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 Nov 2015
Kati Davis
A Curse or A Blessing

Time is a gift
a healer
it heals the wounds we
have yearned to close
it heals the times we
long to forget
it's a healer
friendships grow stronger with each passing hour
couples loving every minute they are together
families enjoying the second spent together
but
time is a curse
a stealer
poison to our blood
venom that there is no cure too
the only known thing that will never stop
you cannot out run time
it will always win in the end
it’s a stealer
it will tear us apart
our skin going wrinkly
creasing
our minds no longer young and free
held down
by the weight of the world
causing us to lose ourselves
time is a
stealer
it steals our breath
beauty
innocence
time
is the reason why we
learn from our mistakes
we will never make the same one twice
why our internal wounds close
that gaping hole through our heart
that seems to always bleed
seals as
time goes on
why we have to die
why we grow old
why we lose our innocence
everything will leave
the sun will lose its light
the lights that keeps us warm
is slowly fading
the icebergs are slowly melting
the world a little more worried about what
will happen in
10 years
20
30
40
50
years
we are becoming engulfed
the wave is about to
crash over our head
drowning us
making us count the minutes
until the class is over
high school is over
college is over
a job is over
a hard time is over
we count each passing minute
hour
year
till we are finished
we think now we can take a break
but time doesn’t take a break
it stops for no one
and no thing
now
we have to realize
the wave has crashed over
drowning us
filling our lungs with the moments
that we wish would be over
not the moments we can’t forget
each passing hour filling
our head with moments
that make us think
and wonder when
we get a break
the wave has drowned us
the wave of time.  
Time has won
it always will
the wrinkles on our skin  
prove that
the ice that is melting
the sun that is fading away
the world run by technology
the power
being abused
the hope that keeps us living
one day after another
after all time does in the end
takes our breath away
is part of times plan
we are chess pieces
in time’s game and
we always seem to be in checkmate
checkmate

checkmate

checkmate
again and again
we are losing our sanity to time
the ice melting
proves that
our resources diminishing
proves that
why can’t we out run time?
Because time will keep on ticking


tick tock
goes the clock.
 Nov 2015
Willa Kong
A white page
The blankness staring mockingly at me
Mocking what I haven’t done
What I should’ve done
And what will never be done

A pencil
The tip barely brushing the surface
Yet staying paralyzed with no courage to scrape across
Knowing that the smudges will stay as scars
And forever mar the picture

Time flows forward
The page staying perfectly blank
No mistakes and no accidents
Perfection at its best
Surrounded with the pure whiteness of fear
To signify the regrets I had and the picture I should be painting on my page.
 Nov 2015
Chris Fernandez
News flash; Must dash.

Alert Bulletin, Networks dial in

Database updating, Query refreshing

Analytics fluctuating, Hits, Clicks, Subscriptions

Trending full swing, #Harbinge

Attention demanding, bittersweet pinging,

Swipe, select,

open link,

accept,

my story I’ve made for you.
With respects to the Nigerian Prince who's transferring me $10bn.
 Nov 2015
MindInTheClouds
Time ticks and ticks as the writer’s mind fails to click.
Paper blank white
And obsidian ink drips.
Ideas passes through the writer’s mind, but cannot seem to make it flow.
Where to start?
Where to go?
A hero girl ready to start a new adventure?
But later wakes and finds herself in the middle of an English literature lecture?
No, no. Too cliche.
Give her flaws and write in a difficult situation.
Like perhaps
And have her sail to her next destination!

Sorry, I got writers block… couldn’t finish the poem. Bye.
 Nov 2015
Rowan Jack
Running around, always trying to finish first.
Guess that's why we call it the human race.
 Nov 2015
Riya
The ghost of survivors guilt can be so unkind.
It haunts me even in my dreams
Every Single Night,
Taunting me for living and breathing right,
Showing me that this cruel, cruel world
Really is plight.
 Nov 2015
The uniVerse
Age is just a number
to keep track of the lines on ones face
it has nothing to do with our character
or social grace.
What truly defines us
is our life experiences;
birth and death
ill health and stress
marriage and divorce
love and *******.

Our age doesn't equate to intelligence or wisdom
its just a stage of the skin that we've lived in
just because we were born on a certain day
doesn't mean we have to act a certain way
in fact the only thing with certainty
is that we're all unique
like snowflakes
what truth we seek
and path we take.

No need to rely on horoscopes
or what's written in the stars
they're just a joke
like tarot cards
our life is our own making
opportunities are there for the taking
so no matter what, never give in.
 Nov 2015
Sofia Kioroglou
The looking-glass self

Your stabs hit me exactly where you hope they would
with such ferocity that gouges out all vanity and conceit.
A knife ****** through the illusions of my bloated ego,
An ugly distortion of an inner image through a plastic glass
which finally crumpled with me looking at the looking-glass self.
The poem deals with illusions and projections we all indulge in but hopefully other people's mordacity and severe criticism unveil the guise of a soul on high horses- a chastening and purifying experience
 Nov 2015
Ambika Jois
Roses are red,
Violets are violet.
Poets can lie to rhyme,
We can't keep our minds all that quiet.
 Nov 2015
Aron L Garchitorena
You said I was
enough. Saying I was
meant you shouldn't have left.
How many times do our
cats call you every night?
They look for a person
on your bedside. I lie
to them saying you would
come back. One day,
they were missing you,
crying; it is also the sound of my heart
falling apart.
I felt sick. Picking up pieces
of myself, as futile as making a castle
in the sand, to be washed away by the waves.

And so I left home to
find solace in another's embrace.
Countless women I've met, used
to the unfamiliar cielings and
epiphany I have when morning came,
that her embrace is not yours,
your lips aren't the one
I kissed. The devil
must be so happy but
inside me I am empty.

Every passing day and night,
amidst all imperfect smiles, and
hollow moans and laughter,
I touch my chest
to look for
anyone in it. I miss
the cry of our cats.
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