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 Jul 2018
Melissa S
I don't need a time machine
to take me back to that moment
The songs take me back
back to when I was trying to
figure out myself
figure out life
I get lost in the songs
close my eyes
I am content to just pretend
that I'm wild and free
and yes that I am young again
The songs take me back :)
Happy Friday HP :) xoxo
 Jul 2018
mari j
i am so small
compared to the mountains
i am so little
compared to the sea
i am so tiny
in comparison to the islands
and i am so large
compared to what i thought i would be
 Jul 2018
Neuvalence
As colours fade from familiar halls
And graffiti messily takes its place
The gentle murmurs, now lost in walls
Chatter no more in empty space

I colour a new place as I leave
Of vibrant paint for heavenly dreams
To ride the memories that I weave
And hear voices at blissful streams
 Jul 2018
Pagan Paul
Take a peek inside his poems
if you really want to know him.
He hides himself deep, immersed
a tiny piece in every verse.

Take a peek and take your time
savour the moment of every line.
Relish the thought of what lies there
and appreciate his soul laid bare.

© Pagan Paul (31/08/16)
.
 Jul 2018
Ryan
Brains are crazy
They
create and destroy
The
tiniest of thoughts
That
meander for milliseconds
 Jul 2018
Walter W Hoelbling
it seems the bipolar view
of US vs. THEM
the cry that WE
are always the victims
of all these aliens
has also caught on
among some European idiotic leaders
who seriously believe
that building walls and fences
would make their countries great again

fact is that keeping all refugees out
is not only inhuman and unlawful

it shrinks our concepts
of the wonderful diversity of our world

down to a tunnel vision
of global monotony

as boring as it gets!
 Jul 2018
devante moore
I’ve never received a flower
Or even a rose
But I’m a guy
So it’s acceptable I suppose
No kisses
Or sweets
No treats
That signifies ones feelings for me
No token of ones love
But I have gotten
Disappointment
Watered with hate
Planted in betrayal
Fertilized with lies
And maintained by fakes
Roses are Red
But my roses are dead
And crumble beneath my feet
 Jul 2018
Akira Chinen
How lucky is the gun
that never has to feel
the pulse of the blood
that it spills

how lucky is the gun
that thunders so loud
it never has to hear
the screams  of the futures
it steals away

how lucky is the gun
to know no guilt or sin
that is left behind
in the gunpowder
that now stains our hands
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