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  May 2015 AK Bright
GaryFairy
the glass is half empty
my mind is too full
negativity is all that tempts me
with it's downward pull

with broken feathers
i fall from the sky
when it's always cloudy weather
hope is sure to die

once i was lost
broken and dying
now i can be found
fearlessly flying

I'm a saint of the vapor
that's my God-given nature
I'm only here for a season
with my heart, pen, and paper
I did the first two stanzas and Jason did the second two stanzas. Thanks to Jason for working with me!
  May 2015 AK Bright
Mercurychyld
Only you can translate
where you are
on your voyage through
this varied farce
called “life”.

No one else can dictate
to you…
or should even dare…
how to phrase
your feelings,
your thoughts,
your personal moments.

Who is anyone to
cause another to feel
inept or inferior
for wording their
experiences as they will?

We are all both
audience and poet,
consumed by the
powerful spell of words
and meaning
we are bonded
in ink.

It takes gumption
and courage
to give voice to
your vision of
the world.

It often requires
resilience and nerve
to open your heart
and peel back the
layers of skin,
and let others take
a long look at the
inner workings of YOU.

Be brave,
take courage,
let your soul speak
in its very own
language.

People will read
your words and
listen to the sweet
whispers
and thunderous shouts
that flow from pens
and keys
to release the
inner demons and angels
and the lyrical
vines that bloom and live
in our individual
landscapes,

fluidly coursing from
our own rabbit holes
with fortitude and grace
and our neverlands,
where we need never
grow up,

to share with those
that need to see
and hear and feel
and wonder.


-by Mercurychyld
Copyrights
  May 2015 AK Bright
Dawn King
the contempt you must feel in your bones
you weave in and out of my life like a quiet storm
leaving all the wreckage in your wake
you must have the cruelest of intentions
to walk away, to take the net
as i tumble to the ground
out of the most
obscure cloud
in the farthest
reaches of
the heavens
such a heathen you are
twisted soul
to premeditate
the reticent confusion
you need to
get over, over and over
to think me so boorish
i would not notice the invective approach
taken
to
make me your
most unbreakable addiction
  May 2015 AK Bright
South-by-Southwest
You cain't go back
to yesterday's dawn
by adding another verse
to an old song

When time was by my side
we galloped through the years
Now the time shows and slows
and disappears

"Where has time flown ?"
is but an insult to youthful plea
protagonist to the old
and just echoes in me

While love was delegated ,
regulated , copulated . . .
it became sedimentated ,
heated , then pressurized

It became cold marble
entombed in ways
that now are just
memorried
  May 2015 AK Bright
Jason Cole
pray
somebody pray for me
why don't you pray
just bow your head and pray for me
done went and lost my direction
i wander 'round aimlessly

got one foot in my coffin
the other's in the grave
get so sick of livin'
'cause i'm tired most everyday
please pray
somebody bow their head for me
i'm lonely as a prisoner
my heart is shade 'neath the tree

pray
somebody pray for me
why don't you pray
just bow your head and pray for me
when i look at my reflection
my eyes are filled with misery

Mama she ain't lyin'
when she says what's on my brain
but i can't stop her cryin'
she sees right through my pain
Mama pray
just bow your worried head for me
you know i ain't been forgiven
and i'm so scared i'll never be

pray
somebody pray for me
why don't you pray
just bow your head and pray for me
i just turned my head up to Heaven
midnight's all i seen
Another song. Slow tempo. Mournful blues ballad in minor key.
*Note: Mama prayed and the Lord delivered me from on high...
  May 2015 AK Bright
Dawn King
it was on a hill of a clever neighborhood
the errant flow well guised beneath the clay
upon reach of the summit
she is all that can be held
her pull far too magnetic
her skin, akin to milk poured by Luna
her hair is the black of midnight
on the eve of the new moon
she sits facing inquiry with her injured one facing her
on a rounded copper colored chair
placed curbside
Sophia speaks then
a monotone misgiving
that pours out
as a sly pompous
indifference
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