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 2490ยฐ 
Dominique Simeus
Sweet was the ancient tale once told,
Of star-born realms and skies above,
When primal hearts, though proud and bold,
Still held the thread of love.

From rose-hued lands where dreamers grew,
No scorn arose, nor warlike word.
โ€˜Twixt cultures old, the wise and true
A gentle peace was heard.          

The sea lay calm, the waves moved slow,
While birds sang high on salted air.
The stars, the moon, and myths below--  
Drew hearts with gentle care.

When Orpheus, with lyre in hand,
Could charm the trees and still the shore,
He sang not just of deathโ€™s dim land,
But love that dared for more.

And songs poured out, both wide and bright,
Unbound by ticking clocks or schemes.
A joy unspoiled by neon light
Still stirs in silent dreams.

No noise, no screen, no hollow glow,
Just fireside tales and open skies--
A world less fast, yet rich to know,
Where wonder met the eyes.

But now, a broken engine hums,
Where whispers clash and meanings blur.
Though minds are fed, the heart succumbs--
In dreamy shadows stir.

This modern sprawl, in steel-clad guise,
Sees freedom drown and ruins swell.
While gilded dame with cunning eyes,
Buys silence, sells the shell.

Sweet childhood homes that most recall,
Still mourn the loss of treasured views.
While elders chase the sirenโ€™s call,
The Futures drown in hues.

O bitter jest, this march of mind,
That trades the soul for hastened days.
Where hearts and minds are redesigned
By profitโ€™s clever maze.

Progress cloaked where truths are wrung
May blind the heart and charm the tongue;
But in the hush, old songs are sung--
Still bold, still clear, still young.
                                                          ยญ    Naturae consors esto
 1486ยฐ 
girlinflames
When I read
poems from the past,
I barely understand them.

I try, yesโ€”
but they are minds
from another time.

It takes time
to connect with them.

Then I imagine myself:
will they, in the future,
read the poems I write to you
and understand
anything at all?
 751ยฐ 
The Unsaid
you,
you get me.
like a cold whisper wrapped in chrome,
a sharp promise in a strangerโ€™s home.
you donโ€™t knock.
you donโ€™t wait.
you slip in,
like silence disguised as fate.

you found me,
where ache sang loud,
where sleep ran dry,
where love and connection died,
and nothin' was allowed
but painโ€”
and the desire
to make it stop.

so I picked you up.
slammed hope down with the plunger,
felt the fire hum
as it rolled like thunder
through my veinsโ€”
and everything went
quiet.

and in that quiet,
he was there..
in the burn, the gasp for air,
his ghost pulled up a chairโ€”
like we were finally real.
not just words.
not in time.
just this..
this ritual.
this ruin.

maybe itโ€™s grief.
maybe itโ€™s love.
maybe I miss him enough
to hurt myself to get close
just one last time.

you,
you see the real me.
no mask, no dilution,
raw, like nerve exposed.
you donโ€™t judge.
you donโ€™t speak.
you sink in deep.
you let me bleed.
you gave me peace.
you gave me space
to dream of some place
soft and slowโ€”
between the devil and death's
kind reliefโ€”
anywhere but here.

you left tracks like poetry.
the monster stirred
but i didn't worry,
didn't breathe a word,
you brought me back,
for seconds at a time.
in that blur, in that high,
feel the pull from within the tide,
i sign the song of the the needleโ€™s rhyme.

thatโ€™s the madnessโ€”
the comfort in staying sad.
found home in loneliness.
you arenโ€™t the high.
youโ€™re the hand that held it.
the lie
that knew Iโ€™d always sell it
to myself.
time and time again.

o needle,
you elegant reaper,
you plastic preacher,
you quiet sleeper,
you stitched a father
to his son
in bloodโ€”
not bondโ€”
and called it love.

but I will reach again,
with my hands undone.
one more breath,
one more run,
still, every time I wonder,
if the needleโ€™s already won.
addiction was my coping mechanism. it certainly wasn't the right solution, but it was a solution, nonetheless. slowly killing me with poison, while saving me from heart ache. this isn't a love poem about addiction, its the realization that grief and love are opposite ends of the same emotion.
 655ยฐ 
Shay Caroline Simmons
While I stared at the moon
summer slept with death's black rooster,
her garland tethered to his three toes
with their talons sharp as testament.

