The angels are falling under the weight of the clouds
helplessly fighting with a world
where good hearts are hiding
frightened by the malice around.

The angels are falling,
their wings are dissolving
under the tempest coming
from clouds of hatred and darkness.
Their bodies with the light of stars are dying,
their dreams turning to dust
swept by monsters
under the rugs we're stepping on
saying that everything is fine,
turning our heads,
pretending we're not seeing
that the angels are falling
and the monsters are cleaning the roads
to an existence
without dreams
without purity.

The sound of guns covering the voices
of the innocent children we used to be
blindly we're walking
lying to ourselves
that everything it's gonna be alright.

The angels are falling
and with their tears
we're drowning
in a sea of blood,
in the emptiness.

his writing caught everyone’s attention
like an artist i once saw on the street in québec
he stood out amongst the crowd in montréal
i asked to take his picture
he obliged

this writer is also canadian
and paints masterpieces
with words

his colorful lines sometimes float on jagged edges
brushes of sticky sugar coating are exchanged
for starker strokes of reality
tinged with weathered wisdom
creating shadows in his work
accentuating the light

there’s not a write of his
that does not stir emotions
his words linger
rolling around in your head
bumping into each other
morphing into new connotations
his easel alive

you wonder if he did that on purpose?
could anyone have that kind of talent?
yes…..his brush continues flowing
even after the paint is dry

suddenly at midnight i awaken
and hear another morsel
a word, a phrase, a color
that only made itself known
in the dark of night

understanding he's a favorite
i imagined audibly hearing a collective sigh
when he contracted cancer
would he now leave his canvas dry?

no, this courageous artist
bravely took his palette
and continued painting
his words that us awaken
now e’vn more radiant
with tragedy astride

and ‘tho he talks of dying
i pray that he will stay
but should his spirit fly
we have seen a master show us
how to walk into the light

©2016janetaylor

...
While
Warm water as the geyser
Gives the skin a new taste
After the sudden rain
The sun peeped behind the clouds
As if a fire peaks in the red flamboyant forest
Then purple flowers of Jarul's
Silently washing the suffering of long pain
Worship to God with drunk
Late afternoon in front of the house of crow
Cuckoo calls repeatedly,
Wings fluttering,
Not unnecessarily
She searches her left offspring
Alongside a small river (Kumar) flows
Small dazzling waves,
With a Cold gentle breeze
Flows over my sweet sweat
Ah! Another form of Heaven
Seduced far away from the darkness
Furious within a dream,
I bathe
...
@Musfiq us shaleheen

as quick as it began
it ended
i left for sure
a blackness unlike the dark
it was a spacious energy of pure
mountain tops overlooking
valleys and rivers and seas
i stood at the edge at the highest point
and breathed in deep
i exhaled
and felt my wings
looking down there wasn't fear
only peace
i sat and smiled
i wasn't alone
but it was me
and i was free

pushed back into my being
with tubes and wires and machines
i heard the rain
i heard the thunder
and knew God let it be
a new day
a new life
a rebirth of all things

That's me in the middle
In the middle of the world
Just as everyone else
Is in the centre of their's
And we'll never meet
Or even live in the same climate
A thousand miles to west or east
And yet
By the grace of various miracles
Your words may move me
And hopefully, mine will move you
To defy distance and differences

                                                    By Phil Roberts

Every time I found a piece of me
You lost a piece of you

The other day
A friend asked me why life had to be so difficult
My response was that it was never meant to be simple
Life is just a lesson we may never fully learn

A constant struggle
Caught between heartbreak and love
Not only surviving, but living
Being kind and forgiving

Life is difficult because that is what makes us wiser
It teaches us to appreciate
The small things
The beautiful things
The overlooked things

The sound of the wind through the trees
Or crickets on a summer's night
Training pedals removed, skinned knees
Learning to get back up again
After being knocked down

Life is difficult because nothing worth having is ever easy
It's the fight that makes the time to smile that much more beautiful
It's the crying that makes us grow inside and even out
Taking life for what it's worth

A smile holds as much value as a frown
As up is to down
Life is sometimes hard
And sometimes it's easy
But it's always what you make it

In a sallow field,
Leaves wearing shorts,
Splash in a tiny stream,
Water sleeping in its bed,
Gravels full of sheen,
And peeping out,
Heat upticking,
With the sun in its elements,
He, aloof from his family,
And contracted with dryness,
Desirous of guzzling,
Drew back his gaping mouth,
And stood for  a while,
As the herd of dear
Came and ended up drinking,
And he, watching like a Shepherd,
Waited and waited
Till they drank enough
And left very little
And he, glad to get his turn,
Glistened his throat
And raced towards his house,
Neighing like a jovial lamb!

When your best friend is an angel
invisible, who never talks directly lips to ear
but you have full confidence of their love
you are freed from so much baggage-
prayer is constantly rewarded with answers
all the time along your exodus, where life here is short.