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 Mar 2017
Miranda
I've learned that Time is only the indication of one thing: Time.
It determines the seconds, minutes, hours as they pass
But it can't determine the rate at which a person falls.

First sight;

first smell;

first touch
,
Important factors in the drop.

First laugh;

first kiss;

first hug,

Time doesn't get to determine how quickly he learns to make your heart stop.

I've always had these rules because Time told me they were right.

"Can't eat until that time."

"Can't shower until this time."

Can't give my heart away to a man after 28 days
Because Time claims, 'Too soon.'

But Time doesn't see the details.
It can't stop it's ticker, pause,
and see the way his hands make your body quiver.
No,
time doesn't get to take a break
to feel the way his eyes gaze at you
as if he has never seen anything more beautiful.
And time can't feel the breath your lungs take
at the simple sight of him.

I've always had these rules because Time told me they were necessary.
And when he told me of the love he felt after 21 days,
I looked to time who yelled,
"Too soon, too soon, too soon, he can't possibly feel that now."
But then I look at him
and I can see the way he looks at me.
I get to feel the gentleness of his touch
and the intensity of his kiss.
Time can only pass.
And I've realized that time will pass,
whether you let yourself fall too soon
or if you allow the passing minutes
to inform you of when it's okay to start loving someone.
Time can only indicate the time.
Time counts the seconds.
But time does not get to tell me when it's okay to feel anymore.
 Mar 2017
Grez
Why did the sun not rise today
Why was the sky not bright today
Leaving darkness there to stay
I'm scared, dawn has not arrived today.

Or that my eyes are closed?
Unable to see
The straws I clutch are not enough
To replace the sense I've lost.

Craving imagery,
where there is none to be found.
Appreciate feedback
 Mar 2017
Grez
He started to write once.
A prompt 'Birthday, Christmas, socks I don't miss.
What do you even feel from a mistletoe kiss?'

No poem formed as time escaped him.
No inspiration arrived to complete it.
The prompt remained a prompt,
a point in time to show his arrogance.
He felt too great for the family he had.

As time escapes,
Friends drift
Skin sags
Days drag
Fun has gone.

His family. Gone.

In old age the poem is finished.

'Birthday, Christmas, socks I don't miss.
What do you even feel from a mistletoe kiss?
I'd give anything
to go back to this.'
Appreciate what you have, you never know when it will be gone.
 Mar 2017
Essen Dossev
If you should be lost
the police report
will ask me
to describe you.

I will say, “He is
the one with the gaze
that could sink a ship
and the laugh
that could bring it to life again.”
 Mar 2017
Louise Ruen
I don’t know which feeling you bring out in me the most:
Love or powerlessness
You are my oxygen but lately there’s only nitrogen in the air

Everytime you look at me with those puppy eyes I see your love for me burning like a sun, but currently my sky has been overcasted with clouds and rain.
You say there’s nothing I can do to make you feel better, that it’s not my fault.
But how am I supposed to see you hurting like that? If feels like sandpaper scratching both my mind and my skin, and there’s not long till the blood will start to spill.
I don’t know what else I can do but push, push, push, and I don’t know if I’m pushing you over the edge.

I know I can’t force you to be happy
I don’t want to either
And I’m cool with being the most important aspect of your life
But I don’t think I can be the only one anymore

*I love you.
You’re the smartest, most handsome and kindest person I know.
I want to be with you
Why can’t you understand you are what means the most to me?
Why can’t you understand that I’m really ******* trying? Am I the only one?
Why can’t you understand that I need you to care?
Life goes up and down, left and right, and maybe someday we'll actually cross paths.
 Mar 2017
Bjørn O Holter
Silent strings are stronger still
than many, strong with each other.
True to itself, if true at all
or but the echo of a mother:

An echo, an echo but higher.
An echo, not embers but fire.
A thunderstorm in June at sea
to petrify and admire.

Single strings sing higher pitches
undestracted and unaccompanied.
Shining their own sun sincerely,
unfettered, let loose and freed:

Alone, alone but living.
Alone, unheard but singing.
A hidden diamond in the dirt;
competing not but winning.
A poem looking at the bright sides of being alone.
 Mar 2017
SG Holter
Something like Mozart -only not-
Swinging from her
Speakers as her
Sofa gets barely wide enough
For two desert wandering souls
Approaching the same
Water.

Same pure,
Simple, simple water.
Something like perfume,
Only not, floating sweetly
On my hands, as as
Vivid a ghost as any of any
Living thing I've felt in ages.

The boys and Lennon sang
Truth. Sometimes, all you
Need is
Love. Any kind.
Any intensity.
Any sort of
Sensitivity.

Anything like Einaudi's piano
Will wake it up again;  
That tattoo on the face
Of Time and Space where
You took
Something you were given
With a steady hand.
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