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 Dec 2015 Red Fox
Torin
Division on division on division
Where did it start?
Language so you can't understand me?
Religion so you believe differently?
Politics so my wasted vote offends you?
Borders so my soccer team defeats you?

Well I don't know
I don't know where it starts
Maybe its what we're taught
Maybe its in our hearts

But as I sit on a bus stop bench
In St. Cloud Minnesota
I can't help but wonder
Maybe it starts on division street

Oh look!
Here comes the bus now
There is actually a street in st cloud mn named division st.  Biggest street in the city
 Dec 2015 Red Fox
Mike Hauser
Just when your world collapses

To the point of fall apart

There still resides a tiny spark

Deep within your hungry heart

The tiniest of slivers

A slight glimmer of hope

A righteous nod from the voice of God

Letting you know you're not alone
 Dec 2015 Red Fox
Riya
To my unfinished poems,
the ones that will never see the light of day.
The ones that sit and pray
To be more than just a fantasy.

I need you to know that I’m sorry.
Sorry for not being brave enough to show you off to the world,
Sorry for not having enough strength to sew you up and make you perfect,
Sorry for not being able to give you enough so you could be just right,
Sorry that I didn’t have the strength to write.

To my unfinished poems,
The smell of coffee and stains of tears
Will always remain on your tattered pages.
The wails in the middle of the night
Of all the strife and plight
That I had to witness with my innocent little eyes.

To my unfinished poems,
Dry up your little eyes,
I know it’s hard to only see the night sky,
To never know the glimmer of light,
To be an incomplete work of art,
But darlings,
Don’t you see,
How even when you’re incomplete,
You’re still so very special to me.
 Dec 2015 Red Fox
B P
if this body was
not mine. would i still hate it
and treat it the same?
treat yourself right. I love you.
 Dec 2015 Red Fox
Jaaxxx
Cigarette
 Dec 2015 Red Fox
Jaaxxx
As I watched the fire
burned my cigarette
I put the darkness
of the smoke  
inside my lungs

then I thought of you...

you watched my desire
you shared your secrets
I saw your sadness
we shared lame jokes
I was happily stunned

now...

You are tired
You wanted to keep it
And now I'm hopeless
because last time we spoke
I thought that wasn't the last

now I need to light another cigarette.
 Dec 2015 Red Fox
ryn
For Whom...?
 Dec 2015 Red Fox
ryn
.
O
•i found truth
in a saying i read•that we
start dying the day we were born
•not from life inflicted wounds from
which we've bled•not from illness or
disease that would have us torn •we
only live and breathe upon borrowed
sand•because we age; because we are
but mortal•it's only up to ourselves to
be mediocre or grand• what we'll be at
the end is consequential• it'll matter not
if we won popularity polls• or what riches
over which we covet and fuss•when asked, "for
whom does the bell toll?"
•look in the mirror for it tolls
••••••••
•••••


                                          ­    for no one...
                                                          ­            but for us
.
Concrete Poem 26 of 30

Inspired by Metallica's "For Whom the Bell Tolls".

Tap on the hashtag "30daysofconcrete" below to view more offerings in the series. :)
.
 Dec 2015 Red Fox
Goldfinch
Po Ehm
 Dec 2015 Red Fox
Goldfinch
I know what I want.
Internally it haunts me.
A life lived complete.
Eternally it daunts me.
 Dec 2015 Red Fox
stacey renei
i. Cut your heart open
Take a knife, twist your heart open. Watch as everything you have bottled up
spill on the floor. Break it into pieces and trample on the glasses. Listen to
what it’s trying to tell you. Uncover every hidden desire and side-swept secrets.
For once in a long time, be honest with yourself. You’ve spent so much time
locking everyone out. You’ve even kept your own identity from yourself. This is
how you start writing a poem: Cut your heart open, be honest with yourself.

ii. Give yourself the freedom to feel
Face yourself. Touch your reflection if that’s what makes you real. Remind
yourself of your inner core and get rid of your inability to feel. For so long
you’ve masked the pain, ignored the numbness and forgot about the rain.
Feel the anger running in your veins because of all the time you’ve wasted
on someone who never deserved your love. Let a river’s load of tears gush
out your eyes, feel the despair of how you have loved but lost. Feel the loathe
you have for yourself because you’re so pathetic; because no matter what
you’d do anything to have him back. Clutch your chest as you feel the
physical ache in your heart because it’s broke and distorted in a way
it’s never been before. This is how you make a poem great: Give
yourself the freedom to feel, share with the world your raw emotions.

iii. Take the bitterness and turn them into pretty words
Take a paper and pen. Translate the way you feel onto a clean sheet of paper.
This is the only time you’ll ever have a clean start again. Take all the words
you have at the back of your mind and write them down. Let the pain and the ache,
the anger and the hurt, make their way on the paper. Don’t think too much
about it, the words you have they’re all who you are. Tell the story you’ve
kept in for so long and let them glide from the pen through the paper. Write
all you think that is necessary. Don’t think about what people will say. Because
a poem is a poem, it’ll be bitter and pretty. That’s the glory in the poem, it’s
ambiguity. This is how you write a poem: You stay bitter yet it will come out
pretty. No matter the bitterness, you always have the ability to make it pretty.
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