While I stared at the moon
frost made love to my bones,
each on its proper shelf like dishes
in a house with snakes for silver.

While I stared at the moon
half-dead men danced with half-mad women
though neither was excited, and neither calm.
Roses twined and cut them both with promises.

While I stared at the moon
my fetch sat down on a river stone,
grinning with the morning in its pocket.
I wept and the night ate my heart like a truffle.
2025
 623ยฐ 
Path Humble
you stand on your own two legs

you stand straight,
begin wherever fate
has you fall in,
but well remember,
wherever the line dance snakes to, 
direction and destination,
you remain you-true,
on your own humble path,
be ever-wary of the snakes
traveling along side you
 352ยฐ 
Nat Lipstadt
a birthday poem for S.

perhaps, this is the responsibility, the purposeful gentility,
that poetry engenders, that thwarts the impulse to anger,
guiding away, finding a way, to temper the temper, to out
and joust away our basest, our first, but never our foremost
nor finest, succinct instinct, yet terrible human nonetheless...

perhaps, this is where we hide, neath our carnival masque,
our-would-be better selves, and struggle in this, this intensity intentional,

the season's change is subtly blatant, not obvious 'cept to those
who have a front seat, a well worn Adirondack chair in the nook
where the airy breeze offers fruits of words so easy, pluck words
as easy as breathing, and the slight gradation change, in the light and
temperature, and yet, the suns cares not, for it still warms my body,
though lower and slower, nonetheless, when the heat invades my soul, confirming my, our, existence,

burning off the fog of our contradictory confusions,
and eliciting an unsolicited
"thank you god"
for my, our personal miracle of re~birthing
and better comprehending,
that other
miracle we can embrace
never enough

loving kindness

sun~mon
sep 14~15
twenty twenty five
The phrase "to tame the savageness of man" is part of a larger quote, often attributed to the ancient Greek playwright Aeschylus, which reads, "Tame the savageness of man and make gentle the life of this world". This powerful sentiment was also famously quoted by Robert F. Kennedy, who attributed his translation to Edith Hamilton, and it calls for humanity to overcome its darker impulses for the sake of a more compassionate and peaceful existence
 275ยฐ 
girlinflames
Sometimes,
you need to sing
to yourselfโ€”

just to remember
you are still heard.
 273ยฐ 
The Invisible Poet
I wish I was gregarious
so open and social
I wish I could go up to someone
and talk to them
without the little voice in my head screaming
"they're judging you
they hate you
they think you're a freak"
once that little voice speaks
I hide in my shell
and sociality ceases before it even started
I wish I was gregarious
and had friends here
my soul aches for companionship
instead of holed up in my room
scared of what others think of me
I want to be social
I want to be outgoing
but I'm my biggest obstacle  
I need to try and try and try
otherwise I'll die alone
wondering where I went wrong
maybe being gregarious isn't natural
maybe it's something learned
and perfected
until walking up to someone to say hi
isn't an incapable task
gregarious: (of a person) fond of company; sociable
 266ยฐ 
William A Gibson
And the fish swim in the lake
and do not even own clothing.
โ€“ Ezra Pound

How would they style themselves for the net,
the little fishes of the lake?
Not robes of purity, Ezra,
but sequins cut from trash,
brands bright as lures,
fashioned to catch the eye, a glint of sun.

Would the big ones ******* knockoff fins
to flex in shark cosplay near the shore,
snapping reels in the reeds,
captioned #greatwhitevibes #apexpredator?

Would carp veil themselves in algae,
funeral couture,
posting stories of their grief in green?

Would they admire the fishery tags:
industrial piercings they canโ€™t remove,
or the hook-slit scars from catch-and-release,
each one a verified badge,
proof they were trending once, briefly,
before sinking out of frame?

