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Arun C Nov 2014
I thought I was
scaring
myself for
you
bleeding blood
true
but then I
realized
we only ever
scar ourselves
for ourselves
in the end
  Nov 2014 Arun C
Joe Cole
The came down from their misty mountain hold
Short of stature but oh so bold
Helms of beaten iron on their heads
Belts of gold on girded waist
Sword Axe and hammer, the tools of war
Oaken shields also worn
They came to beard the dragon in his lair
Bring rescue to a maiden fair
Held in fear against her will
In that rancid caven deep in the hill
Each warrior knew of the danger faced
But would not retreat as coward disgraced
When the searing flame of hell released
Would burn the hair and singe the face
For these were warriors of a race so old
They the dwarves from the misty mountain holds
The ****** lay down,
As the untouched stream
Ran through her untouched skin.
Mountains grew like ruptures,
Imperfections, grainy tissue.
Leaves sprung up like parasites,
Clinging to dear life.

And she remained unmoved.
She remained harmonious.
Harmonious with the sudden
Obstructions that became
Carved, engraved, furrowed
Onto her pure surface.

And with sudden violence,
Her skin was ruptured,
Manipulated, ruffled.
Her once untouched earth,
Was dug out, strained,
And left out to the
Corrosion of the winds.

It was them, those parasites.
The ingrate life, that took
Advantage.
The animals that built,
Constructed, and cultivated.
Those that formed values.
Rules in the midst of chaos.

And she remained unmoved,
She remained content,
Content with the sudden
Colonies, civilizations,
That sprung up like
Dead may flies in spring.

But then, they brought up
Disease. They brought up
War, Poverty, Filth.
They broke those values,
Like paper chains.
And irrigated her earth,
With pools of blood.

And she remained still.
She remained petrified.
Petrified with that
That developed, unraveled,
Birthed, and destroyed,
On top of her.

She lay down as her skin,
Once fertile became sand.
Her rivers ceased to stream,
And dried up like cherries
Under the heated sun.
And the mountains crumbled,  
And the leaves withered.

She lay down as the
Colonies collapsed, and
The civilizations were left
Abandoned, forgotten.
She lay down as the
Parasites retreated,
Died, and disintegrated.

And she remained crippled,
Battered, mutilated,
But standing still.
Not untouched, but proud,
Not intact, but standing.
Alone, but at peace at last.
  Nov 2014 Arun C
Anna Skinner
Bruises—
an amethyst stain of merlot
spreading on white carpet.
The deep blue of the glistening Belizean sea
and the hot weight of you settled beside me.
Crimson blood and rising pain—
I scar myself because of you again.
The flat hazel of your eyes
the last time I saw you,
hollowed by suffering.  

Accusatory and pleading,
these bruises bleed fresh and tender
on the surface of my heart
as I will myself to forget you
for the last time.
This is an edited version of one of my more popular poems.  My creative writing professor suggested changing it a bit, so here it is. Let me know which one you think is better and why! Either comment on here or email me at annaskinner18@ymail.com
  Nov 2014 Arun C
Silence Screamz
Pull my strings
my puppet master
Lift my feet
and walk faster

Set the stage
make the scene
Raise the curtain
going to please

Music plays
Hit the spot
White light flash
Devious plot

Applause is heard
Silence beckons
Disbelief
All is reckoned

Made you smile
or made you cry
Drop my strings
The puppet died
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