  as certain as the dawn promises the inevitable setting sun ;
all things must pass as sure as all things begin ,
someone you love most,  longest in short life ,
has come forth to break bread at sea as the torch is passed ,
sharing life for the last time comes too soon ― with little warning ...

There was an emotional unidentifiable hollow pang brooding ,
as if letting go gradually,  yet potentially instantly,
that drains every last drop of a breaking heart ache ;
waning strength swallows down hard ― stifled sighs ― lumps in throats, words better left unsaid ― only cleansing tears flow, knowing when they start to purge,  they might not want to stop again.

This moment's final autumn’s changing season’s waning ebb
That final riptide will forevermore change all other rivers’ flow
where oceans set mother earth's rivers free until the end of time ...

My father ― a man's man who seemed to find a peaceful Zen ;
an unfinished life was reborn that day to see it through
as my hands grasped the wheel , compass held steady.
The son to carry on the weight of love and compassionate understanding ;
love born in the blood inspired the fortitude to carry on.
As a life flashed before my eyes on that final raging Pacific sea,
instincts mused by ancient Tyees’ souls stirred drawning sun's
radiant rays of perception ;  accepting this life on earth
would never be the same but would just simply be ,
knowing this light's shine will never glow quite the same again ,
yet radiate a more deeply vivid luminosity...

We melded into that first day of Autumn,
falling silent , and yet our heads held high
There was nothing left to be done but pray with eyes wide open

“spirits of all oceans of mother earth …
show the sacred salmon's tragic heroism, the way back home to peaceful waters”

Few words were spoken as everything was silently said.

"To everything there is a season and a time to every purpose,
under Heaven"

The Outrage cleaved the surging Pacific's heave, knuckles white,
the wheel held sway,  climbing mountainous long ocean swells
breaching the south jetty's giant boulder walls ;
there rolls the mighty Columbia jaws,
where all Rivers suffuse with vast oceans, eternally free ...


.... Harlon Rivers    .... September 22nd . 2013
Post Script:
With fondest loving memories of my father's life and times shared~
So much of this day's memory is deeply repressed and each year I try to free a little bit more but each year passed has been privately circle filed, yet I try again to be set free..   Purging emotions so intense that they are nearly blacked out... I did not realize the basis of depth until later private moments... It was in fact the day of the Autumn Equinox a few years ago,  a final birthday celebration of sorts combined with bringing the Boston Whaler Outrage, home.   Dad passed 1 week later after this trip from Pancreatic cancer ...we spend the final 72 hours alone together at Hospice after his birthday..."Crossing Over"

Not unlike myself, there was an inherent restlessness to my father. We found a peace, unlike any other ― one with nature. He used to like to say he felt at home on the ocean. He went out as many as 30-40 miles alone on the rare occasion the Tuna came that close to the NW Oregon ― SW Washington coast...That may not seem like much in land miles, but you cannot see land from that distance and the Columbia River's confluence with the Pacific Ocean is known as one of the most dangerous bar crossings in the world. I thought Dad's life would have a very different ending...this one never crossed my mind, letting go is far more difficult than hanging on ― rivers


June 18th, 2017   Fragments of the Sea
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/1954243/fragments-of-the-sea/

June 12th, 2012:  Memories of My Father's Traces...
A tribute to my father ...  
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/1995383/traces-of-youa-fathers-tribute/

Thank you for reading ― have a great summer :)
 369° 
Shubham Solanki
I sat there shaking
      silenced by the noise
      your lips were making
      all the while contemplating
      why do I bear with you
      when all you do is
      rip me through
      bitch about failures
      when you couldn't prove
      that you ever loved me
      and my body's not a tool
      for your pleasure plunging
      a bag you can go punching

