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  Apr 2020 Isabine
Ciel Noir
.                                                                ­                    
            the twisted patterns                        
                                ­       𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦          interlace  
                                𝘵𝘩𝘦          𝘢𝘯𝘥        
                  𝘴𝘬𝘺          𝘵𝘩𝘦
                     the mysteries          𝘴𝘶𝘯                          
                ­                          fall into place
          𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘣𝘺                                           
                           ­ 
              𝘰𝘯𝘦                  𝘣𝘺                   one    
                                                                ­                                        .
Isabine Apr 2020
If this was a book, I would guess the end
before it came
I would know the villains from the heroes
—Judging from mustachios with a penchant for being twirled
—Judging from gleaming armor and soulful eyes
I wouldn't have to wonder at the meaning
or fight for it
I could say, 'I knew that would happen'
Chekhov's gun would be used every time
Everything would be impossibly simple and neat
all the loose ends would be tied in pretty bows
all the questions answered with trite wisdom
And I wouldn't be left,
wondering
at the end
I would simply fade
to the white emptiness
of an unwritten page
If life was a book...
  Apr 2020 Isabine
joel jokonia
Shoot one in the air.
Scare the birds away.
Sometimes you feel like something or someone is taking away what is yours, what you love but you don't have the power to fight. But you Might not realise the war is already won cause just when you take one shot, your problem disperse like scared birds
  Apr 2020 Isabine
Karisa Brown
Our backs hold stories
Not even the spine
On a book can handle
Isabine Apr 2020
I
forged, framed, formed  
an ache to be caressed
embraced
fulgent or blazing
even if
I
must die
The leftover language of a poem that formed its own kind of poem.
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