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Vivid demise guides
Me; can anyone hear me?
Why won't you save me?

What numbs me worthless,
The vast veer of intention,
Why won't it take me?

Evolve existence,
Into inaudible cries
For mental relief-
I've been working on long poems, with these stories, I kinda just wanted to make something small, but with a bigger meaning. I hope I did that in this one.
All feedback is welcome and appreciated!
 May 2018 Mary-Eliz
Aine
Not for us
 May 2018 Mary-Eliz
Aine
The sun never shines
it never rises on us
it always falls so dark
in this part of town
that light is not for us

We never smile so wide
the extravagance is not for us
our mouths are dry with thirst
and shut with hunger and hurt
there's never water for us

We do not hold tomorrow
the thought is stored away from us
that fate is not our own
we are told to go with the flow
even the future is not for us.
it hurts to know that someone in the world is not blessed with the things we take for granted everyday, this includes our families, friends,  food, water ,the power to make choices, to speak and most importantly Life . This poem speaks for that less fortunate girl, boy,man,woman ,child in any part of the world.  this is for them
 May 2018 Mary-Eliz
Duncan Brown
There’s a writer on the block
  Inspiration’s on vacation
Gone on tour with culture shock
  Desperately seeking a situation
Far from the incessant ticking clock
  
Words are flowing like glue
Sniffed but so unwritten
The scent of inspiration flew
Southwards and unsmitten
By paucity’s shallow written hue

Heavy as leaden thought can be
The vacant empty page
Stares blank in mirrors at me
The mocking unwrit rage
A parallel universe in a vacant sea

A world of solid silent inertia
  Invades the imagination
And dulls the poetic drama
Each page gauged in vexation
Such a perfect portrait of a tabula rasa

The origami of crushed paper
A testament to frustration
And a tsunami of written failure
Mocks the myth of imagination
Reducing it to an unremembered feature

And then the keyboard sweetly sings
The ink is beautiful flowing time
While the percussive alphabet rings
The wine soaked harmonies of rhyme
Sweetening the song that poetry always brings.
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