      Your actions didn't speak at all
      perhaps overwhelmed and appalled
      by your words too tall
      to cover up the shortcomings
      of your shallow commitments
      finally taking a toll
      and now that you see my heart sore
      yet your eyes don't realize
      'Twas my soul you had to adore.
 320° 
Sebastian Macias
Summer is almost here
90 degrees reflect off my mirror
There's a woman on the beach,
Alone with her basket of treats
A father cuts fruits along the roadside
Palm trees keep everyone's secrets
I reach my destination and order a drink
Thinking to myself,
"Everyone outta get drunk here and there."
How can you know who you are,
When you haven't given yourself
The chance to explore the darkness
You've captured with your eyes
You need to let yourself go,
Releasing the emotion and passion
Becoming a light in the room
Knowing a truth so pure
Like the fruits on the road
The magic in the sky
Sitting in the sun, without a worry at all
 303° 
Glenn Currier
She looks into my eyes
as if searching for my feelings
for a hint of my disposition today
can’t she tell by the softness of my voice
the sweet things I say
can’t she sense my love  
in these moments together
or
are we both really alone
and this union a figment?

It is as if she is wondering
in her little mind behind her amber eyes
what it is like being human
as I wonder what is like being feline.
 258° 
Nishu Mathur
The sea is still today
It's cerulean blue and gold
I think of the thoughts it carries
Within its hidden folds.
It's  touch is soft and gentle
It soothes the ache of years
And I wonder how many waves
Are made from fallen tears.
Dear everyone,

This is such a surprise! Thank you all for your likes, loves and responses. I have not been very active on Hello Poetry, but will get back in action soon. So much appreciated. Thank you Hello Poetry for selecting this as a daily. Thank you so much my friends and fellow poets for taking the time to read this poem of mine. It means the world to me.  Love to everyone xx
 230° 
Korina
I have always felt alone
In a sense where
I can’t really depend on
Another human to catch me
If I REALLY FALL
I can’t really say
I have a life line
I can’t really pull that parachute
Two times
I can only tell my secrets
In parts and Intervals
I can only share
What anyone is willing to hear
I can only feel
What makes sense to everyone’s ears
I can only heal...
The parts of me that
Are not real...
Alone...
I am deprived of self expression
To make others around me
More comfortable
To be around
Me
Alone...
I am surrounded by
More talk of death
Than life
I am reminded of
My failings and strife
Alone...
I am only loved
When the time is right
Note that loved is
Past tense
As I write
Alone...
I am easily forgotten
Till I pop up in the k section
Of a phone book
But before you dial
You have to see
“how good she looks”
Alone...
I have to think more with my brain
And less with my heart
I guess to be less humane
As a human
Is the perfect way to start...
Alone.

-Prima Poetess
 227° 
bluedays
The buzz of the fan

soothes my conscious,

as I drift in and out of thought.


I imagine the night sky

as I stare into the darkness of my room.

The stars are sparkles

and the moon the crown jewel,

joining in unison to create a beautiful masterpiece.


I reminisce the memories last summer.

The nights we laid on the beach,

Listening to the ocean's rhythm.

The waves colliding with land,

Swoosh, swish, and a gentle crash.

The wave dissolves as another takes its place.
– 9/17/2017
 220° 
Jean Mombeyarara
When loves stares and looks away
and bounds of hell loom,
the eyes of heaven keep watching
as the storms of the mind rage.

When the sun of darkness rises
and the voice of faith faints,
the thumb of darkness presses
to keep life half asleep.

When the water of life rages
and life's waves smack your face,
the locked door of life opens
to let the light of hope in.
 197° 
Freddie Ruiz
Everything inside is uncovered and laid bare.
A heart is spread wide to allow every eye to stare.
Every fear, every hope, your every disruption
is a single piece of your own unique dysfunction.
And it feels like every random person in your history conspires
to make you the kind of wreck someone else desires.
That’s why everything feels far more intense than words could ever explain,
as all the poets try to reveal every secret knowing their efforts are in vain.
Written on April 3, 2002
Composition number: 125
 177° 
April
With words, a war can be fought
or peace brought
With words, a heart can be healed
or shattered beyond repair
With words, inspiration can be cast around
or self-esteem, drowned
Words are magic and weapons;
they unite and divide
Though their creation is without cost,
yet their effect never is

Words tell me about you,
tell you about me
and us, about our world
My words are something that can stay with you even when I am gone.
Let my words affect you positively. :)
 176° 
Mary Frances
It's guilt. Maybe, it's pity.
It's a shame when you love someone like that.
Out of courtesy though out of line,
as you think you owed it to them at one time.

