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Anger in his eyes, his fist raised again
Where is the compasion? What is it that lacks in him?
Daddy, what happened to you? When did you change?
What caused you to grow heartless and deranged?
The days grow darker, mommy is gone.
Some days present battles that cannot be won.
The more violence I see, the more I wish to run
I want to go back to the old days, when time with daddy used to be fun
But the storm is raging, darkening the skies
The hits get worse the more the child cries
A man who used to be a guardian has lost his glow
And one day the child will escape his blow
 Feb 2017 Viseract
George Krokos
We all do try and write for a reason
and each have different things to say
at some particular time or season
we've got to express our thoughts that way.

It doesn't really matter who you are
or in what part of the world living
even if you're unknown or reside far
they're likely your words to be reading.

The 'net has brought distant people to us
who now can read what we have to say
in sharing our inner thoughts between us
together spending some time each day.

At times we do touch on the same subject
which isn't surprising there to see
for then we look forward to the prospect
of helping each other better be.

Many poems posted are badly written
so are, it seems, a few of my own
and takes lots of courage if you're smitten
when you're told or by another shown.

The world has so many problems of late
that some people out there try to fix
because a lot of them are based on hate
where both greed and lust are in the mix.

It would be wrong to ignore this fact now
which is tempered by rising anger
if they don't get what they expect somehow
that reward to offset their languor.

There are also many who suffer from
some kind of mental illness or stress
aggravated by their fear of that bomb
which if ever it's used cause a mess.

Such are the symptoms anyone can notice
when some of the poetry is read
that people have posted with their focus
on the internet by what they've said.

But this isn't mentioned here to scare you
only to highlight what one can see
and would be wrong here to say if untrue;
we'll try to help all those to get free.

There are also some who are harsh critics
and dispute your work to ridicule;
if it's on religion and they're cynics
asking clever dumb questions to fool.

Some of those last mentioned are persistent
and attack your work most of the time;
being doubtful poets laced with words bent
they'll try and accuse you of a crime.

They remind me so much of John X:Ten
or the Pharisee and Sadducee
that were written of long ago back then
finding fault with the One Who was free.

Being amidst them as the Living Truth;
speaking and acting with deep wisdom
He was destined to do since early youth
to help all people find real freedom.

From all of the things holding them captive
whether in body, mind or spirit
with divine knowledge, also to forgive
those who had done wrong and knowing it.

The 'net is a vast database of knowledge
and where poetry is there concerned
those who write, post, and read it all to pledge
never to forsake what has been learned.
______
Written late last year over the Christmas period.
Since the day I met You I knew You were no ordinary girl. It's not because your hair was more colourful than the northern lights or because your smile was so dorkishly adourable.

You see I would never really get nervous around girls, and I already knew you for a couple of years so the thought of there ever being something died a long time ago.

so I still cannot understand why when our hands interlocked that Wednesday morning, in that empty feild with nothing but us and the crickets, You managed to transform the butterflies in my stomach to pterodactyls, the frog that was once in my throat has been swallowed by a tyrannosaurus.

You made the feelings of a first crush come back to life, I relived it over and over until first crush was changed to first love.

But when you kissed me, when you kiss me the creatures in me became prehistoric. Their bodies burnt away with nothing but remains left behind, And their bones were used to build the foundation of the feeling that I still have today.

You know most people say when they have a special kiss they see fireworks, but girl when I first kissed you I saw a meteor shower.
 Feb 2017 Viseract
Graff1980
There is a little kid crying in the corner begging to die.
I know his face and the reasons why he tries to commit suicide.
Little boy struggling to breathe through the sobs and tears
Wants to forget the proceeding years wants to ignore the fear
Wants to deny the lies he hears from his angry mom who is
Screaming violence in his face ripping security from this place.
I want to tell him that this will pass cause I know it will;
Say that there is something better coming, but that’s not how I feel.
I want to cradle him in the comfort of a calm future,
Rock him in a chair of certainty till he slumbers knowing for sure
The world will not continue to hurt him, that people will love him,
But I know that those tragic trends will happen again and again.
Lovers will leave, deceive, while family and friends fade too fast.
Poetry will help, but he will still wear the scars of the past
Knowing that strangers are safer than those human traitors,
Who promise hope, who hide behind friendly gestures.
I want to help that little boy, but he is me and I cannot break free
Of the shadow he casts.
 Feb 2017 Viseract
Graff1980
My Last
 Feb 2017 Viseract
Graff1980
My last dance will be an inspiration
Hands to hands tightly intertwined
Music deeper than any revelation
And all done in my own time

My last meal will be very delicious
Sampling a bit of all of my favorite things
And being my last, need not be nutritious
Humming with flavor cause you know it makes me sing
My last slumber will be the deepest I’ve known
Dreams will no longer come at all
My essence thus departed receding from how I’ve grown
So there will be no me left to recall

My last conversation will never be my last
Though my bodies may fade
Becoming only an echoe in the past
My words will remain to be remade

Revisited over and over again
It may not be immortality
But it is as close as I can come my friend
Words etched in the collective unconscious
Until humanity ends
 Feb 2017 Viseract
Gidgette
There's a woman, in the basement, still
Her screams, they wake me at night
She eternally beats on the walls
Yet, no freedom, none in her sight
33 days, kept in the damp,
The dark
Those 33 days of night,
Have forever left their mark
Her finger nails gone,
From scratching at concrete
I hear her praying
To the creator, she wishes to meet
Her voice loud, though hoarse and cracked
Ringing forever in my ears
And somehow, I know I'll hear her screams
Every night and day, All the rest of my years
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