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Sometimes, love is
Putting a knife to your heart,
And letting someone else
Grab the handle.

- M.S.
My biggest fear
Isnt the monster
Beneath my bed
But is the monster
In my head.
Just random thoughts
We all do try and write for a reason
and each have different things to say
at some particular time or season
we've got to express our thoughts that way.

It doesn't really matter who you are
or in what part of the world living
even if you're unknown or reside far
they're likely your words to be reading.

The 'net has brought distant people to us
who now can read what we have to say
in sharing our inner thoughts between us
together spending some time each day.

At times we do touch on the same subject
which isn't surprising there to see
for then we look forward to the prospect
of helping each other better be.

Many poems posted are badly written
so are, it seems, a few of my own
and takes lots of courage if you're smitten
when you're told or by another shown.

The world has so many problems of late
that some people out there try to fix
because a lot of them are based on hate
where both greed and lust are in the mix.

It would be wrong to ignore this fact now
which is tempered by rising anger
if they don't get what they expect somehow
that reward to offset their languor.

There are also many who suffer from
some kind of mental illness or stress
aggravated by their fear of that bomb
which if ever it's used cause a mess.

Such are the symptoms anyone can notice
when some of the poetry is read
that people have posted with their focus
on the internet by what they've said.

But this isn't mentioned here to scare you
only to highlight what one can see
and would be wrong here to say if untrue;
we'll try to help all those to get free.

There are also some who are harsh critics
and dispute your work to ridicule;
if it's on religion and they're cynics
asking clever dumb questions to fool.

Some of those last mentioned are persistent
and attack your work most of the time;
being doubtful poets laced with words bent
they'll try and accuse you of a crime.

They remind me so much of John X:Ten
or the Pharisee and Sadducee
that were written of long ago back then
finding fault with the One Who was free.

Being amidst them as the Living Truth;
speaking and acting with deep wisdom
He was destined to do since early youth
to help all people find real freedom.

From all of the things holding them captive
whether in body, mind or spirit
with divine knowledge, also to forgive
those who had done wrong and knowing it.

The 'net is a vast database of knowledge
and where poetry is there concerned
those who write, post, and read it all to pledge
never to forsake what has been learned.
______
Written late last year over the Christmas period.
 Feb 2017 Deranged Mind
yuki
there are some days
when the absence of stars
turns the horizon into
a beautiful void

there are some days
when my ears deafen
not from brilliant supernovas
but the beating of my heart.
just a footnote,
i don't want to write about love. don't get me wrong, i love writing about it, i just don't 'want' to, maybe some time to time but  i realized i've been making metaphors, rhymes, and alike for the sake of writing about it. there are other things i'm interested in but i guess i'm just scared for the transition? i don't really know. i try to please my readers, i forget to please myself.
 Feb 2017 Deranged Mind
Quinn
i worked endlessly to extract the pieces of you from my brain,
silently sawed my skull open as i slept and plucked each
memory of us moving towards forever together with the
tweezers you left behind from that time you got a splinter and i
held you tenderly as i removed tree matter from your skin

that's one of the first ones that came back, followed by us
riding our bikes to the beach to drink beers and celebrate one year
even though the storm was coming and we only had that one old
ratty towel, i photographed you there and often looked at that image
of you after alcohol ruined us both and turned you into someone without
eyes that were smiling and skin no longer tender from being punctured with ink

i hid in that image of you, bronzed and perfect, content and looking
ahead to following me across the country to become a permanent
fixture in the family unit we had created over 3,000 miles away from
the one i was trying to escape, you were the one who reminded me
that there never really was escape, only ignorance, and i laughed at you,
wondering why you would damper our dreams with what i considered sadness

now the tears surround me, a curtain to the outside world that soaks
me in all i had worked so hard to lose, all i had refused to look in the eye,
all i had thought left me the moment i left you, but in all of my forgetting i had lost
sight of the understanding that pain doesn't fade that way, only tucks itself away
silently and patiently waiting for the relaxation, the lack of resistance, the remembrance

— The End —