Would they tilt to the waterโ€™s glass,
checking which gill looks slimmer,
tails arched like influencers at golden hour,
the shimmer hiding shame,
the shame we taught them to wear?
 265ยฐ 
ABB
Today is my birthday,
Iโ€™m turning eleven.
My one wish is that when Iโ€™m twenty,  
I still feel like seven.
I hear yelling,
An explosion of pandemonium.
I rush downstairs,
Tripping over them.
My smile stretches from wall to wall
I see my loving parents,
Knives in hand,
And at each otherโ€™s throats.
The smile fades.
No wishes of any kind.
I return to my room.
Take pencils.
And make myself blind.  

โ€” from my chapbook Glass Three Quarters Empty
 242ยฐ 
Aaron Combs
โ€œOceans Above Venusโ€

by AR Combs

There are oceansโ€”
a thousand crystal oceansโ€”
above Venus and her moons,
swimming in constellations,
an endless orange stream
of stars and angels,
falling like rain,
dripping like prayer,
soaking our old home.

So dance with meโ€”closeโ€”
upon our red rooftop.
Letโ€™s breathe the slow breeze,
as moonlight unites the oceans in the sky
and washes over the Brazilian seashore;

for it heals
the soul
of the green earth.

All the old sycamores,
the owls, the hawks,
even the snakesโ€”
they run now,
chasing their existence.

So hold onโ€”
onto my words
like your wedding ring.
Let me hold you close.

For in the quiet, broken night,
I can feel your heartbeat,
your emotions
running like rivers.
Let me hear the rhythm of your desires,
the pulse of your dreams,
the flame of your waiting ambition.

Let thisโ€”
let this moment
separate you from fear,
as I listen to the drums
of your heartโ€”
here.

Take my hand.

Let my voice
unlock creation,
echo in the languages
of your dreams and desiresโ€”
for how I do love you.

Now seeโ€”
the moonlight rules the stars,
painting grace
into the silence.

And just so,
in that power,
like a crowned king,
I listen.

