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reckless colors killed in action
rainbows cry rivers of black and white
crayons deemed illegal as
magicians become the audience
children found recklessly abandoned
playing catch on tomorrow's crime scene
how to look good dead
and how not to look dead while pretending to be alive
ten ways to improve yourself in ten ways
twenty ways to tell yourself better lies
and not a single
honest mention
of how to
really
truly
open your eyes.
News = Breaking
i'm a leaf blowing in the wind
barely attached to its tree

gravity whispers a return to adventure
doesn't care
i'm still too scared to be free

suddenly
free-falling
tumbling
cosmic causality no longer resists
sets me free

a feather without a bird to feed it
cast aside
new-found freedom is unmistakably mine
but why then
does the earth below grow closer?

i struggle to spread wings
but my shape remains
both tragic and beautiful

free-falling
tumbling
the wind struggles
but can never hope
to carry the likes of me

my eyes no longer capture
the wetness of the sea
birds above more free

stick the landing
surprisingly gentle
i'm on my knees

night too is falling
feel my untold dreams dying
not sure i'm okay
that i'll pull through

a world so alien
new sounds
new scents
a nibble, then a bite
something is tearing me apart

creepy crawlers
fight over me
not sure if they love
or hate me
can't move
can't find a friend

dig deep
find a way to hang on
a way to bend
skin fading
cheeks longer blush with green
no longer like baby spring

the oldest ant notices
his eyes meet mine
tell me in no words
"you only get what you give"

i repeat the words
not sure if they were mine or his
you only get what you give
and like a missing piece that clicks into place
i finally let go
and as if by magic
it's a new dawn
it's a new day

sun's out
a familiar warmth
and i'm a brand new dying leaf
this unknown journey is required
before i return as a fresh blossom
reunited with the love that springs eternal from my tree.
my father
once told me,
a man becomes a hero
not through a show of strength
but through his grace and wit at length
for herein lies his warmest most accepting embrace
defusing his coldest darkest impulse to even imagine an arms race.
frailty falls upon terror
snowflakes banished from the sky
casualties from a hard forgotten war
still burns my retinas
their softness whispers as they melt
and find death upon my hardened skin
to soon unwritten,
but their love remains of no consequence
i fill my lungs with the fire that gave them life
failing to recall
the hope their tragedy no longer breathes
and lower my utterly spent weapon
weeping on torn, bleeding knees
realizing
there's
nobody left to listen
as i scream.
There will come a war that will be our last.
Question is, will we be around when it's over.
unattended nose
bleeds
babies all dried up
too late to wail
futility already set sail
time jumps
but your reckless sky still slumps
******* creeds
& skullduggery triumphs
leaves you
mind-numbing defeats
no room for the young
or the weak
unless you're the story
of the week
you scream your lungs out
clawing your essence to pieces
your once beautiful soul
tempered by momentary fame
your blind eyes found dead
lost inside a heartless mirror
never once found silence
and only in this final moment
something that resembles
peace
please tell me
this is not the way you wanted to go
please
before it's too late
and i will give you my heartbeat
rip it spraying from my dying chest
just to let you follow the bleed
and listen for the beat
follow it
towards the hope you lost
towards the home you loved
towards the home that bleeds.
Mommy has left the building.
I'm a rose born from a ravenous roar
A butterfly bolted to the back of a bull
I paint the truth in cosmic kaleidoscopic dye
Granting eternal life to an ancient beckoning sky
They call me the Hubble
"we will never forget" they cry
Before terrestrial fire bids me goodbye
And one final glimpse of your magnificent azure sky.
In celebration of 25 years with the Hubble, and the men and women who fought so hard to make it a reality.

From a decaying orbit, the Hubble will burn in our atmosphere at the end of its life, guided to a safe place in the ocean.
i don't have a way with words
less poet
more the howling fool that chases them apart
my sweaty struggles always leave me blinded and alone
owed nothing
clinging to
empty

empty
spaces
i call these spaces stories
and like the siren that grants
a shipwreck and death against razor sharp rocks
i lure them in
found their deepest darkest secret

every word wants nothing more
than to die like a story
see,
i have a way with stories
and i'd like to imagine
that stories take up a place as the echo
of love when it grows from that first enticing smile
or the infant cry when it purges childhood pain
deep down in the hidden treasuries of
your most heartfelt of hearts
me tracing this with pitch black ink on paper
you committing this to your beating crimson heart
we're connected with an ancient thread that
even the gods dare not tear apart

see they too
in all their might and glory
want nothing more
than the epic bliss
of a truly good
and heartfelt
story.
A story dedicated to the struggles of poets.
For my fellow HP poets especially :)
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