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 Aug 2018 Morgan
Traveler
Swirling spiral of anti-matter
Cascading down an endless ladder
In non-corporeal states
Spirits search for their soul mates
One taste and we miss our goal
And cling to a second-hand role
One state that we all share
Bittersweet and unaware
Feed on life, consumed to death
We devour the world with every breath
Forged by chance, nurtured in deceit
We glimpse the truth and quickly retreat
Our description becomes indescribable
Our delusions become undeniable

You were once mine for a moment in time
I embraced your accustomed wounds
Used and abused, starving for love
You shone like a Samhain Moon
Yet love is alive, not a lie
Not a manifestation of will
Not a statue of god or paradise façade
Nor some unholy devil’s deal
I was once young with mind undone
Chasing a somber moon
Yet time has devoured
Those dead flowers
Upon that empty tomb
Traveler Tim
 Aug 2018 Morgan
Melissa S
Dream of me
I am real...
I am where smiles are made
and tears fade away
Where hope springs forth
Away from the darkness
of the earth

I am the glow of the moon
and all the stars in the sky
those who seek the light
shall have me as their guide

I am the red bird or butterfly you see
Just keep your eyes open... to find me
I am where tomorrow is coming
and hope always holds on
My darling
I am never truly gone....❤
I have been dreaming of my mother lately and do not want to wake up because it feels so real and I miss her so. I wrote this from her perspective writing to me
 Aug 2018 Morgan
Infamous one
Qw#19
 Aug 2018 Morgan
Infamous one
Music always took him away while he wrote
The beats and melodies set a tone that tapped into the heart
His soul felt free because he was able to express his emotions
Sometimes he felt alone but able to relation unlike most he could express himself be helpful
He was never about himself always wondering if others felt or going through similar emotions.
Sometimes he felt whole and things were right
Other times he felt shattered within and losing his grip on reality
The music and writing went together it felt more natural.
He asked his heart and let it have a moment
The mind trying to sync up with the body and soul
Find balance restore recharge from all the wildness that came from everywhere
Onto the overground
above
the
underground with
so many sights I could see.

not for me on a Saturday
to be squirreled away
like a nut,
but
that idea's a sound one
not an over an underground one.

I'll be back at midnight
and at that time
whether under or
overground
it's still dark.
 Aug 2018 Morgan
SassyJ
The dusk sets its hasty way
On the bricks and alleyways
where gypsies are endowed
smoking, trashing and fly tipping
Cursing, gossiping and fighting
and it all passes like an oasis
as a monster evades time
as the scorched leaves greet
after all those year and seasons
The tree by the window has grown
having seen misery and laughter
drunken nights and loving days
****** dates and eventual transitions
The burden of truth, it caught my eyes
Captured the barrenness of my soul
it thirsts for a far away distance
those reachable mountains of fortune
It hungers for an embrace full of life
outgrowing the space by the window
tearing the netted curtained screen
Every time I see the that tree
I giggle and then smile a little bit more
as if captured by an angelic love
In love with that tree, it makes me smile the way it has outgrown the netted curtain.
 Aug 2018 Morgan
Nat Lipstadt
3 X 5 index card poems

3 smallish poems in five minutes
~
reheating

honey can I make you something to eat?

no babe, you know I hate to see you cooking, frying
standing over pots and stirring sauces
trying to brush
wisps of bangs from your eyes
  while wearing kitchen mitts


What I would prefer is something leftover,
reheated served with a smiling grin from my ear
to wayover down under there,
next to you

<•>
old words are better than than new ones

hey, hi! how you doing, old friend?

“yo, out of the hospital feeling so much better;
had some kind of ‘itis’ which they cured with an ‘yisis’!”

glad to hear; impressed by all those new big scientific words;
frankly preferred your old ones,  that were rediscovered and
reoriented in new ways in your poems verses;

me?
never better cause to hear from a man
whose optimism has yet to meet a
match
that he can’t best,


heals all our wounds

<|>

if you told me

that I could spend three successive rainy days in almost all silence, perfectly contented by myself,
i’d said you crazy,


isn’t that true babe?
 Aug 2018 Morgan
SeaChel
Untitled
 Aug 2018 Morgan
SeaChel
Upon waking every morning,
he'd study my cerulean eyes
so intensely, it was as though
he saw they held the secrets to life
and he was a desperate man in need.
Yet, one day,
he must have found something
dark and terrifying in their depths,
for he never immersed himself
in my watery orbs again.
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