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My head hurts
because you're forcing my jaw
shut
where you once
opened up an easy smile
 Mar 2014 Edward Alan
Red Bergan
The moon glowed,
The lake sparkled.
It was all beautiful to baffle.

Figures danced into view,
bounding beyond their limits.
They knew this trance.

The lake was their call,
As was their mother.
Nature has its ways,
It knows one another.

The children hath danced before,
Careless and free.

Free from the chains,
That bound their souls to be.

Soul is a strong spirit,
It will persevere.
Beyond that limit,
Your explosive sphere.

Look into the lake,
With your glowing eyes.

Accept thy fate,
to become a firefly.

Wings spring,
Cries laugh.
You fly above the surface,
Free as a hawk.

The winged ones are hidden,
Beyond the world today.
They are Elves, Sprites
Of mythology today.
elven Dance.
 Mar 2014 Edward Alan
Mohd Arshad
Follow your passion;
For you awaits a great life,
then bliss will shower.
 Mar 2014 Edward Alan
Maddie Fay
i'm infatuated
with mysteries and contradictions.
i am drawn
to dreamy eyes and optimism,
to fire and revolution.

sometimes i think i love ideas
more than people,
and that is a lonely way to be.
2014: 11
If you want me to listen, I will listen
but don't think I won't say how I feel,
because I will, and I won't be sorry.
I'm only trying to help, and if you're
used to sugarcoat answers then be my
guest at living a life full of avoiding
truths instead of accepting them.
 Mar 2014 Edward Alan
Michele Z
In the thin glass
I see a reflection
of dark brown hair,
a pale complexion.

My eyes are mirrors themselves,
a window to my soul,
displaying my true feelings,
showing my hope.

Showing you my deeper meaning,
for I am lost inside,
but you can not see
because my eyes can hide the real me.

                                                                       -MLZ
I read in three different places that night.
on the chair. on the bench. on the floor up the stairs.
Chair: I felt him watch the words under my hands.
I hoped he was watching my face.
Bench: all the same except our knees were touching and
when it got too loud to focus, he pulled me up the stairs.
Blocked from the doors' green room behind,
we slid to the ground.
Stairs: Closer than before, or maybe I was imagining things.
Keats' Ode     on a Grecian Urn and on Melancholy and to Autumn on
my lips as I try to piece together what's happening right then, in life and on page.
too many poems about lovers for my head to think straight.
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