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What will it be like
when I close my eyes
      for the last time?
Will I see that
    bright light
      I have heard about?
Pain may flicker
in those last moments,
      or maybe
       there will be
      no pain at all?
This I do not know.
From my first breathe
     to my last, oh how
many people and places
have I known and been?
Seems a wandering train
      of adventures
         has left the track.
Oh, how it seems
to have been rushed.
       It is now,
       as it seems,
        the end.
That last stop
    that shall only
     happen the once.
This passenger
    is getting off
     at that location.
Will anyone be
      at the station
        to greet me?
Such is the faith
     I hold, that I
      hope this is so.
Shutting down.
Closing.
Dying.
Final visions
filtering themselves
      from my eyes.
Who will I see
    around the bed
      when
       I
        swallow my
         last gasp?
Should I be afraid?
Or should I
     welcome the
      death rattle
       as a system of
        release?
Free from
the sundry
incompleteness
of walking in this life.
Not having to
      worry about
       the
        imperfection
         of walking
          on this planet.
As life drains
     out of me,
      what will be
       my very last thought?
What final image
       will I take with me
        to the grave?
I pray it will be swift.
Absent from pain
       and present
        in God.
I sat on a chair of lies
                   and let the
frolicking around me
           impress me not.
In circles of doubting eyes
          I could only offer
             my second best.
There is no compromising
          the heartless writing
                    that proclaims
           intentional unbelief.
What one believes
          does matter, despite
                       loud yelling
      proclaiming otherwise.
Abstract visions promise much,
                        but sometimes
                     truth is what must be
                                        obtained.

We need one another.
We need one another.
 May 2016 Mona
Grimmest
Courage
 May 2016 Mona
Grimmest
True strength is not about hiding our weaknesses, but embracing them with courage and sheer will.
 May 2016 Mona
john shai
OCD Poetry
 May 2016 Mona
john shai
I can't stop writing this poetry,
Because all I think of is poetry.
Phrases repeat temselves spontaniously.
Like trains coming continuously
Rhyme and metre extravagantly
Burst into flames explosively.
Twas I who consulted psychiatry.
OCD he said repeatedly.
OCD I thought repeatedly.

Then I broke free
From
Rhyme and.  Metre

And any rules really!!!

**** it?

Flower

Sunshine in the rain
Relax bro

Be open and throw **** all over the place
                    But do it with grace.
For those who suffer from OCD Poetry Disorder, otherwise known as English Majors.
 May 2016 Mona
Jack Jenkins
When I feed my lust
When I lie through my teeth
When I condemn and judge
When I lose my way
When I make myself appear good
When I am only bad...

It's not the angels
It's not the priests
It's not the prophets
It's not the apostles
It's not the saints
It's not the churches...

It's God Himself who weeps
His tears that collect
At the foot of His Throne.
Unending love like that
It's my Abba, that I forgot and left.
 May 2016 Mona
Isabella Watson
I talk all the time,
But that doesn't mean that I am heard.
Because much like the music you hear on the radio,
Words only have meaning
if there's someone to listen.

-i.w.
my words are not as poetic as music.
 Apr 2016 Mona
brokenperfection
apologies are nothing
but lifeless letters until you breathe meaning
into the spaces between each and every word

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