You can't say the words.
You can't even whisper some.
In fear you might hurt
he, whose heart is in line.
You ended up keeping it all.
Ignoring that you're already lost  the heart you own.

You think you're saving yourself but you're really not.
You know you're digging deep for yourself to rot.
 137° 
Donall Dempsey
ANY ONE VOWEL OF THE SINGER'S CHOOSING

The photo freezes
us into

this exact
instant.

Yet leaves out
the intense heat.

We locked into this
kiss forever

happening in colour
frozen in B&W.

Curiously there are no
insects in this

photographic world.

Yet so many
on that "then."

We are at once badly
smitten & bitten.

Our friend's song
also is not

captured
as the world stops

for just that
instant.

Her naked voice
stripped of words

her vocalise
tangled amongst

sunlight and leaves.

A fingerprint in purple
paint( added years later )

is not visible
on this

day of days
a thing tangible

as a soul
made visible

in deep purple.

The photo also fails
to convey

your lip's softness

the kiss's smell
of Chardonnay & menthol ciggies.

Sweet sweat
trickling into eyes wide open

our breaths
mingling.

I take in all
the photo elects

to leave
out.

The kiss
hidden now

by death...
...the death of days

and that infamous
famous purple fingerprint.
***

Vocalise, Op. 34, No. 14, is a song by Sergei Rachmaninoff, composed and published in 1915 as the last of his "Fourteen Songs", Op. 34. Written for high voice (soprano or tenor) with piano accompaniment, it contains no words, but is sung using any one vowel (of the singer's choosing). It was dedicated to soprano Antonina Nezhdanova.

Ha ha...I just like the phrase...it is the instruction to the singer and I had only heard it sung on an O so my friend was doing A...I...E...U...and Y versions for me! All this singing floating about as the camera goes click in the middle of a kiss and we are trapped in a b&w forever. It was going to be called WHAT THE PHOTO LEAVES OUT but I'm much more pleased with its present title! Singers tend to do "O" versions mostly! Although there is a theremin version!
 118° 
Valerie
art
in a world full of colour,
i am a blank canvas.
 112° 
molly
when you no longer
are able to walk,
make sure that
your words will sprout legs
and travel to places
outside of yourself,
brining you back only
evidence that they found
places to rest.
 105° 
CGW
A humming sound inside my cotton ears.
Vibrating at the speed of sound.
I can't hear your voice.
Between flaky birch trees there is a hidden mysterious wind.
We can not go back.
Ominous clouds craddle me in blessed light.
In this golden dust we sleep.
I shut my eyelids and let the weight of the universe hold me down.
Noise.
It's everywhere.
In the shadows of my life.
Through out my wholesome slumber it is quiet.
When I wake the sound will return
The sound will return.
The sound will return.
Inspired by Hearing Damage by Thom Yorke
Enchanted by spring’s
rustling whispers
     ... whistles swirl
in the pungent springtime breeze;
steeped with a bedazzling
        cadence
   heart dancing
to a hummingbird’s
         whirs

   waves of breath,
of little wings waft,
whooshing throughout
twining honeysuckle lattice
       a
tiny manger
beset of hidden gold
precious speckled eggs, 
silver lining of smallest hopes
   fruits of fruition
   continuum beheld prize,
concealed in interwoven rootlets;
   
potently perfumed flowers
       while away
the waning dark hours;
swollen full flower moon
           waxing yellow,..
         heavenly fragrance
sweetly-scented suckled nectar
  
the one with eyes of a child,
   wonder ― hidden inside,  
   marvel in the light of grateful eyes
imbibing an unholdable moment's
    spellbinding elixir 
    ... poetry alive

air  so poignantly perfumed
       with blossom
        moonstruck
by spring’s frolicking cadency
a reverent moment's
edifying intoxication

       a sobering beauty that just is...



