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 Sep 2017 A
red
hallucinations
 Sep 2017 A
red
subtle distortion
cloudy perception
hazy apprehension
figment of the imagination
fragmented realities
redrawn by consciousness
staged fantasies
drowned by emotions
reality slipping
deteriorating
bit by bit, darkening
details unraveling
slowly spiraling
a world in the making
eyes affixed
a world rendered
by a troubled mind
delusions unfold
illusions, manifold
ecstatic visions
tangible realities
world full of mysteries
crafted by miseries

and then there is me
left to wander
in a new world
that i crafted
that i masterminded
i know it is
not real
i keep telling myself
nothing's real
i keep persuading myself
it's not real
snap out of it
get out of there
before it's too late
wake up from the trance
but for once
it felt so real
so so real
just to let it all go
 Oct 2016 A
Tex Dermott
Living in a freedom does not always mean life will be easy. In times of hardship if one keeps their liberty they still have hope of reaching the stars.
 Oct 2016 A
LaDi OyediRAn
Hardship
 Oct 2016 A
LaDi OyediRAn
Conquered by the cause of confidence
Cluttered by the cost of distraction
Cut off by the clause of equal and opposite reaction
We endure
We Procrastinate
We suffer
We live on
 Oct 2016 A
Victor Gordon Musara
Life’s tide was too high,
But I was calm and content;
As the raging waves steered me on the right path

Then I heard her husky voice,
She sang of hurt; of hearts bruised by my kind,
I got curious, and cruised off course to her.

I found her; a dark and ominous angel,
She is a stunning hour glass, from waist to chest,
With enchanting long raven black mane.
On that day she wore tight fitting floral-prints,
Her ***** overstretching her flimsy bodice;
Honestly, that is all I could see there and then,
Deep in my heart, though, I wanted to see beyond that,
To behold the beauty of her heart,
But as I got nearer her,
her voice became deeper and harsh, with emotion,
She flinched, choked on her lyrics,
And started bobbing in and out of the water
I thought she was drowning,
And wanted to dive in for her;
Being from the land, I could not swim,
But I let myself fall for her, into the icy water,
I clung unto her; shivering but subdued.
We held for a moment; she breathing heavily on my ear
And I on her nape,
Kindling a fire I knew I would never douse

We swayed to her tune, during that priceless moment,
Her fish tail grazed my legs; I cringed,
So she flinched sheepishly, slid off my hold and swam away
Leaving me to the vices of the sea;
Only her beautiful face remains vivid.

Her song was still resonant in my heart as I expired;
She sang me to death.
 Sep 2016 A
SE Reimer
hope’s song
 Sep 2016 A
SE Reimer
~

when joy seems lost, when peace is gone;
to earth falls flat pleas skyward cast;
when those thought once to be a friend,
have all gone on, seems none are left;
when ears that heard, yet now are deaf,
when dreams lay torn, and hope bereft.

do not despair, nor call for end,
beyond these mists i am your friend;
your voice, a cry on wing and clear,
not all have left, know i am near;
i am hope disguised as gentle hands,
that reach to sooth the soul in angst.

i am love cloaked as eyes that seek,
the wounded heart that silent weeps;
i am your brother, i your kin,
though not by blood, nor race, nor skin,
yet beats within this breast as yours,
a heart breathed life at heaven's door.

your breath, my own, my will i share,
till yours can breathe, your burdens bear;
my oath, my pledge, your comfort be,
my blood transfused, beats still in thee;
i lend my hope to be your warmth,
i offer arms to hold you close.

you need not face another day,
a lifeless soul who walks away,
a faceless one who’s lost their voice,
but ’til your own has been restored,
to you the lyrics, lines belong,
'til you remember, i’ll sing your song.

~

*post script.

approximately 96 hopeless souls reach the end each day, and pull the trigger on whatever their choice of escape they had planned it to be (that’s one every fifteen minutes).  the number is even larger if we include those who attempt and fail.  if there are only six degrees of separation, imagine how many in your circle this means are contemplating, and are in and out of some level of consideration of making this day their last.  remember, a song is amazingly powerful.  it does not take a fireman to talk someone down off a ledge or a policeman to coax someone into laying down the gun, it only takes someone who is willing to listen, long before the gun and the ledge; someone willing to smile and be hope and notes for a soul who has lost their song... to remind them of the song they have forgotten; their song... hope’s song!
 Sep 2016 A
harlon rivers
The Violin’s azure strings wept softly,
from inside of a mind made cell;
musical echoes lamenting,
a poignant abyss too vast to fill
each and all silenced reverie,
leaving the philosopher’s stone
                                          unthrown

Blue guitar minor chord changes,
bent notes phrasing sharps and flats;
memories ―      gently weeping confirmation
as a repressed flow of soul
pensively leaks out

The spirit's currents eddy
suffused within written verve;
silently purging the soul's fountains ―

                                    musical rivulets swell
                                     quietly overflowing
                              an alchemist’s soul unfurled
...


        © harlon rivers ... all rights reserved
September sojourn ...9/15/2016
... journal entry: an unexpected perfect storm, casting ashes into the ocean
& bluebirds

A musician with a wounded wing ...
trying to find the strength to fly.  
Nothing fills the chasm left behind
when we lose an invisible,
indivisible, irreplaceable thread
that binds the tapestry of our lives...

http://hellopoetry.com/poem/1750888/a-lonely-bird-without-a-song/
...you never know what you've got until it's gone.

https://youtu.be/I5raMzavYgE
Amos Lee - "Violin"
 Jul 2016 A
John Edward Smallshaw
Police brutality
political chicanery, the
privateering of industry
that polarises community

Poetry
you can plainly see is ruining me along with corporation tax and mindless drone attacks,
but
I can bomb my own flat
empty magazines into my own dreams, eject the casings, reload and repeat,

I sabotage my own defences
IED's I have for tea
Nothing feels better than opening a love letter when it blows up in your face

That place is reserved

In the bunker when the fans are on, when the sound of screaming gulls are gone and the air is scrubbed before we breathe
I do believe

and that belief is based on movie reels, deals I've done with the Devil and the good lord's son,
the ruling class, the kiss my *** brigade and pharmaceutical top grade opiates.

If what is
is what is
what it is and
what it takes?

I only open my eyes when I'm sleeping and that's to watch me watching me scribbling out some poetry and

erasing my body chemistry

I can see it
if that is it.
 Jul 2016 A
Jack Thompson
What is there to do but to contemplate life heavily and endlessly.
© All Rights Reserved Jack Thompson 2017
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