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You
Your name hints on my lips
You smell just one note off of here
Your eyes what I look for in everything

But I read it somewhere
How the hardest falls aren't with drama and cries of emotions
Its the silent defiance
And comfort in not understanding

Perhaps thats why we worked so well together
Because where everyone gets to love
The me that has it together
Has a life plan and concept of reality
You loved a little girl
Who was scarred and terrified
But willing to face it anyways

And somehow
In a mess of pain and scars
Messy hair and late nights
Tear stains and venom
The body jumps and flip of switch to hide

You loved me
And I loved you
Because we saw the worst of each other
And it was marvelously beautiful to see
Another gray trip to a small town.
At the bus stop:
an abandoned bicycle,
trembling in the rain,
waiting for someone,
who never came.

The coughing crowd,
getting on and off,
headed for the unknown.
Actors carrying
heavy bags of ugly food.

Out of the corner
of an invisible eye
snatches of words
drifting into a wrinkled world—
not the first, vivid green,
but the tired lettuce,
expired bananas—
a symbol of unreachable luxury.

Casual dialogues about angels and demons,
atheists and spiritual needs.
Random people battered by reality
rolling out a red carpet for their thoughts,
spoken aloud in the indifferent air,
small talk about kicking life—
an existential fight to survive.

The game downloaded
by an unfair fate.
Something put him, her, them
on this wrong level,
an extreme mode
the deepest discomfort.

Unfair purpose of pain.
For many,
not being loved is an aching way,
for others,
the lack of bread.

The multiple truths
closed in one small drop
of a rainy day without a name.
If I had a choice
Would I still be political
Would I still root for justice
equal opportunities for all

If I had a choice
Would I still care
Would I see the poverty
struggles of everyday people

If I had a choice
Would I still believe in everyone's right to a voice
Would I still support everyone's basic rights
If I was a rich straight man

But I'm not
So hypothetically it doesn't matter
Cause I am who I am now
And I'm not rich
And I'm not straight
And I'm not a man.
 1h Traveler
ymmiJ
I glimpse the past in pink sands
shells crushed by time
once shelters from the storm
now reduced to souvenirs
in man's blown glass bottles
"for whom the bells toll"

Imagine standing at the edge of day,
                roused not by birdsong
but by a single, unclaimed toll.

As you read, pay attention
       to how that sound
becomes more than noise—
how it might carry stories
    you’ve left unspoken.

Notice the careful beat of each line
and the quiet spaces it leaves behind.
Rather than telling you what to feel,

the poem lets its unnamed bells
                          become your guide
through dawn’s uncharted moments.





.
Decisions are made,
in dark alleys and back halls.
Best to watch your back.
When I witnessed a rare fragility of the rain unbecoming—pouring its madness, tears following the wind that brings me to a place where I knew I witnessed an unfortunate crime, an absence of an absolute evil—cruel crime I would not be able to forget; the great tragedy of what was once.

It was all I saw.
It was all I felt.
It was all I knew.

The comfort and the gruesome thought of being a witness to it all—to the chaos, the fraudulent rage of the supposed love I knew; until I became a victim of it.

…and the absence of my answered prayer turned to basking in idiotic romantic fantasies I had built. All that interested me was the world I created inside this big rotten head of mine.

What an unfortunate time to be a witness in an unfortunate crime called: the absence of love.

While odd things create reality, dreams do come true, a bittersweet goodbye turns to a sweet return. All I know is once in a while, there comes an absence. How do I return the sparks back?
for the love that disappeared quietly. in a rushed hush tone, familiar random day a few years back.

song: lover, you should’ve come over - jeff buckley
aren't we to
love our neighbor
treat each other
much the same
because we need
one another
not run for cover
when placing blame

aren't we to
love our neighbor
not for favors
not for gain
and to
treat each other
as we would have them
do the same

aren't we to
love our neighbor
as our maker
paves the way
bringing blessings
both now and later
layer upon layer
in Jesus' name
 10h Traveler
Tom D
How tragic for those
who must walk in the rain
of their own tears
Tears that have been shed so hard
they fall red with blood
For the grief of loss
can so brutally harm the grief-stricken
they are counted
among the living dead
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