someone ... May 2017
I'm no writer, just a human simple  "describer" of what the highly sensitive senses and sensibilities perceive ...published in the small hope of a needed smile
        on some distant horizon ~
 96° 
A
I want to find someone who can just make me laugh,
Someone who knows how hot I like my bath.

He won't need to ask how sweet I take my tea,
He'll take all his time to see the real me.

Someone who will know all the right words to say,
Someone who'll hold me at the end of a hard day.

Someone to talk to before we kiss goodnight,
Someone who doesn't see only in black and white.

He'll peel back my layers to get to know my heart,
He won't just give up when we reach the hardest part.

It'll be us against the world, only us together,
It'll be us fighting for us, fighting for forever.
they formulate and incubate
misproportioned curves

curves around the nose, the chin, the lips,
the shoulders, the breasts, the waist
curves around
the knee caps and the ear lobes
curves around
each individual finger and toe
and they piece together bones in there
like tinker toys and erector sets
and they put organs and blood and nerves
and cells and veins and muscle tissue in there
and everyone gets an asshole
and they tighten it down
with a heart and a mind and a soul
and fill it full of feelings
and emotions and senses
like fuel in the gas tank
and they blanket
the whole thing with flesh
and top it off with hair
and send it out cold,
into the naked reality

and they call it a human,

and with enough time past...
humans grow,
they learn,
they become aware,
they create problems,
they try to understand,
they love, laugh, cry,
they want attention
and affection,
their flesh
wants to consume
the flesh of others,
they want to consume
nourishment and turn
it into excrement,
they want to achieve goals
and reach for the stars,
and they want to reproduce
and give birth to their
misbegotten children
as if there's some victory
or glory or beauty in it all

and they will wait
at their jobs
and the hospitals
and the food markets
and the jailhouses
and the madhouses
and the courthouses
and the lawyer's office
and the dreaded DMV
and the restaurants
and the movie theathers
and the concerts
and for welfare and for
unemployment
in line after line
until the reminder of their time
is spent in the graveyards
or in urns or at the
bottom of the river
and death comes so often
like waiting rooms,
stuck in purgatory
with nothing to do.

we are all seized by the three
unavoidable trends of life;
to be
born,
to wait
and to die
like everyone else
without exception

it's inevitable
how stiffened
we'll become
 88° 
Luna
Hiding the hurt,

hiding behind a mask,

Hiding the depression,

Hiding the tears that fall like rain.

Saying I'm fine when I'm anything but.

This ache in my soul rips at my gut.

My skin is like I am falling apart,

The calm on my face like nothing is going on,

The world is like nothing like I don't pay its mind,

My fragile lie will collapse should it ever fall.

Loneliness burns my soul,

it eats away My Life for years

Until my life is swallowed by unending fears.

Waiting for someone to see I wear a mask

And care enough to remove it,

is that too much to ask?
 82° 
CharlesC
thoughts are hardy travelers..
when an object enters perception
thought delights in the new form
and may choose to linger:
naming and comparing and wishing
for new perceptions with new
datapoints..
a search may begin
seeking new understanding
and perhaps a request for
a stronger instrument for
new sightings..bringing
new perceptions with new
naming and comparing and
new wishing..
waystations on this journey
are highs and lows
highs..marking possible ends
and lows bringing irksome
questions with a message:
your search is far from
complete..
then a Question from grace:
will the end ever draw nigh..?
rest then arrives
for the weary traveler with
recognition and surrender...
 79° 
pookie
Let me show you my pain
Let me show you my longing
Let me show you view

