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 Sep 2016
Eve
Oh.
Oh how my heart grows fond
Oh how it wrecks my every bond

It fails my lungs
It endorses my wrongs
It drowns my heart
Pulling my limps apart

Ohh, how it closes all doors
And so much more

This sickening melancholy
This universal unholy
Attached itself to my brain
Tries to prove myself insane

Oh how it makes me want to go berserk
Puts my mind out of lurk

Ripping all ties to pieces
Figuring it'll bring me to peace

Oh but all it does is spread
All corners of my soul blue or red
Oh how it ruins me
Foregoing all the good I was supposed to be

Oh how this loneliness is addicting
This melancholy is growing
This bittersweet agony
This sweetbitter happy

Is it me?
Or
It is it apart of me?

I wonder
Oh how I wonder

-fir.m
 Sep 2016
J Robert Fallon III
When your mind is caught and scrambled about, and grenades pop off you scream the ****** shout.

Whatever your fear for whatever cause, you must be able to sit still and give life a pause.

Don't be afraid to resist the urge, technology has made the need to talk more; we're in need of a purge.
 Sep 2016
J Robert Fallon III
Counting the sheep to say goodnight.
When all I can think of is your goodbye.

Let me sleep for once tonight.
For I am tired of losing the fight.

Enter my dreams and change my mind.
Why I shouldn't think about you every single time.
 Sep 2016
J Robert Fallon III
Commit ****** then flip an ounce, a nonchalant verse that promotes the internal joust, with
pride earned as the only badge that counts.

Tap the snare drum for a bar, or vibing melody,
our backwards society stereotypes "thugs" as, "what drugs are they selling me?"

Rap is art in raw form,
intended to excite the youth who see death as a norm, the daily street storm.

Women de-humanized for a buck,
men taught to only treat them good if they **** and don't run out of luck.

The concrete jungles can only have just one king upon a throne, as the vicious cyclone continues destroying futures of the youth unless they succeed in the booth.

Youth commit ****** then flip an ounce,
pride earned needs to be denounced.
 Sep 2016
Lizzy Love
Slap that fake smile on your face,
then watch me quickly quicken my pace,
striving to be so far from you,
as from the core you let your work undo.

I clench my teeth, hold the words in,
’cause right now, you just won’t listen.
Now I must take a bow, moving back,
as you take the stage with your soul attack.

In the audience is where I’ll sit,
and I’ll be even farther when your truth hits.
This is the path that you have chosen,
I’ll see you once more when your heart isn’t closin’.
Only then, only then, can we keep on a’growin’.
© Lizzy Collins
 Sep 2016
J Robert Fallon III
The prancing sheep evade my mind and eat upon greener pastures.

I squirm and wince at every thought that repetitively repeats, "just go to sleep", while tracing back the day's steps and weighing the factors.

Why must my mind be so out of sync with the tune of my body?

The wise would advise physical exhaustion is not sufficient ammo to defend against morphing into a groggy zombie.

Insomnia? No...I can have a good night, windows open and naturally closed eyes.

Anxiety? No...my life is too right, for me to not realize this sleep is just something I idiotically idolize.

Change? Yes...I can grow and stow away any thoughts which summon the riot, organize the files and endless waiting miles.

Minutes to hours, hours to frustration,
all until a simple revelation, I've had singular control of the entire situation.

Through meditation, finally free of this voluntary probation.

For no longer do I fear my head touching those precious feathers, and no longer wince at the warm and fleece-ridden wrapping like tethers.

I can now dim the blinding internal light, and tear from the controlling reigns that started this nightly pillow fight.
 Sep 2016
Sjr1000
In a palapa in Yalapa
Drinking mezcal moonshine
with a local named Rudolpho
He waves his hands in circles and squares
in candle shadows

Eyes turn inward to see

becoming a mind in the present
childlike wonder
big moon rising
pulling internal tides
stretching roots
grounded in the earth

Rudolpho knows how to laugh in colors
He knows how to dance Zorba style
arms held high to the diamonds in the sky

Nothing was achieved but everything was fixed

Zooming towards a universal experience
among the universal mind

Don't know where the night went

Rudolpho knows the ritual of the sun
Told me what I needed to know
singing
"Hurray another day"
while a parrot calls my name
and a scorpion slips into my shoe.

A palapa has no walls
I didn't either
all I was
was windows

Drinking mezcal moonshine
with a local named Rudolpho
he knows all about goodbyes.
 Sep 2016
J Robert Fallon III
I briskly walk heel-to-toe in order to keep my surprise,
equipped and prepared with deadly ammunition from the wise.

I spot many targets running clearly in and out of plain sight,
as I methodically recite the magical words for entering the limelight.

Other hunters encircle and stalk the same prey,
each of their minds accelerating towards the main entree.

Encompassed and imprisoned by materialistic greed,
and it all started from a small seed, the creation of currency.

The few who control these jobs drink any ambrosia of their picking,
simultaneously tossing constituents bones about after tooth picking.

Too much is never enough, yet we all throw out the crust.

The world's insatiable thirst is much more than these agenda-based bluffs, it is all about making a job market for many...is that too tough?
 Sep 2016
Elizabeth Squires
dispensing
poetic justice
is a measure of fate
of this punishing toll
chiseled on the grate

how befitting
for a personage
to be on the receiving end
of its age old adage

a reckoning
appropriated
on the stone's memorial
shackled
forever
in a penal testimonial
 Sep 2016
J Robert Fallon III
My ambition is withering.
Cheers to the day when the pain ceases simmering.

My senses numbed and dull,
climbing into a mad state of power topped with energy, no longer beautiful.

My exterior is only a mask to the mayhem brewing and invading, as my interior is instantly stripped of all innocent glimmering.

The smallest of spark will ignite my flame,
a new pain that will bring an actual feeling, considering.

The flint and rock hit, as the heat rises and begins blistering.

Calmness is all I feel in this heated moment of usual irrationality,
a bliss peace peels open my eyelids to a simpler reality.

No longer do I pace back and forth alone,
booming shouts of unrelenting and steady voice high, never below.

I welcome the engage of the rage and only shiver as comfort is dissipating from the beautifully illuminated stage.

Just as sudden as it did begin, the pain begins withering and halts to a peaceful end.
 Sep 2016
Ma Cherie
Sing me back home
to where I need to be
sing me a tune of my
memories
tell me a story
of saddened goodbyes
whisper
a melody of tears
that we've cried

belt out the words
with no holdin' back
I need reminders
to get me on track
takin' the old worn
railroad bed
hummin' along
with the ones in my head

Chorus-
Oh.. how I long to hear
that lonesome whistle blow
as a haunting old sounds will recall
remind me of how
it all faded away
as each passin' moment
remind me of gladness
sung just yesterday
where I left my heart....
behind

kindly paint me a picture
of each Broken Heart
torn down the middle
in a red Jagged line
color the shades
in a envious green
crooning blue ink
my heart
to remind

Oh... remind me...,

yesterday's dreams
and promises broken
open my ears to
the sounds of Goodbye
force me to listen
to people I'm hurtin'
watch every tear
as it drops when they cry

Chorus
Oh... how I long ...
to listen
as Sweet Singin' Tunes
will recall
lovely ol' footsteps
of children
dancin' in summer
down vacant Halls
remind me of how
it all faded a-way
of how I got here
with each passing day
hangin' on evr'y word
that you say
whisper
in words
with smilin'  faces
as my mind returns
as it's slowly
retracin'...

and I .....
remember.... when.

Cherie Nolan © 2016
Lyrics...I think in folk/gospel style....again about Home with Love from Vermont
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