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 Aug 2015 David Hall
Graff1980
I only write when the light has faded
When the day has been downgraded
To the cool evening I am celebrating
When different dark shadings paint the landscape

I only write when the sun is shining
When daylight is divining
All the secret we are finding
Shadows no longer conceal how we feel

I only write on days that end in y
If even you have to ask me why
Then why even try
I just write
 Aug 2015 David Hall
M
maturity
 Aug 2015 David Hall
M
maturity is staring life straight in the face
and being willing to live it.
I'm writing this a bit after I wrote the original poem: upon further reflection it seems to me that it is problematic to say to people with depression that they are immature- and that is not my intention at all. Anyone who wants to die (which is not mutually exclusive to depression) because of mental illness is obviously exempt from the idea presented in the above poem. Mental illness is not something I am qualified to speak on nor do I consider myself capable on commenting on such a thing and it would be ridiculous for me to do so. This therefore is a standard that I hold myself to, alone, as a person without mental illness; therefore it does not apply to someone that has mental illness.

That being said, this poem is intended to focus on the day to day activities we partake in as a human race and the maturity that comes with accepting things as-they-are rather than how we wish them to be. There comes a time when people grow up and decide that life is worth living, every single bit of it. And that is what I'm talking about.
 Aug 2015 David Hall
L
14w
 Aug 2015 David Hall
L
14w
When men cheat, it's below the belt. When women cheat, it's above the neck.
**
Leigh
 Aug 2015 David Hall
Helen
you don't understand how long some people have been here
you don't understand the changes we've seen
you don't understand how much we've longed for the people to
be who they be
you don't understand how it breaks our hearts
to see such infighting
bought to our world from other pages
used to back biting
you don't understand, for us
that have believed from the start
that Hello Poetry was once a place
where we always laid our heart
we gave over our life to this place
we endured every change
when you see something different here
know we have suffered more than this strange
once upon a time
in an awesome time and place
when people googled

Poetry
they found this space
they found inspiration
they found laughter that never ends
they found confidantes and a place
to plant
a never ending garden of friends
So if you're from another site
drawn here by the skin of tooth
sit a while in our midnight garden
and I'll speak to you a truth

Hello Poetry has been my best friend
for over 5 years, and all the friends
I've found on here, they've danced beneath my laugh, and held onto me so tight
that if I ever fall so wrong, they'll make
it all right


And that's the saddest thing
about Hello Poetry today...
is that most don't try
to make true friends
really real friends
or interact with them
in any meaningful way
Honestly, in over 5 years I've seen it all, every single change, the arguments, the kisses, the makeups, the losses and the successes... what I really hate to see is the pettiness, the juvenile and puerile ugliness that escapes from another shore, only to find themselves washed upon our beach.... Sorry, we roast such sorry carcasses, then we eat!

26/08/2015 - I am truly stoked to see this as the Daily and humbled but so very proud by the comments and sharing of my heartfelt desire for you all to see HP as I do.... Home. Thank you everyone :)
 Aug 2015 David Hall
PrttyBrd
He loved me once
With exuberance and joy
He loved me once
And saw my flaws as perfection
He loved me once
And helped me to love myself
He loved me once
With all that he is
He loved me once
With an honest soul much like my own
He loved me once
And made me believe in forever
He loved me once
With neither question nor doubt
He loved me once
And in a flash of perception
All I can say is...
He loved me once
82515
Nothing changed
Yet all is altered
I ruin joy
her innocence is soluble
when dipped in
expectations,
her mirror;
like the bottom
of dinner plates,
her wrists are
tire marks on
gravel roads,
she sees not
what we see
but in what he
sees is what
she cares
but who is he
now?
a riptide splitting
face paint
saturday nights,
veins of toxins,
staring at roadkill
and streetlights
and garbage
hugging curb-sides
mixed with dust
days followed
with headaches
and remorse
dying not
I can see it in her
eyes
she’s only 16
                           MJB
this hit's home, and home is family.
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