A perfect breakfast
Sunlight shining down warming my skin
A perfect cup of coffee
A ciggerette just lit with the whips of smoke catching the sunlight
A whores breakfast

A moment caught in between perfect and terrifying
A moment of peace and pain
No distraction from thought or feeling
A bitter sweet morning breakfast

A view of the world from someone else's eyes
Perfect captured beauty an image of someone's mind
The feelings rise with the symmetry of there view but lack the full impact
Why can I understand but not feel
A moment of pleasure and a pain
An irony set out for another day

A look caught across the train
A look caught while walking down the street
The smile and warmth the missed moment
A moment of agony knowing it will never be yours to know there desire

A chased moment as two lips meet
The tearing of clothes in passion
A must so strong no thought can intrude
A perfect moment in time music playing in the back ground
Two hearts beating side by side
It ends as it always does and everybody knows it can never continue

A memory of shared pain and remembrance
A look into my soul and you see the pain not emotion just pain nothing left of emotion
A tear rolling down a cheek weather mine or yours it doesn't matter because it's a shared memory of pain neither same or different an echo of agony neither can understand

See my world and understand the depth
See my point of view and know what there is to know
See the pain and remember your own

Find your way to remind yourself that this world has reasons to live

My point of view is just one and reasons have yet to be found but I'm still looking through tinted eyes to find my reason.
 75° 
Ashish
You wouldn't understand
what I feel every time
whenever I look at you
I paint you in my mind

I become speechless
I become motionless
whenever you're here
I become somebody else

I try to reach for words
but all I hear is your voice
I try to meet your gaze
but all my efforts goes in vain

I convince myself
not today
the petty condones
I make day by day

and you're here oblivious of
how much you've invaded my mind
because losing myself is so easy these days
whenever I see you from the corner of my eye

someday I'll muster all the courage
and have a dance with you
someday We'll sit beside each other
and have an ice scream scoop
someday I'll smile with you
while we laugh at our weird peccadillos
someday I'll leave behind my doubts
and you'll know what my world is without you
 75° 
Maggie Magnolia
The quiet, when words are not needed
The loss when prayers go unheeded
These are the times

The past, when we were all moulded
We grew and the petals unfolded
Those were the times

The present presents its own woes
But we all find strong places to go
Holding hands, our strength is on show
These are the times

They are here and live them we must
The alternative turns us to dust
In each other we forge our trust

For these are our times…


Maggie © 2018
 72° 
Stella
The panicked heart
Is pushing the shoulder,
  pushing the elbow,
     pushing that hinged down wrist,

In hopes that one swift motion
Will untangle the word ribbon
In neat short lines on yellowed paper

Those wings that scratch and claw inside the little cage
Bleeding the walls
Will break free to fly and feed.

But Monday mornings I take great care
The wrist is nailed tightly on the cross
All the pistons are jammed in just the right way
Come Friday night the ribbon won’t untangle
And the bird will give up, sometime.
 72° 
Waffles
Being around someone prone to deception is choosing to receive a type of mental illness. What the victim knew as reality shifts to what the deceiver wants them to believe. Once a piece of the deceit is uncovered and reality shines through, the deceiver repents and says he will change. This brings the victim back into his deceit. Now, he is a wiser deceiver, for his mistake was revealed. He will avoid that mistake in the future. His victim plunges deeper into insanity.
The only cure is if the deceiver tells the truth when he repents and state he wants to change.

How will the victim know truth from lie? The deceiver has created a situation where the victim sees them as the same.

