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 Sep 2017 Luis Liriano
Riham
Here we are again reading at the same page
Same eye color
Same habits
Same laugh
Looking similar to each other
He did like my words and
I liked the way he did hold the book
We did avoid eye contact  
We both know what it will happen..
I wanted to Tell him that he
did
appeared in my dreams last night
That's why I don't look existed to see him after such long time
And I wanted to Tell him that i miss the pure moments that we did share
Baby laugh , angel touch
Talking about our dreams
Under his favorite part about the world "the Rain"
He used to tell me that the rain complete us as much as we complete ourselves ...
But After a year and a half everything has changed
The weather, the people , our laughs , our happiness , our guidance ..
Everything has changed
Everything ...

_______
 Sep 2017 Luis Liriano
Riham
the voice is haunting my mind
At first it was about little girl
Second time was about the Father
Now it's about the world
The world is a mess
War after war
Blood in every image
No peace
What's happening!!??
The end seems near but near is far from the end
They say go and Save yourself , go run to the safe place and grow your self thought and light the world
Am saying yes I will put the image away
Am clearing my mind
but what's this voice
Why I have voice of  people screaming in my head
Why is haunting me ...
Now tell me how can I run away from     this ...
The voice is haunting
The voice is haunting me
___
 Sep 2017 Luis Liriano
Erin
Do me a favor
and color in my lines –
between my ribs,
my heaving chest,
my flushed cheeks.

Keep my mouth sharp,
my words precise and meaningful.

Add a bit of character to my
picked over hands.

Tickle my sides with
Prismacolor
or Crayola
and pinch my body pink with joy.

Color in my lines
and make me everything I want to be.

Add definition with thick black lines,
to give me structure
when I am falling apart.

Make something of this empty outline.

Bring out the beauty that I want it to hold.
 Sep 2017 Luis Liriano
Erin
Irony
 Sep 2017 Luis Liriano
Erin
It’s ironic, huh? How when the small of your back is pressing into beige carpeting with those nail polish stains from that one experiment in the eighth grade, your rib cage suffocating you as your lungs expand like a party balloon animal, that that’s when you are your strongest? Your fingertips are cold and blue, your cheeks flaming as if you had tried to stick the sun under your tongue, but all the while you only feel a slight warmth coursing through your veins and a pleasant breeze on your thighs. Shrapnel and pieces of broken stucco plant themselves in your forehead, tilted up towards the crumbling cerulean ceiling, but it only feels like the light sprinkling of rain you used to try to gulp down for refreshment. It is ironic that when you falter, you lift your shoulders a bit taller. You feel like you are falling apart, limbs numb yet pricked and prodded as the whole world’s pincushion, but you are being rebuilt out of marble. When your mind’s scaffolding is collapsing, your face still keeps that slight smile in the corner of your mouth stained with berry lip shade. Everyone admires your genuine smile while you know that it was carved by Donatello himself, your torment hidden behind layers of compacted stone.
This was a quick jot after a rough afternoon. Sorry for the rant.
Life is  a stage
Act it
It's a movie
Watch it
It's  a puzzle
Solve it
It's a game
Play  it
It's maze
Find it
It's a jewel
Treasure it
It's life
Live it
To the fullest
Never fall in love with a poet
for their words are sometimes lies
on occasions they're a shield
on occasions a disguise

They will take you on a journey
upon which they bare their soul
in a bid to ease your burdens
in a bid to make you whole

But in every word they choose
for the stories that they tell
lies a little piece of heaven
and a little piece of hell

Tormented souls we poets are
sometimes quite broken and despaired
in search of lost expressions
missed by others who once cared

Never fall in love with a poet
unless you're prepared to share their pain
to hold them close on the darkest nights
over and again
Follow me on Twitter @athomashawkins
http://twitter.com/athomashawkins
It was just her thoughts
But it became her action
When it did she thought
It was normal cuz
To her acting on impulse was normal
As time went on her actions became
A habit
And every day she acted on
Impulse not even thinking
If what she did was right or wrong
As time went on
Regret  became her best friend
Tears every night on the bad habit she had grew up with
Right  now it was difficult for her to change cuz it was already too late to change her life style
We all felt it
but yet it was unbelivable
all we ever wantedfor was here
all we ever wished for was here

But really what was that
we wished for
what was it that
we couldn't wait for

Of course the answer
was every where
written in the sky
blowing in the wind
written on the floor
written in books around us
but yet we ******* see

It was glaring
but we were not sure
until the D-day
it became clear to us all to see
what it was we were all waited for

It was freedom
we anxiously waited for
like the lion anxiously
waiting for its prey
to pounce on it

We were finally free
finally we were all free
because Freedom was here
It was good  
And the presence was felt
By everyone around
To some it easy strange
To some it was unbelievable
To some it was so wonderful
To be forgotten
But what was really this feeling
That people loved
And adored like this
What was this feeling
That was adored by everyone
Well
That feeling  was no other than the
Peace given to us by God
Our Father in Heaven
Peace is a wonderful and awesome feeling when felt

— The End —