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 Oct 2018 emnabee
Edmund black
Lately I’ve noticed
My soul and mind
Have been uneasy
Since childhood
I love to dream
Sought to dream
I’ve always experienced
Dreams based on what’s
Going on in my life
And if a change is necessary
My dreams is always vivid
I dream in color often
With loads of light
heavy symbolism
And clear meaning
Soon I opened my eyes
I would write them down
share it with the world
In my poetic way
But lately my dreams
Haven’t been the same
Misery past by as i dreamt on
I’ve been losing in all my dreams
Fighting a ****** battle
With a broken gun
My body
Got bruised and battered
My wings were ripped and torn
Continuously fallen in a black abyss
Feeling lost
God was added to the forgotten list
My spirit skipped
as I photographed
The painful truths
As the morning twilight
Makes it presence clear
I lay here in bed
In wonderment
Tossing and turning
Wondering
Why my peace
Has escaped my soul
Sadly momentarily
No tale to tell
Mostly nightmares
I have nothing to write
And the Marksman said,

"Aim for the heart, and not for the brow,

A punctured heart always heals somehow."

Through perjury

Through injury

The sting of treason

Rotates seasons.
 Oct 2018 emnabee
Gopika Krishna
A loner that kills pain,
physical pain and for some
a drug for joy, for calmness.
Magical, as a single strike eliminates all the pain.

The loner once struck me into a deep sleep,
where I was floating, like a dream
calmness or a silent blissfulness
I don’t know what this loner made me feel
I just know that it was beautiful.
Silence, silence all over
and then a sudden interruption,
my friend’s panic stricken voice
calling me, waking me up.
Looking up I found her scared eyes,
scared, as in whether I was dead.

A fear outspread that day,
people who loved me feared the loner,
there was solidarity in their fear,
fear of losing me.
The loner was banished, once and for all.

Days passed, years passed,
pain was calmed using wrapped pills.
It never gave the calmness,
the blissfulness like the loner.
He is gone for so long now.

Today, as my body starts to quiver with pain,
I heard his voice,
a soothing voice, asking me
asking me to open the cellar
“Take me and I’ll put you out of your misery”

As I opened, I saw the loner
beautiful in blue.
I took him and all of a sudden
I found contentment in this strike after so long.
Calmness flooded in me once again,
I found happiness in this silent blissfulness.
Silence, silence all over.
But this time my sleep didn’t get interrupted,
for this time it was now and forever.

Dolo, the loner,
now I’m yours….forever.
 Oct 2018 emnabee
Rebecca Nneka
And it sang..
Many waters can't quench the fire of love..
They said it to my ears..
I heard it clearly..
Love is like a bunch of broom which can never be broken..

I questioned them,  because I can cut a bunch of broom with a cutlass..
They laughed and replied..
"The bunch of broom that represent love is stronger that Goliath's spear"

I heard Goliath"s spear is 100kg when placed on a scale!
I heard Goliath's spear is Heavier than leviathan's muscles..

If love is heaver than it..
How come we put each other away?
How come we live almost all out lives together and when we are suppose to look back in retrospect...
We file for the papers!

How come a six letter word is heaver than Goliath's spear!

I've seen something more powerful than love!
It is divorce!

She has made us strangers
Turned us to liars..
Make us hate the love we once Had..
She has ripped us apart..
She is a robber!

She has made us see nothing but imperfections between us..

If many waters cannot quench the fire of love..
How come the smoke from divorce is stronger than the tides of the sea... ?

Rebecca nneka
How come the little smoke from divorce is stronger than the bands we wear?
 Oct 2018 emnabee
nomiddlename
curling confetti
   litters like cleavers
      ‘neath ***-bound lungs
outgrowing his ribcage
     she shoots
           unrestrained
                rambling t’ward
         a celandine sun
I am sad again, but I have no idea why.
Living keenly with an idea of what I want out of life.
My favorite season, autumn, is upon us.
And my writing is frequent and fulfilling.
So why am I sad again and why am I an orange juice, spilling?

I miss the days where drugs meant fun. Where ridicule was a pasttime.
Between best friends, and Windows didn't force updates.
The Internet was an escape around which Identity was ignored.
You were your username,
and you were too full to be bored.

I am sad again despite selling two poems to a couple patrons
during an open mic night I frequent.
I hadn't been much, chose instead to spend
my time writing and feeling sorry for myself.
Now that I'm out again and re-befriending familiar faces.
It almost feels like belonging is as lost as context between the spaces.
I'm stark raving sad and I've only just arrived.
One year finally after the middle-age of twenty five.
If I make it until January consider me your unlucky kin.
A day without morbidity, how long has it since last been?

Too long;
So long, too.
ten minutes per poem, part 2
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