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 Jul 2016
Michael Blonski
I find the truth
Causes suffering
And
We exist
Within as many
Lies
As it takes to
Barricade
Ourselves from
The heartache
of truths
 Jul 2016
Pauline Morris
In the coffin bear
You will find it there
If you want to know
All the secrets it will hold
All the sorrow and the strife
Will all end in the passing of life
Take a look at the empty shell
It's been released from it's cell
 Jul 2016
Valsa George
In the Church, I met a woman so old
Bending under the weight of years
I wonder what made her steal my attention
Was it her struggle to hold back her tears?

In spite of her frail stooping figure
She seemed to have an indomitable will
Defeating all infirmities of age, she stood
With a face though sad, yet tranquil and still

Strange enough, she recalled to me
The determined, but decrepit old man beside the pool
Whom Wordsworth had once encountered
Gathering leeches so scarce, but resolute and cool

I watched the woman humbly prostrate
And feebly rise and straighten her aged form
Surrendering herself at the feet of God
Imploring grace for life’s little tasks to perform

In her gnarled hands, she firmly held a prayer book
With the other supporting her frail figure on a staff
And with a sigh of relief, she left the church
As if her afflictions were reduced to half

As the Congregation dispersed in all directions
She feebly walked to her accustomed haunt
At the rear side of the church was a Cemetery unkempt
Where the ancestors slept, devoid of earthly cares and want

Among all the tombstones in marble and granite
Erected in memory of the kindred dead
There was a newly dug up grave
That stood aloof as a heap of mud

I watched the old woman approach this spot
Where she knelt down with a calm demeanor
Her withered hands clasped together in piety
And her eyes closed in silent prayer

With a convulsive motion of her lips
She rose up and once more knelt down
As if searching for a face so dear
Whose memory she could never ever drown

Within that mound, slept her only son
Who died in his prime, a month before
Leaving his widowed mother behind
To brave the shafts stinging, so sore

As Time by seconds and minutes ticked away
The bereaved mother stood up at last
And heavily yet quietly walked away
Leaving the one who was once her own part

                               *                          *

While the wounds of the young are quickly closed and healed
And their ductile affections entwine around new passions
The aged withdraw to the silence and desolation of life
Once when deprived of the love that life no more sanctions!
The pain of a widowed mother left lonely by the death of her only child is  something beyond one can possibly imagine !
 Jul 2016
Micahel De Tomasso
"Who else has shown you prayer?
Who else has shown you they care?
Who else has mentioned recently that
he'd be there?
Who else has been trying to take away
your fear?
Who else would dry your eyes if you
were able to shed some tears?
Who else made your belly ache with my
laughter this past year?
Who else has given you a better life when
no one dared?
Who else sits beside you when you chose
for me not to be there?
GOD MY DEAR, GOD MY DEAR."
Women belong to the kitchen
is a maxim falsely woven.
Seeing father working alongside us, making a milkshake and washing dishes made us all smile.
 Jul 2016
ThePoet
The words will come
when you're sound asleep
And you've lost it all
and have nothing to keep

When your mind is shallow
and your pain is deep
And your eyes resemble
the clouds that weep

The words will come...

©
 Jul 2016
Jack B
for this exercise
imagine the earth is a balloon.
neglect to hold on, like a particle of dust it floats on.
hold too tight, it will surely meet a supernova plight.
a thunder of cosmic dust particles float on.

so comes into question the integrity of tension and slack.
balance, rhythm, harmony.

I carve out of the earth, an empty space.
year after year I sweat my salty soul into the earth-space.
earth from which I came, earth in which I live, in which I will return.
the earth fills, an icy mirror of tears.
my reflection surfaces-
be vigilant not to sever the roots that pump lifeblood into my veins.
not to poison the leaves that breathe initiative into my lungs.
welcome with parted lips the sweet sap to sustain and inspire.
thinking lots about how much time I pour into holding on to earthly ties, then equal amounts of time spent trying to let go.  from earth I came, to earth I will go.
 Jul 2016
Just Me R
Shadows cast upon broken souls
By those who tread on tired toes
Who see nothing below their ignorant nose
As their own selfish ego grows

Shameful deceit they will feed
Beyond their own insatiable greed
Trampling anyone under their feet
Forgetting their maker one day to meet
 Jul 2016
The Dedpoet
"If you live long enough in the dark,
          You can see and appreciate
                  Everything in the light"

                       Dedpoet
 Jul 2016
Dr Strange
So this is happening
This is really happening

We call them soldiers
Killing machine that fight for peace
As everything around them is blown to smithereens
They die for a good cause we like to say
Not truly acknowledging that sacrifice they just made
Their dead...
The blood that trickles down stream clearly indicates that
That's something we have become too acquainted with actually
Never truly had a problem with leaving our own behind
Even though in the beginning we preach just the opposite
****, we're sick
Infected with this disease to send one another out to die alone
As we watch them cry begging go home
But there is no home, not for us
If we don't win there will only be misery
Blood rivers that come together to form masses big enough to drown in
But it's the same story even if we do win
Nothing but death

**to be continued
Just a story that has been ignored as many times as it been told
everyday you pick up the hammer
you hit on the head of the nail
words surround you madly clamor
you can't make head or tail.

rarely the nail penetrates the wall
oftener it breaks by the blow
all that's hidden inside the skull
more refuse than pour out to flow.

you drive the nail's head with your might
wishing it goes all the way
miss in the wrath to hit it right
fail in what you badly need to say.

the hammer gets blunt slows your hand
you are saddened no progress is made
on the next day the same place you stand
looking at the twisted nail's head.
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