Can the victim ever TRULY trust him? Even if he proves himself over 100 years, there is a chance that those words of repentance and change were simply a ploy, and he is waiting to reveal. Or not reveal.
Nobody seems to care
About the happy poet
It can get very depressing
Being a happy poet
I just can't seem to let that dirt sit
On my shoulder
And so I remain
Happy poet
 69° 
PoetryJournal
To
      be
            loved
                        is
                             simple,
                         ­    simply
                  begin
              to
     give  
love.
She declared war upon herself in the midst of her savage self-hatred
Cutting her skin and suffocating her throat till she begged for air’s price.
She was once was a child afraid of just touching any sharp blade
Encase it accidentally cuts her and now: She doesn’t think twice

before picking up that blade and shoveling it into her skin like a smith.
She baked lies on her forgotten suicide note. Lies that disguised
themselves in coats of truth. She strangled her own chest with
ropes of words she didn't utter and blocked new hope from unsupervised

entering into her dejected lungs that begged for life's meaning not reprimands.
But she found no purpose to keep her garden living so she therefore
poisoned every plant and washed any seeds of life left in her sunless lands
down the drain until she fell into an everlasting sleep. Her wish for

peace had come to her but others wept on the loss of a friend, student, daughter, and one less hazed
family member. They never believed her when she said she wanted to commit suicide anyways.
 62° 
Alex B
Someone stole my color
And threw it to the wind
Scattered like ashes
I don’t know if I’ll ever find it

Someone stole my color
From the face I know so well
I saw it in the cotton candy clouds
And the teal ocean swell

Someone stole my color
I guess that’s where it went
The world looks so much brighter
Like something heaven-sent

Someone stole my color
And that’s what no one knows
Depression isn’t black
It’s the color of a rose

It’s the light orange in a sunset
And the yellow of a peach
Light blue, my favorite color
So simply out of reach

Purple like my favorite eyeshadow
No, lavender, I’d guess you’d say
And my favorite music artist
Although he has passed away

Someone stole my color
Now everything’s too bright
I suppose sometimes darkness
Isn’t the opposite of light

Someone stole my color
So I’ll wear grey and black
As if in mourning
Until I get it back
 61° 
Ariana Bagley
I love him
I tell myself
I know that
We will be together forever
I don’t believe that
We could be separated
My thoughts tell me that
He’s the love of my life
Sometimes my heart lies and says
I could live an eternity
Without him
Like my friends say
“We’re perfect for each other”
And you can’t tell me
He’s not the one.

Now read from bottom to top.
 60° 
Sophia
As we sit down to our dinner
As we open our romance books
People around the world die

We sip our water
Their guts spill open
We study our notes
Their planes crash

We live
They die
We breathe
They suffocate

We are testaments to chance
To luck
To possibility

We are not products of God
Or divinity

We are blind goats trotting on our path
Before we perish
Suddenly
And vanish
Into death
 60° 
Mike Hauser
When people ask me
Why poetry
Why not pick a paying profession

Take hold this truth
That I'm laying on you
In which there is a valuable lesson

If you do what you like
You're going to find
Life holds treasure in wonder

Instead of the dough
Taking you out in its tow
And then pulling you under

When you're doing things
Think more the gifts they bring
And not money to be made

When people ask me
Why poetry
Do I really need to say
Oh no you don't, website.

I want no part of this selection process.

Please remove this.
 53° 
Cat Lynn
Within every heart, there is a chain hooked up to a wall of flesh, blood and stone.

Scars open and cut too deeply, we rather thirst and drink our own blood then eat the molded food that the guards of fire and destruction serve us.

We try so hard to escape this hell inside our minds. But it almost seems impossible and mindless.

Every day, we live in a living nightmare. We would rather die than live another second in this kingdom of depression and wrath.

There is only one law, and the law is the image of death is nothing but a dream.  

We can try our hardest to desire the blood spill and the gushing out of beaten bones and origins to spill out of our weak and limp bodies, but all we'll do is spawn back into this waste land

Tears stream down the faces of many innocent broken people; they feast on each other like beast of a large skeleton bump sight,

We're tortured until our back bone is visible, and our voices are empty and numb.