And I will openโ€”
I will unlock
the waves of your dreams.
 215ยฐ 
Keyara S Trotman
๐”‰๐”ฉ๐”ฌ๐”ฌ๐”ฏ ๐”ฆ๐”ฐ ๐”ถ๐”ฌ๐”ฒ๐”ฏ๐”ฐ
โ„‘๐”ซ ๐”ฑ๐”ฆ๐”ช๐”ข, ๐”ด๐”ข ๐”ฐ๐”ข๐”ข ๐”ฑ๐”ฅ๐”ข ๐”ฉ๐”ฆ๐”ค๐”ฅ๐”ฑ๐”ฆ๐”ซ๐”ค ๐”ฆ๐”ซ ๐”ฅ๐”ข ๐”ก๐”ฆ๐”ฐ๐”ฑ๐”ž๐”ซ๐” ๐”ข,
๐”–๐”ฅ๐”ž๐”ฉ๐”ฉ ๐”ด๐”ข ๐”ค๐”ฌ ๐”ฃ๐”ฆ๐”ซ๐”ก ๐”ฆ๐”ฑ, ๐”ฐ๐”ข๐”ž๐”ฏ๐” ๐”ฅ๐”ฆ๐”ซ๐”ค, ๐”ฑ๐”ฅ๐”ข ๐”Ÿ๐”ข๐”ž๐”ฒ๐”ฑ๐”ฆ๐”ฃ๐”ถ๐”ฆ๐”ซ๐”ค ๐”ฐ๐”ฆ๐”จ๐”ข๐”ซ๐” ๐”ข.
๐”‡๐”ฏ๐”ฆ๐”ณ๐”ข ๐”ฆ๐”ซ๐”ฑ๐”ฌ ๐”ฑ๐”ฅ๐”ข ๐”ก๐”ฆ๐”ฐ๐”ฑ๐”ž๐”ซ๐”ฑ, ๐”ฑ๐”ฅ๐”ข ๐”ก๐”ฆ๐”ฐ๐”ฑ๐”ž๐”ซ๐” ๐”ข ๐”ฆ๐”ซ ๐”ด๐”ฅ๐”ฆ๐” ๐”ฅ ๐”ฆ๐”ฐ ๐”Ÿ๐”ข๐”ฑ๐”ด๐”ข๐”ข๐”ซ ๐”ฒ๐”ฐ.
๐”‰๐”ฆ๐”ฏ๐”ข ๐”ฃ๐”ฆ๐”ฏ๐”ข ๐”ž๐”ด๐”ž๐”ถ, ๐”จ๐”ข๐”ญ๐”ฑ ๐”ฎ๐”ฒ๐”ฆ๐”ข๐”ฑ, ๐Ÿ™ˆ๐Ÿ™ˆ๐Ÿ™ˆ,
๐”…๐”ฌ๐”ด ๐”ž๐”Ÿ๐”ก ๐”ž๐”ฏ๐”ฏ๐”ฌ๐”ด๐”ฐ ๐”ž๐”ฆ๐”ช๐”ข๐”ก ๐”ž๐”ฑ โ„Œ.๐”ˆ.โ„œ.
๐”‡๐”ฌ ๐”ฆ๐”ฑ ๐”ฃ๐”ฌ๐”ฏ ๐”ฅ๐”ข๐”ฏ, ๐”ฃ๐”ฌ๐”ฏ ๐”ฅ๐”ข๐”ฏ ๐”ž๐”ซ๐”ก ๐”ฅ๐”ข๐”ฏ, ๐”ž๐”ฉ๐”ฉ ๐”ฌ๐”ณ๐”ข๐”ฏ ๐”ž๐”ค๐”ž๐”ฆ๐”ซ.
๐”—๐”ฅ๐”ข ๐”ค๐”ฆ๐”ฏ๐”ฉ๐”ฐ, ๐”ฑ๐”ฅ๐”ข ๐”ฐ๐”ฅ๐”ฆ๐”ซ๐”ฆ๐”ซ๐”ค ๐”Ÿ๐”ข๐”ž๐” ๐”ฌ๐”ซ๐”ฐ ๐”ฌ๐”ฃ ๐”ฑ๐”ฅ๐”ข ๐”ช๐”ฌ๐”ฏ๐”ซ๐”ฆ๐”ซ๐”ค, ๐”ซ๐”ฆ๐”ค๐”ฅ๐”ฑ, ๐”ข๐”ณ๐”ข๐”ซ๐”ฆ๐”ซ๐”ค. ๐”˜๐”ซ๐”ฑ๐”ฆ๐”ฉ ๐”ฑ๐”ฅ๐”ข ๐”ก๐”ž๐”ถ ๐”ฆ๐”ฐ ๐”ž๐”ด๐”ž๐”จ๐”ข๐”ซ. ๐”–๐”ฅ๐”ž๐”ฉ๐”ฉ ๐”ด๐”ข ๐”จ๐”ข๐”ข๐”ญ ๐”ค๐”ฌ๐”ฆ๐”ซ๐”ค?
๐”Ž๐”ฆ๐”ซ๐”ค๐”ฐ ๐”ž๐”ซ๐”ก ๐•ผ๐”ฒ๐”ข๐”ข๐”ซ๐”ฐ, ๐•ผ๐”ฒ๐”ข๐”ข๐”ซ๐”ฐ ๐”ฑ๐”ฌ ๐”Ž๐”ฆ๐”ซ๐”ค๐”ฐ.
