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 Jun 2019
Caitlin
The world gave me flowers
And I crushed them with my feet
The world gave me sunshine
And I hid beneath my sheets
The world gave me laughter
And I cried myself to sleep
The world gave me air
And I filled my lungs with smoke
The world gave me water
And I consumed myself with poison
The world gave me freedom
And I enslaved myself to habits
The world gave me chances
And I threw most all away
The world gave me calm
And I turned my life to chaos
The world showed me comfort
And I feared it weren’t true
The world offered me forgiveness
And I am eternally grateful for its gifts
 Jun 2019
MrunaliniDNimbalkar
Poems I write for hobby sake for chap books great they make .

Art of giving words a life is a legacy so old , the charm and style simply unfold .
Here I am the super power,
Igniting sparks of positive desire.

Completely lost in the world of words so dear.
My love for books becomes clear.

Rhyming with the rhythm of words , caressing the art of creating a verse .
Attributing  to being a poet with a purpose .

Contributing to the humanity in all making myself confidant and tall .
By fabricating beautiful stories ,
I'm
Pleased offering everlasting memories .

© Mrunalini.D.Nimbalkar
28.06.2019
Poem acoustic
(P)  Pleased
(O) Offering
        (E) Everlasting
     (M) Memories
A try at giving a depth to poetry in general.
Truely  believe the world of poetry transports one in a dreamland and a poet contributes so much of depth to the otherwise mundane things in life...kudos to all poets ....respect....
 Jun 2019
Cné
eyes of ocean blue
grayed by darken skies cry rain
drown in flooding waves
a storm of sad thoughts
 Jun 2019
Pagan Paul
.
Through a forest glade
and down a narrow path
there stands a sacred tree
with its heart torn in half.

Bramble clings to its trunk
ivy covers over its bark,
reaching up for the light
fighting against the dark.

Forgotten by the woods,
ignored in a crowded place,
for it yearns for attention,
just a little tender grace.



© Pagan Paul (27/06/19)
.
 Jun 2019
The Concrete Poet
Eyes.

Eyes,
they can
tell us oh
so much if
we dare to
peer deeply
enough.

More than
a
"window to
the soul"
but rather
the meeting
place for
everything
about you
in the universe
to go... ..

and to
grow

into an
unforgettable write
by
Edgar Allen Poe

and a place
where,

me, alas... ..
is filled with
very little
woe.

Behind those
eyes are where
life lives
and where
life dies.

Stare if
you must
because,

behind
my eyes is
an enchantment
of
paradise's
skies.
 Jun 2019
Pagan Paul
.
All was quiet
the Lord and Lady retired,
courtiers all gone to bed,
the Great Hall silent.
Hounds slumberingly snored
next to the dying embers
of a cooling Inglenook,
occasional crackles popping
as the heat catches wood resin,
it splatters and dies.
A lute lays idle
amongst the mess of banquet
as a lonely secretive figure
detaches from the shadows,
prowling through the detritus.
Slim fingers pick up the lute
and gently strums a chord,
the Minstrel exits stage left,
to compose and construct
new songs and ribald stories
from this nights celebrations.
Retiring to his chamber
his eyes stare balefully
at an uneaten bowl of stew,
the gruel of his station,
a metaphor for the content
of a nearby journal,
closed but waiting,
for a quill rich in ink
to fill its void
with the musings of a Fool.



© Pagan Paul (26/06/19)
.
 Jun 2019
Andrew Guzaldo c
“Once I did love her as everyone knew,
And the Elysium can adjure to such,
Globules of love still trickle in my soul,
And benevolence of pain fills my heart,

I loved her endlessly even of her cynically sense,
Sometimes hesitant and at other times resentful,
Loving her regardless of her ambitious benevolence,
As tears is infamously brief the brow of my cheek,

She was the shadow of darkness that hid from me,  
Will a new love me with an obverse passionate fervor?
The globules of anamnesis drip from my heart and soul
Are these pieces of my soul that still cling to her?

Nor can I descent from despair from this I once loved,
Inescapable moments of life are as sure as leaves fall,  
As clouds form before a storm and the sun sets in eve,
As glacial flowers have fallen upon my latent heart,
And from ethereal hopes to a crevice of vicissitudes,    
By Andrew Guzaldo 06/25/2019 ©
By Andrew Guzaldo 06/25/2019 ©  #Poem#161 HP
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