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 Nov 2017 alwaystrying
Jeff Stier
The universe closes in on me
galaxies align
in matrices of light

This moment was never
meant to be

I'm a cloud
telling tales to the sky
a bit of wind
and I'll be gone

The moment slips through
my fingers
water into the well
while time
that mortal dragon
is readily slain
for there are no dragons
time is a myth
and this universe
bends backwards upon itself
eating its remains
and issuing forth
new life
in a fugue of renewal

again
and again.
 Nov 2017 alwaystrying
Tommy
This is the point at which the illusion shattered
I don't remember being told that adulthood would mean stability
But somehow I always believed that they weren't like this.  
I don't believe I am an anomaly
I don't know one person who hasn't been ****** up in one way or anther
Words that once stung my ears are numb now
And it's been the very thing in which I was taught to have pride  
That has done me the most damage.

My mirror is lined with lights
Like at the cabaret
So I can pretend as I sit and put my face on
That the world is my stage
And as I step out of my bedroom door
It is the stage lights which blind me
And the roar of an awaiting audience which bursts my eardrums.

As a child I used to watch the people in the streets
As they went about their daily business
Some rushing,
Some meandering,
Some chatting with friends
and others just taking the air
And it looked like it were some ballroom routine
A perfectly choreographed flash mob of people
Each movement completely planned and controlled
As though there were giants up above playing with us like dolls.
What a merciless force my giant toys with

They say breaking a mirror brings 7 years of bad luck
I should be so lucky
This was the year when my illusion shattered
And here I am picking up pieces of broken glass
Each shard making its own incision on my fingertip
While my hands leave a trail of blood behind, covering everything I touch.
Memories are tainted red, but this does not smell like roses.

I grew up in a meadow;
Dandelions to catch my falls she told me everything will be okay
And she tried to teach me to love who I will become
We can be there for each other she said we will all come out the other side strong.
Now I live in a world filled with words;
Like vines, they grow sharp and thorny in nature
Big words which were once too hard to swallow are now the daily pills of this existence
I grew up in a meadow
And I am just now realising
That I was raised a lamb.

Now I am put to the slaughter.
I cannot imagine myself,
I mean the voice with whom I speak
who both doubt and believe (in me)
I cannot imagine that self
without you.
your silence a symphony
your words a philosophy
carefully constructed behind
the brown iris and white wash
of your eyes.

I cannot imagine my life
without you beside me
your touch one of pure silk
your heartbeat one with the ocean
waves crashing against the shore

I can still feel you staring at me
and that self doesn't want to believe
(at least not on this particular day)
it's worthy of whatever good you see.
yet here you are, in all your quiet thunder
humbling me with each individual
breath.

I cannot imagine myself
because as much as i have wrestled
and pondered this inevitable truth
it grew more clear with every struggle.
I  cannot imagine myself
Without you
The boy who once wore a silly brown coat even in the summer
Who now only wears my heart upon his sleeves
I recall your eyes as the sky looking back at me

loosed from its cage
my heart sails on the high    hot thermal
of my soul
into your sky-eyes
into the blue and away from my life
toward my Life

I am phoenix    arising
from the ashy embers of what was
into the future what-is
carried on flights of feathers
into

the sky looking back at me


c. 2017 Roberta Compton Rainwater
Things left unsaid fill the space
with accompaniment by a soundtrack
chords too heavy to be expressed
demented notes best not plucked

never echoes in my head
longest ever with no refrain
known to exist in the void
where the source will be found

by lack of will or faint of heart
silence is my last resort
alternative to calm's consort
raving screams to rent the air

these are implied if you look
to the verse that's come before
tappings on the frigid walls
lost to time in sunlight's fall

this dearth of sound does not mean
my mind is empty of all thought
quite the opposite would be found
if all my groans could be heard

instead look to the furtive eyes
darting round to find escape
hoping you'll drop your guard
allow escape to the beyond

whimpers press hard to this page
this allowed lest I betray
sanity slipped from its leash
replaced by lunacy in its place

bound to a collar with aching chains
trapping who I really am
within this awful tomb of flesh
with only madness to be played.

© 2017. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20171102.
Darkness does have a place in creation. There is a tremendous power stored in the shadow. In the early 2000s I was told that I should be writing. At that time I struggled mightily with dark thoughts. I told myself, "I cannot write of what I know. Who wants to hear about madness?". Now I do write. My own shadow is still there. Now the darkness informs my writing, adding wisdom and insight. There are artists who's works are simultaneously very dark, even as they peers into the depths of the human experience. Sometimes it is difficult to look, read or listen to these creations. This is OK. The artist is creating for themselves and for those who are capable of sharing the vision. Deep down, the darkest of works are created with the mantra of "somebody will see this, somebody will recognize this". The shadow is crucial part of creation. Without the darkness, there cannot be light.

"In the beginning God created heaven and earth." So says Genesis 1:1. I say that God is still creating the heaven and the earth. We stare into the same void. We maintain our sanity and soul by seeing the void as a place of potential. What are we to do on this earth? What is our purpose? Merely create the best you can. On the sixth day, you too will say, "behold, it was very good".

The title of the poem “Things Left Unsaid” was inspired by the Pink Floyd album “Things Left Unsaid”.
Hey ****** ******,
Some stars gotta fiddle
Just like a Catholic priest.
We have to give them credit,
God saved them when they did it.
And blessed them at the least.

Hey ****** ******
Fat Trump has to fiddle
With women he can control.
He pretends he doesn’t know
What that word simply shows
Since the last syllable is troll.

Hey ****** ******
A high powered fiddle
Is always powered by cash.
But, Mr. Diddler
Unlike a talented fiddler
You are nothing but overpaid trash.

Hey ****** diddledick
We all hope your fiddlestick
Falls off and lays on the ground
Then you could stop it
And the women could stomp it.
And kick your skanky *** around.
Read me a fairy tale.
Fake news.
Show me a magazine
Fake news.

Us against them.
Race wars reborn.
Rich vs poor.
The same tiered lying stories
The news says we would love to hear from you.
#youdon'tcarewhatwethink.
#turnthefakenewsoff.

While the magazines tells me I am not a princess and I no model either. Page upon page of your not good enough.
#youtocanlooklikeme
#youhavetobuythis.

I never knew the brain dead would rise killing free thought. So I burnt the magazines and turned off the news.
I wrote this because between thr fake news and magazines they do so much damage to people. Some people dont see just how bad things are and how dangerous fake news can be
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