๐”„๐”ฏ๐”ฆ๐”ฐ๐”ฆ๐”ซ๐”ค ๐”ž ๐”ซ๐”ข๐”ด ๐”ฐ๐”ฒ๐”ซ๐”ฐ๐”ฅ๐”ฆ๐”ซ๐”ถ ๐”ก๐”ž๐”ถ ๐”ฌ๐”ฏ ๐”ด๐”ฅ๐”ž๐”ฑ ๐”ฆ๐”ฃ...
"๐”ต๐”ฌ๐”ต๐”ฌ"~ ๐”ฑ๐”ฅ๐”ข ๐”ด๐”ข๐”ข๐”จ๐”ข๐”ซ๐”ก ๐”ฑ๐”ฆ๐”ฉ๐”ฉ ๐”ก๐”ž๐”ด๐”ซ ๐”ฅ๐”ฆ๐”ฑ๐”ฐ ๐”ฅ๐”ฆ๐”ค๐”ฅ, ๐”ž๐”ซ๐”ก ๐”ข๐”ซ๐” ๐”ฉ๐”ฌ๐”ฐ๐”ฆ๐”ซ๐”ค, ๐Ÿฅ‚,
๐Ÿ˜ตโ€๐Ÿ’ซ๐”๐”ฌ๐”ณ๐”ข ๐”ก๐”ฌ๐”ซ'๐”ฑ ๐” ๐”ฌ๐”ฐ๐”ฑ, ๐”ด๐”ฅ๐”ž๐”ฑ ๐”ด๐”ฆ๐”ฉ๐”ฉ ๐”ฆ๐”ฑ ๐” ๐”ฌ๐”ฐ๐”ฑ ๐”ฆ๐”ฃ ๐”ถ๐”ฌ๐”ฒ ๐”ฅ๐”ž๐”ก ๐”ฑ๐”ฌ ๐”ญ๐”ž๐”ถ ๐Ÿ˜ตโ€๐Ÿ’ซ
๐”‡๐”ฒ๐”ฑ๐”ถ ๐” ๐”ž๐”ฉ๐”ฉ๐”ฐ, "๐”ž๐”ซ๐”ค๐”ข๐”ฉ๐”ฐ ๐”ฐ๐”ž๐”ถ," "๐”ด๐”ฌ๐”ฒ๐”ฉ๐”ก ๐”ถ๐”ฌ๐”ฒ ๐” ๐”ฉ๐”ž๐”ฆ๐”ช ๐”ฐ๐”ž๐”ถ" ๐” ๐”ž๐”ฏ๐”ณ๐”ข๐”ก ๐”ž๐”ซ๐”ก ๐”ฆ๐”ฑ๐”ฐ ๐”ฐ๐”ฑ๐”ž๐”ซ๐”ก๐”ฆ๐”ซ๐”ค ๐”ฅ๐”ฌ๐”ด ๐”ฑ๐”ž๐”ฉ๐”ฉ?
๐”๐”ถ ๐”ฉ๐”ฌ๐”ณ๐”ข....."๐”ก๐”ข๐”ž๐”ฏ ๐”ก๐”ฆ๐”ž๐”ฏ๐”ถ, ๐”ก๐”ข๐”ž๐”ฏ ๐”ฆ ๐”ด๐”ž๐”ซ๐”ฑ๐”ฑ๐”ฅ๐”ฆ๐”ฐ ๐”ฅ๐”ข๐”ฏ๐”ข ๐”ช๐”ถ๐”ฐ๐”ฑ๐”ข๐”ฏ๐”ถ ๐”ฑ๐”ฌ ๐”Ÿ๐”ข ๐”ฐ๐”ฌ๐”ฉ๐”ณ๐”ข๐”ก, ๐”ฐ๐”ฌ๐”ฉ๐”ณ๐”ฆ๐”ซ๐”ค ๐”ฃ๐”ฌ๐”ฏ ๐”.๐”’.๐”™.๐”ˆ๐Ÿคญ
๐Ÿ™ˆ
๐Ÿฅ€
๐Ÿฅ‚
๐”ˆ๐”ซ๐”ฑ๐”ฆ๐” ๐”ข๐”ก ๐”ž๐”ซ๐”ก ๐”ฃ๐”ฌ๐”ฏ ๐”ช๐”ฌ๐”ฏ๐”ข ๐”ฃ๐”ฉ๐”ฌ๐”ด๐”ข๐”ฏ๐”ฐ ๐”ž๐”ซ๐”ก ๐”ช๐”ฌ๐”ฏ๐”ข, ๐”ฆ๐”ซ๐”ฃ๐”ฆ๐”ซ๐”ฆ๐”ฑ๐”ถ, ๐”ช๐”ฆ๐”ซ๐”ก ๐”ช๐”ฆ๐”ซ๐”ข๐”ฐ, ๐”ถ๐”ฌ๐”ฒ๐”ฏ๐”ฐ ๐”ข๐”ณ๐”ข๐”ฏ-๐”ฐ๐”ฆ๐”ซ๐” ๐”ข.
๐”‰๐”ฌ๐”ฏ๐”ค๐”ฌ๐”ฑ ๐”ฑ๐”ฅ๐”ข ๐”ช๐”ฌ๐”ฐ๐”ฑ ๐”ฆ๐”ช๐”ญ๐”ฌ๐”ฏ๐”ฑ๐”ž๐”ซ๐”ฑ ๐”ฑ๐”ฅ๐”ฆ๐”ซ๐”ค, ๐”ถ๐”ฌ๐”ฒ๐”ฏ ๐”ฅ๐”ž๐”ซ๐”ก๐”ฐ ๐”ฆ๐”ซ ๐”ฑ๐”ฅ๐”ข ๐”Ÿ๐”ž๐”ค, ๐” ๐”ž๐”ฑ๐” ๐”ฅ ๐”ž ๐”ด๐”ž๐”ณ๐”ข ๐”ฌ๐”ฏ ๐”ซ๐”ฌ๐”ฑ?
๊จ„โžถ๏ธŽโˆž๏ธŽ๏ธŽ

