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 Sep 2016 Illya Oz
Ahmad Cox
I had always wondered
About airplanes
Even when I was
A little kid
I used to wonder
How they actually
Stayed up in the air
Even though I knew
All the different principles
And the science
And the physics
That went into keeping them up
I am still amazed
That they actually stay up
 Sep 2016 Illya Oz
Stephan
.

Like crooked wheels our lives stumble
between the chapters we write
Corners seem dark and teeming with doubt,
alleyways call in echoes of our name,
as if tempting us to crawl when we cannot walk

“Fear begins the parade at our fragile hearts”

Fear begins as shades are drawn
and slotted with eyes watching,
voices ring the halls of the buildings looming large,
rumors of pointed fingers find our ears
in colander fashion, dripping fear at our feet

“We long to speak as waves conduct sound, crashing violently as we hear”

We long to speak but we cry,
hoping these tears will
somehow wash the pain,
fill the gutters and move out to sea,
casting waves upon unsuspecting shores

“Wishes, more waste than want at least of these eyes”

Wishes, more waste when
from the shadows a touch,
softly at first, then strong upon our shoulders fall,
comfort leaps to our hearts in sing song praise,
wishes become goals and finish line adventures

“What is this light, soft yet sure, found within?”

What is this, darkness hints at light
and skies blush among prism colors
and soft breezes collecting on our
damp cheeks and drying the aftermath
of our understanding of reality

“Dreams of these nightmares fade into happiness”

Dreams of footprints in the dirt,
two which are not our own, closely, affectionately
following our way and bringing direction
to our souls, yet the nightmares still flourish
but we do not feel so alone

“Fences built may keep us in yet, may keep us out”

Fences built fall, as this hand, from a distance,
climbing mountains and fording rivers
leads our hearts to the safety of love just beyond
the bricked wall, the ivy covered monolith,
the chain link disaster which once stood locked

“Finding that a breath may exhale peace, again”

Finding that a breath, neath arbors of hibiscus blooms
and teapot pourings, exhales open and
hopeful of the coming truth once lost beyond our dreams,
and we breathe for it feels right to breathe
while facing the darkness, no longer alone
 Sep 2016 Illya Oz
Little Bear
They said I might never
fully regain all sensation
I mean
the scars are pretty deep
but
today
i pressed the flesh
testing just to see
Just to see
if the feeling
had come back
and I'm glad to say
it felt good
I could feel the warmth
of my fingertips
gently touching
and I know
that's a good sign..
right?
and maybe
just
maybe
one day
my heart will feel
like it had never
Loved you
at all
 Sep 2016 Illya Oz
Arcassin B
Mercy
 Sep 2016 Illya Oz
Arcassin B
By Arcassin Burnham


Certainly,
Mercy Me,
Perfect cemetery,
Tendencies,
To overthrow what you see in me,
Throw me to the Wolves out on the street,
They'll never change, that's why I'm good to people that I meet,
My energy,
Ambitiously,
Freezing stress to your toes and knees,
You thought you saw what you didn't see,
Like disguising teeth,
From my mouth I speak from the land of the living like revolutionaries
While legends die and leave they're marks on earth for peace,
You follow me?
Certainly,
Mercy Me,
Perfect cemetery,
Tendencies,
To overthrow what you see in me,
Throw me to the Wolves out on the street,
They'll never change, that's why I'm good to people that I meet,
From my head to my feet,
You're so cheap, so is talk,
Also all your flock of bees,
Buzzing round me like care , I can not see,
Brushed my cheek,
I got too much on my mind and I got memories o' plenty,
I'm am not your special entertainment in here to appease,
Mercy Me.
©ABPoetry2016
http://arcassin.blogspot.com/2016/09/mercy.html
 Sep 2016 Illya Oz
Traveler
Here again
Summer's end
The curses
The violence
The stress within
Lunar tides
Of restless souls
Giving in to
Their earthly roles

The subconscious
Longs for stimulation
Romance, adventure
And loving relation
Some crash and burn
But have no concern
   They just need to lower
   Their expectations...
Traveler Tim
 Sep 2016 Illya Oz
Stephan
You do
 Sep 2016 Illya Oz
Stephan
.

Parallel visions and sifted thoughts
on an amber thread, thin as the beliefs
once found as hope, now falling
beneath sorrowed wings gently gliding

Through hazy eyes and broken tears,
tarnished memories flow within this dawn
as you fade off in the distance, soaring ever higher,
disappearing beyond the horizon

Silence fills the maze that is your mind,
leaving you staring at dead ends and fractured turns,
as the realization that you didn’t matter
forms on clouds of whispering breaths and no one cares

And in the end, you are not sure yourself
from where you once came, a blotted image
on empty shorelines of tangled debris
which may be easily forgotten but endlessly haunts

Still you fly on, seeking those patterns,
abstract meanings that flourish within
the heart of this wanderer, eyes focused
on all of the beauty that awaits

For you know she sits, above the border,
just past the last exit of sadness, dreaming,
always dreaming the same, you do matter,
you do, to her
Sitting alone
And pondering deep thoughts
Blatantly staring at the wall
She feels so lost
She put her trust in you
But, there was no love in your heart
Nothing but pain and abuse
Right from the very start
Call me the artistic balloon sailing creativities breeze
My beloved Mary Ellen , the string tethering the dreamer
to realities moorings* ....
Copyright September 21, 2016 by Randolph L Wilson * All Rights Reserved
 Sep 2016 Illya Oz
Stephan
.

Sluggish, my eyes barely focus,
headlights seem faint
through this cracked windshield
in heavy traffic, bending lanes
with detour signs collecting travelers
like gas station snow globes,
displayed in between blurred white lines

Monstrous *** holes shake me awake
from the thoughts crawling
deep within a weary mind,
a casualty of a night to forget
which will not soon be forgotten
as digital numbers, glaring red
catch my eye and I see . . . 5:38 am

Darkness instantly engulfs the cab of this truck,
dash lights cringe and flash hypnotically,
out of round tires draw skid marks
on a lonely winding pavement
As my feet fall through the floor boards,
scraping on glass shard encrusted asphalt
bleeding beyond the speed limit

White knuckles grip the wheel
while doors become giant guillotines,
slashing at faux leather seats,
exposing rancid foam leaking
battery acid on the engine’s severed heads
Everything begins to spin, losing control,
as I finally screech to a halt at a stubborn traffic light

When I glance to my right and I see her,
singing along with her radio,
more beautiful than any song I’ve ever heard
She notices me staring and smiles,
then rolls down her window and blows me a kiss,
I roll down mine as she points to a little coffee shop
and says, “Care to join me?”  I nod in agreement

I once again catch a glimpse of the clock . . . 5:39 am,
but suddenly time no longer matters
I know most won't even understand what this means, but I needed to face this and try to write it out of me.  Thank you for reading.
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