Our fingers lay in pieces of flesh on the cold mossy stone floor from making meals for these zombies like monsters.

The meals are the hearts and frightened minds of our fathers, mothers, brothers and sisters; we weep for them and wish for no comfort.

**I am the only prisoner in this Endless Fire Hell that has a window in their dang room. I can see a brighter, safer, more loving place just millions of miles away.

I often reach my hand out the window, to at least feel tiny drops of refreshing rain on my black burning skin.

I cry aloud, calling for some kind of help, but I know that calling and crying won't get me anywhere.

The rain drops are the only loving thing I have, for they heal my scar and fix my wounds, the only hopeful thing that my blurry eyes and beaten hands have ever seen and felt.

Under neither this dungeon in the sky, is a vast and cool ocean that I long to swim in the feeling of freedom and satisfaction.

Within every moment as I swim in the burning and melting lava pool, oh how the lava is stained by the blood and eyes of prisoners that have slowly melted away.

Their skin slowly ripping off their skull as they scream in a high and painful voice… Oh how I long to feel the rain. Oh how I long for it.

On one faithful day, there was a great down pour, and the rain drops starts to sing in harmony with serenity and joy, which caused the stones of bitterness that surround my window to give way and crumble and fall into the sea.

I smiled bright for the first time in 16 years. I took the chance and jumped, but then quickly grabbed hold of a left over stone, my arm stretched in pain.

How silly of me to just jump and not knowing if I’ll die and spawn back here or if the guards will see me in the ocean and band the rain from this Nether.

My Arm soon gave up its last strength as my bloody hand finally let the stone go. I could feel the rain, filling and soaking my entire body,

I crashed into the ocean, my eyes closed, and my mouth allowing the water of purity to drown me, my arms and leg motionless as I began to sink.

I would rather die in something I love, than live in something I hate...
Written on February 11, 2016, 10:37 am
**During the time I wrote this, I used the "d*mn" word... instead of dang"

Alright, this is not a poem, but more of a story... so apologies if I disappointed any of you guys with that.

I wrote this poem after an accident with my family, where I fell into deep anger and rebellion. I wrote this poem to let out the hopelessness I felt, to let out the madness I felt locked up in.  I was very distant from God, from my family, from my church. Rereading this revealed to me how much HATRED I had...  I am blessed and surprised how God or even the people I know could ever forgive me...

Another way to look at this poem is without Him, We do live in a mind state of Hell. We will go to Hell, unless we escape that Hell, which s through Jesus Christ, which I would think represents the Down Pour. And when she Died in something she Loved, there are so many people who Died PROUDLY for their faith... and I know they would die for something they love, then live in a world of Hate... and I know in a heart beat I would do it... the Prison of Hell would Represent us being trapped in this world of Sin or being trapped in sin in general and how monstrous it is.... So I guess that's another way to look at it
 51° 
Liz Balise
I don't think about it any more
I take out the trash
noting
Sticks caught in the crotch of a tree
The wind does what the wind does
breaks weaker branches down
does not care where
it leaves
them
on its invisible way

Days do what the days do
they don't count themselves
worthy as they go
to release
the afternoon
to evening—
an artless
emptying
to a low spot
where tears tend to pool
if I'd let them down

“You know,
in that low spot
out there...?”
Where it's hard to see
Where its hard to care?

They take heart
out
divide it by energy
for sadness—
I haven't got

Watched the clock go round
wipe out my little plans
with relentless hands

...and I never got dressed today
6-12-18
 50° 
Edmund black
She
        Shouldn’t

Be

           Mine

But

        I’m

Glad

              She

Chose

              Me
She doesn’t need me, but she wants me, And she chose me
 50° 
She Writes
I’d rather write than speak
My pen is always responsive
My ink doesn’t judge my mistakes
My paper doesn’t argue
My lines never cross me
My sentences never disappoint
And my words will never leave me
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