๐’ฎ๐’พโ„Š๐“ƒโ„ฏ๐’น~ ๐’ซ๐“Ž๐“‰ ๐’ฆ๐’พฬจ๐“€๐’พฬจ
๐Ÿ“Œ
๐’ข๐“โ„ด๐“‡๐“Ž๐“Ž๐“Ž๐“Ž๐“Ž ๐“‰โ„ด ๐“‰๐’ฝโ„ฏ โ„ด.๐“ƒ.โ„ฏ ๐’ถ๐“ƒ๐’น โ„ด๐“ƒ๐“๐“Ž
๐’ฒ๐“‡๐’พ๐“‰๐“‰โ„ฏ๐“ƒ~ ๐’ฎโ„ฏ๐“… 14, 2025
 184ยฐ 
DRK POET
๐•€ ๐•จ๐•’๐•ค๐•Ÿโ€™๐•ฅ ๐•๐• ๐• ๐•œ๐•š๐•Ÿ๐•˜ ๐•—๐• ๐•ฃ ๐•ž๐•’๐•˜๐•š๐•”,
๐”น๐•ฆ๐•ฅ ๐•ช๐• ๐•ฆ ๐•ค๐•™๐• ๐•จ๐•–๐•• ๐•ฆ๐•ก ๐•’๐•Ÿ๐•ช๐•จ๐•’๐•ช.
๐•Ž๐•– ๐•จ๐•–๐•ฃ๐•– ๐• ๐•ก๐•ก๐• ๐•ค๐•š๐•ฅ๐•–๐•ค,
๐”น๐•ฆ๐•ฅ ๐”พ๐• ๐••, ๐••๐•š๐••๐•Ÿโ€™๐•ฅ ๐•จ๐•– ๐•๐• ๐• ๐•œ ๐•“๐•–๐•’๐•ฆ๐•ฅ๐•š๐•—๐•ฆ๐• ๐•š๐•Ÿ ๐•ฅ๐•™๐•– ๐•ค๐•’๐•ž๐•– ๐•๐•š๐•˜๐•™๐•ฅ?  

