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 18h
Vianne Lior
Pebble falls—no sound.
Bee, lost in lotus chambers,
forgets the way home.

Sometimes I write poetry
most times it writes me.

Showing me things 
I need to see.

Things I need to acknowledge
to be a better man.

Not to change the world, 
but to change what I can.

Most often times
it's a change in me,
A reflection of a man 
I don't want to see.

Sometimes I write poetry,
most times it writes me.

And the more that I write
the more I'll like what I see.

And maybe someday
if I write well enough,

The man in the mirror
will smile back at me.
 6d
badwords
You speak
in linen threads,
crease the page
with careful weight.

I write
like a wire frays—
all snap
and static.

You linger.
I lunge.
You plant quiet seeds.
I strike the flint
and call it bloom.

We are not
the same instrument.
Your hush
doesn’t dull my clang.
My heat
doesn’t melt your frame.

There is no prize
for loudness.
No shame
in restraint.

But still,
we each mistook the other
for the reason to stop.

As if difference
were subtraction.
As if one voice
could ever
void another.

Let’s not play
at vanishing.
Let’s speak
in split tongues—
you in dusk,
me in flame—
and let the echo
be richer
for it.
You know who you are.
 Mar 25
Melissa S
Fighting off the Darkness
I have a lot of darkness in me
but I have goodness too
and I try to fight off
how much dark trickles through

When I feel the darkness
try to rear its ugly head
I submerge myself in water
to wash away all the dread

I can hear my heartbeat in the water
and it lets me know I am still alive
I try and block myself off
to what is slowly trying to thrive

I close my eyes to the darkened images
and close my mind off as well
I dare not speak of any horror
and retreat into my protective shell

I emerge from the water
when I start to feel repaired
then I shift my focus to other people
my thoughts are needed elsewhere
This is a write of mine from March of 2016 and still hold true to this day.
I always try and keep the focus off me and think of others.
I want a love that lifts, not weighs,
that lights my soul, not dims my days.
A love that walks, that dares, that tries,
not one that waits with downcast eyes.

I want to feel a burning spark,
not just a whisper in the dark,
a steady hand, a voice so clear,
a man who knows, who draws me near.

I want a presence bold and true,
a heart that beats with mine in view.
No chasing shadows, no silent plea,
but footsteps strong that walk with me.

I want a fire, fierce yet slow,
not flames that fade or cease to glow.
A love that lasts, that won’t demand
the life I hold in open hand.

I want desire, not just a thrill,
but something deep that grows at will.
A passion free, yet firm in space,
not fleeting highs, but strong embrace.

A man whose strength is warm, not cold,
whose love is sure, whose hands will hold.
Who stands beside me, not behind,
with fearless heart and steadfast mind.

I want to move, unchained, unbound,
no weight to pull me to the ground.
No debts to pay, no roles to fill,
no love that drains my heart’s own will.

I want a life where joy runs free,
where voices dance in harmony.
Where love is given, strong and pure,
not earned, not fought for, but secure.

And so I stand, my heart made new,
no love half-lived, no path undue.
No less than this, no dreams denied,
I trust the path, let life decide.
the way we lose
our fathers

and mothers
out beyond the trespass

of light
where sparklers dance

the summer dark
no single language

no simple answer
the wheel

of grief
with its windquick

and intimate fists
pummels the rubble

of what remains
what fades away

and there
just beyond

the weight of it
the moment

that threatens
to touch

and take you
 Mar 16
Lulu Sarmiento
I whisper your name in the wind as it stir;
My pen glides it in a memory I hold dear;
I long for your laugh echoing in my ears;
But my smile faded as your life disappeared.
 Mar 16
Thomas W Case
I picked a twisted flower in
an unkempt garden.
I kept it for a while.
Without roots, the flower
didn't last.  I barely did.

There were many  
flowers in my younger days.
I loved picking them and
keeping
them close.

In the end, they
all died or blew away.
I felt empty, blood moon
sad.

Such a young fool in
those sizzling summer
nights.
Flowers make terrible
gods.
Here is a link to my you tube channel where I read my poetry.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xSKnZMnMlTw

My recently published books are available on Amazon.
Seedy Town Blues and It's Just a Hop, Skip, and a Jump to the Madhouse
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