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Atticus Sep 2018
J.J
it started in your bones
it ended in your heart
I miss your bright smile
I miss your cackling laugh
they told you it was time to say your last goodbyes
what do you do when your loved one dies?
you were a supernova in a world of stars
embracing everything that fell into your arms
the pears in the bathroom
the stuffed tigers on the shelf
its the story of my childhood
you taught me to love myself
an armchair and a gentle man
a woman full of joy
a godmother me
a  bakery near my home
the years grow in length, time passes
you're still gone
I haven't seen you in a while, I can't bring myself to see
the stone anchored in the ground where your head would be
do you still see us?
up in that heavenly place
do you still bless us, with your heavenly grace
I still message your phone
though I know you won't receive it
and
I can't bring myself to believe it
I've got the photos, the videos, and the proof
of a beautiful existence
but it's with a heavy heart that I say you're gone
it's not fair that you left so soon
so I close my eyes
and imagine you're in the room
Atticus Aug 2018
The puckered skin is healing
it will stain my skin
like the other two
reminders of the shame I felt
the pain inside
and the war that was going on in my head
The puckered skin is healing
raw skin showing
pink in colour
soft to the touch
The puckered skin reopens
spilling its content
emptying my mind
startling clarity
The puckered skin reminds me
of days where I felt the world was against me
of days where my heart and mind were too full
filling me with a fire I could not extinguish
The puckered skin will heal
The puckered skin will heal
The puckered skin will heal
and once again
my heart will spill
ovals of puckered sin
ovals of puckered skin
Come join us in the garden
Your army days are done
Sit down and take it easy
Enjoy soak up the sun.

Now you need no longer worry
You will never be going back
Relax no need to hurry
Just forget about the past.

You say it's hard to carry on
Leaving the horrors of war behind
You often have those nightmares
From behind the enemy line.

So look now toward the future
The poserbilitys they are vast
There is that new horizon
Even though it's hard to grasp.

Come join us in the garden
Leave those fearful days behind
Look at all the lovely flowers
Representing peaceful times.

Look at this gardens beaughty
The war just had to end
Who knows what lies ahead of you
Your enemy could become your friend.
From the days of war come the time of peace
After the second world war came that new horizon
Never the less wars still continue.I had a friend who suffered PSTD.
To me that says humans are not designed for war.
  Aug 2018 Atticus
The Non-Poet
life is like
when you're
a little kid
and you
discover that
there is more
than twenty-four
crayons in the box
that there is
the possibility
of forty-eight colors
of sixty-four
of one-hundred and twenty
that there are
so many shades
of love and anger and peace and despair
and absolute bliss
and the ability
to express them all
are now
in the palm
of your hand

life is
colorful
beautiful
thought-provoking
lovely
soulful
heartbreak­ing
inspiring
and absolutely wonderful

every day is
a new sunrise
a new chance
to transform into
the butterfly you
want to be

go out there
and change the world, kid
Atticus Aug 2018
A letter to the girl I love
The opening of my soul
She is the sensation of passing cars
Hard to grasp
Constantly moving
A flash before your eyes
She is the cooling rain that tears the sky in two
Rushing over me
Her very presence
But what a shame
That’s she doesn’t feel the same for me
Unrequited love
She is like honey and chamomile
Her very voice and laugh
Bringing me a sense of joy
I think I see it in her eye as well
Or do I ?
  Aug 2018 Atticus
Lore and Legend
Who understands poets like us?
We see the universe in a person
We see sadness as a plus
We see the good when times worsen

Who can understand us?

We sit back and daydream
When others would despair
We grasp the magic of the moonbeam
Our hearts awaken to the fair

Who can understand us?

We put words to the artist's soul
We write the songs of bards
To voice the immortal is our goal
Of ancient legends we are guards

Who can understand poets like us?
Who can understand our hopes, our loves, or dreams except...
Each other
Atticus Aug 2018
when I get stuck in my own thoughts
deeper and deeper into my own head
the compulsions become stronger
five times five times five
I repeat until it feels alright
until the iron vest on my chest loosens
until my hands bleed from overwashing
I'm finally clean
until I slip further
and further again
repeat
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