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Wick Oct 2017
Don’t worry, I just love to reminisce
Time will come all of these will be erased
Like the season that always changes
My memories will be replaced
By better ones, I hope
By better ones, I pray

Like the paint that used to cover
The place we used to meet

Like the heart-rending sonata
now on its closing beat

Like the coffee on the table
Slowly diminishing its heat

These painful memories
One day will recede
Winnowed down by time
To small and smaller residues
These painful memories
Weathered down to humus
Where blossoms
The cosmos of change.
the cosmos is a very serene flower.
Wick Oct 2017
conquering his fears
he told her he loved her
but she didn't answer, she didn't need to

with her lips smiling atop his,
her hazelnut gaze
was loud and clear
  Oct 2017 Wick
phil roberts
The words that leave my lips
Shall disappear
Like breath in cold air
Going nowhere
Meaning nothing

These poems into which
We pour our hearts
Other than the smallest few
Shall be lost in endless cyber space
Like billions of trillions of others

The loves that we swear eternally
Can last no longer than lovers' lives
It shall be negated by death
Other than to an unknown
And unknowing energy

                                        By Phil Roberts
Wick Oct 2017
mea culpa
mea culpa
mea maxima culpa

hear the song of the innocent

hung upon the cross
for the crime he has not commit

forced to plead guilty
by the precepts of society

whilst the crooked
stood at the base
shedding crocodile tears
eyes holding silent leers

feigning innocence
instigating chaos
taking into their advantage
dividedness, our ignorance.

here, the song of the innocent
nears its end
with his last, a doleful verse

"It is done"
not necessarily catholic but true enough I draw much of the inspiration from it.
Wick Oct 2017
Poetry
is
conscious self-deception
to cater to one's emotion.
delusion
  Oct 2017 Wick
Elrow Swift
You who goes by "Lonely"
Yes you, who reads these rhymes
Please pause here for a moment
I won't take much of your time

You see my friend, I'm lonely too
In the dark with paper and pen
So I'm writing you this poem
and signing it "Your Friend"

Though I'll prob'ly never see you
nor ever know your name
I do not need to see your face
nor know your cash and fame

I do not care what color you are
how short or tall or fat
I'm weary of all these parties and creeds
So, for a moment, forget all of that

Yes you, dear friend, forget with me
Inhale this moment serene
where we are not opinions or castes
Just two humans with two glowing screens

Be human with me, simple and pure
For a moment breathe deep and feel free
then should you have the time, and a halfway good rhyme
Perhaps write a poem for me.

Signed,
Your Friend
This one isn't great, but I don't really care. I would normally throw something like this away, but the afterimage of hope made me wonder if maybe it would strike a chord with someone somewhere.  I promise to post more polished verse in the future, but all the same, thank you for reading. -ES
Wick Oct 2017
Woe to the country
once full of pulcher and life
torn by ideals and strife

woe to the bullet
gunshots gnawing through flesh
seeking for the life supposed to take

woe to the soldier
nursing death
desolate of the horrors he has mete

woe to the army
marching steadfast
clung upon by ghosts of foes and comrades past

woe to the child
walking towards home
but sees only wreckage; broken dreams

woe to the families
braving the seas
yonder hope for safety

woe to the lives
wasted
upon what exactly?

woe to us
can we not hear their cries?
or is it indifference?

woe to mankind
woe to you, oh man!
what have you become?

**What have we become?
the devil leers.
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