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 Oct 2019 Stephen Moore
ottaross
Rainy autumn weather.
The rain drops sound cold
As they strike against the window.
Cat silhouettes seem to herald
An approaching Halloween.
Watching the cat at the windowsill one morning.
If we
met
a thousand years
from now,
you
would still be
my
valentine
 Sep 2019 Stephen Moore
Ray Dunn
my leg bounces
like my pulse on the trigger
with my thoughts going slower
and stakes bigger
idk
 Sep 2019 Stephen Moore
Bumble
tipsy
 Sep 2019 Stephen Moore
Bumble
I was drunk—
and I made you my muse.

Now that I’m sober—
I wanna marry my poems.
i hate being sober
Her wings fell away
And she descended into the willow
Screaming for her laughter
And wishing for her hope
She warped into a free fall
Crashing into heartless branches
Grasping for a helpful hand
Engulfed in wordless fear
Forgetting to believe in herself
“This is my last time”,
I said 4 times ago
As I paint my brittle fingernails
Red with blood
Somethings deeply wrong with me
 Aug 2019 Stephen Moore
cass
The city lights are so beautiful.
Each light has a purpose: to guide someone to where they need to go.
Be it a hall light, guiding a young child to a bathroom, or a lamp post in the street, lighting someone's way home.
Each light i can see from my 11th floor window is on for some reason.
It has a purpose.
I take comfort in the city, knowing that someone has taken the time to light my walk home, that would have otherwise been dark.
I think it is why most fear the unknown.
We are accustomed to having our paths lit each step of the way.
I long to explore all the dark places we haven't bothered to provide with light.
I imagine those to be the most beautiful places.
He hears her voice,
but cannot see her
from the other side
of the old brick wall.

Her voice talks
to some other
as she walks
down her garden
softly treading
the neat cropped lawn;
he follows along
on his side of the wall,
listening to the sound
of her voice speaking.

She laughs;
he stops,
listens intently;
she resumes
her conversation;
he wishes it was he
she spoke to,
him her voice engaged
in light chatter,
in humour,
but it is not,
and there
is the tragedy,
the painful matter.
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