I had heartaches
I had tragedy
I had broken people surrounding me
I had love
I had lies
The people to whom I said goodbye
My confusion, my pain
Innocence broken
But a strength to gain
I hope one more thing will come from all of this
For the sun and for my eyes to finally kiss
A heart still beating
A dream still near
Find the sun...
Because it’s still here

-Lindsey Christopherson

I wanted it to work just as much as you
And i thought maybe you just didn’t want it to.
I know that it hurts
And we could’ve made it work.
I get that yeah it’s kind of over,
But i also had fun while it lasted.
At least i found some new music to blast and
I want to thank you for talking to me,
And showing me some things that I didn’t see.
I still think you’re cute and a wonderful person.
You are hilarious and lots of fun.
So thank you, for being around
Even though we don’t even live in the same town.
If this is goodbye, then i bow and wish you farewell
And good luck in your journeys through life, however many times it may seem like hell.

There once lived a boy
Who lived on a farm.
He spent every day
Taking care of barn.

He walked many miles,
At times when he could.
To go see sometimes
A girl that he loved.

He'd bring her flowers
That he picked himself,
His soul felt aroused
At sight of her face.

Long after some hours
They'd go for a walk.
There was an old tower
On top of the rock.

They'd get there by dawn
And celebrate life,
And bound to grow
Was mutual love.

This tale  is as simple
As wind that blows high,
Or indigo ripple
On lake before night.

It is the 23rd century,
The other rebels are showcased in the penitentiary
In the city’s center street
To gratify the remnants of the sensory.

They’re beheld through double-paned hybrid walls of palladium, aluminum oxide and diamond;
In each cell their own reflection’s seen

Endlessly.

There is no blue sky, no scent of trees;
The cells’ sounds rebound and resound

To promote censoring.

It all began in the 21st century;
Now, ancient relics are kept in a technological cemetery,
Guarded by a sophisticated sentry.

Unbound knowledge damaged our brains,
Progress became our shackle and chains.
We—humanity—became dependent like a candle and flame
And gradually, drastically, society managed to change.
All who resisted were banished in shame,
Then our history was lost; I’m lucky to even know my family name.

I am the last rebel.
I know of tambourines, timbre and treble.
I know of beauty that once made men tremble.
I know of the past gods;

Before we made the last devil.

Now we are the drones.
We mass-produced their bodies, now we are the clones.
Now they think, speak and feel for us—we are just bones.
We built our father’s house upon these rocks:

We are the stones.

If any should read this before the ripples of time dwindle,
I’ll be plain: we surrendered human expression to digital signals and symbols.
We once made music from thimbles and cymbals,
Praised the Lord on the timbrels,
Shouted aloud atop the shingles.
It was all so profound, because it was so simple.
Eventually what the experts, geniuses and pros found
Was a way to hose down

A waterfall.

Now, propriety is: No psaltry, poetry or piety.
The cemetery holds the devices which ushered the end of society.
But I have seen them;
I devised a scheme to sneak in silently
And study the history privately.

I was stunned. Stricken, as with fear,
And for the first time in years
My eyes leaked with tears.

If I could talk to them,
If I could ask a question,
If I could somehow call,
I’d ask why—just why did you allow it all?!
How could you not foresee the downfall?!
Why did not some societal siren sound off?

Speaking of sirens...
Oh, no...
They’ve found my lair...
See, this is why I’ve found fault!

Now I am a rebel—a renegade—forced to live like a groundhog

Simply because I seek to enlighten and warn all,
Like one who foresaw
The siege of Warsaw.

If this is ever found, preserve my last words:
LONG LIVE THE REVOLUTION

Signed,

The Last Outlaw

Reed Jobs X

. dream .

dressed in nightly surrender
i dreamed the dress in white,
tho silked in red.
blood ran loose on crumpled paper,
hung.

there is an art cafe
on saturday.

i cannot
hang the clothes
for fear of disrupting
the act.

i dream of drawing
that which you will not
see.

sbm

Preserve your heart for someone who’s eager’
To make a home in the flesh of your heart,
Someone who’s eager to swim in your skin,
Someone who’s eager to have you completely,
Someone who’s eager to love you deeply,
Save your heart the broken!

By: Nida Mahmoed.