๐•‹๐•™๐•ฃ๐•–๐•– ๐•ž๐• ๐•Ÿ๐•ฅ๐•™๐•ค ๐• ๐•— ๐•จ๐• ๐•ฃ๐••๐•ค,
๐•†๐•— ๐•ค๐• ๐•—๐•ฅ ๐•๐•’๐•ฆ๐•˜๐•™๐•ฅ๐•–๐•ฃ ๐•ฅ๐•™๐•ฃ๐• ๐•ฆ๐•˜๐•™ ๐•ค๐•”๐•ฃ๐•–๐•–๐•Ÿ๐•ค,
๐•†๐•— ๐•จ๐• ๐•Ÿ๐••๐•–๐•ฃ๐•š๐•Ÿ๐•˜ ๐•š๐•— ๐•ช๐• ๐•ฆโ€™๐•• ๐•—๐•–๐•–๐•
๐”ธ๐•ค ๐•˜๐• ๐• ๐•• ๐•’๐•ค ๐•ช๐• ๐•ฆ๐•ฃ ๐•ง๐• ๐•š๐•”๐•– ๐•ค๐• ๐•ฆ๐•Ÿ๐••๐•–๐••.  

๐”ธ๐•Ÿ๐•• ๐•ฅ๐•™๐•–๐•Ÿโ€”
๐•‹๐•™๐•– ๐•ž๐• ๐•ž๐•–๐•Ÿ๐•ฅ ๐•—๐•’๐•ฅ๐•– ๐•ค๐•ฅ๐•–๐•ก๐•ก๐•–๐•• ๐•š๐•Ÿโ€”
๐•๐• ๐•ฆ ๐•จ๐•’๐•๐•œ๐•–๐•• ๐•š๐•Ÿ๐•ฅ๐•  ๐•ž๐•ช ๐•จ๐• ๐•ฃ๐•๐••,
๐”ธ๐•Ÿ๐•• ๐•ค๐•ฆ๐••๐••๐•–๐•Ÿ๐•๐•ช ๐•Ÿ๐• ๐•ฅ๐•™๐•š๐•Ÿ๐•˜ ๐•–๐•๐•ค๐•– ๐•ž๐•’๐•ฅ๐•ฅ๐•–๐•ฃ๐•–๐••.  

๐•๐• ๐•ฆ๐•ฃ ๐•ค๐•”๐•–๐•Ÿ๐•ฅโ€”๐•š๐•Ÿ๐•ฅ๐• ๐•ฉ๐•š๐•”๐•’๐•ฅ๐•š๐•Ÿ๐•˜โ€”
๐•ƒ๐•š๐•Ÿ๐•˜๐•–๐•ฃ๐•š๐•Ÿ๐•˜ ๐•๐•š๐•œ๐•– ๐•’ ๐•ž๐•–๐•ž๐• ๐•ฃ๐•ช ๐•€ ๐•Ÿ๐•–๐•ง๐•–๐•ฃ ๐•จ๐•’๐•Ÿ๐•ฅ ๐•ฅ๐•  ๐•—๐• ๐•ฃ๐•˜๐•–๐•ฅ. ๐•๐• ๐•ฆ๐•ฃ ๐•–๐•ช๐•–๐•ค, ๐••๐•–๐•–๐•ก ๐•–๐•Ÿ๐• ๐•ฆ๐•˜๐•™ ๐•ฅ๐•  ๐•˜๐•–๐•ฅ ๐•๐• ๐•ค๐•ฅ ๐•š๐•Ÿ,
๐•Š๐•’๐•—๐•– ๐•–๐•Ÿ๐• ๐•ฆ๐•˜๐•™ ๐•ค๐•  ๐•€ ๐••๐•š๐••๐•Ÿโ€™๐•ฅ ๐•จ๐•’๐•Ÿ๐•Ÿ๐•’ ๐•“๐•– ๐•—๐• ๐•ฆ๐•Ÿ๐••.  

๐•๐• ๐•ฆ ๐•ฅ๐• ๐•ฆ๐•”๐•™๐•–๐•• ๐•ž๐•– ๐•๐•š๐•œ๐•– ๐•€ ๐•จ๐•’๐•ค ๐•“๐•ฃ๐•–๐•’๐•œ๐•’๐•“๐•๐•–,
๐•๐• ๐•ฆ ๐•œ๐•š๐•ค๐•ค๐•–๐•• ๐•ž๐•– ๐•๐•š๐•œ๐•– ๐•ช๐• ๐•ฆ ๐•’๐•๐•ฃ๐•–๐•’๐••๐•ช ๐•œ๐•Ÿ๐•–๐•จ
โ„๐• ๐•จ ๐•๐• ๐•Ÿ๐•˜ ๐•€ ๐•™๐•’๐•• ๐•จ๐•’๐•š๐•ฅ๐•–๐•• ๐•ฅ๐•  ๐•—๐•–๐•–๐• ๐•ค๐• ๐•ž๐•–๐•ฅ๐•™๐•š๐•Ÿ๐•˜ ๐•ฃ๐•–๐•’๐•. ๐”ธ๐•Ÿ๐•• ๐•€ ๐•—๐•๐• ๐•’๐•ฅ๐•–๐••โ€”๐•Ÿ๐• ๐•ฅ ๐•’๐•จ๐•’๐•ช ๐•—๐•ฃ๐• ๐•ž ๐•ฅ๐•™๐•– ๐•จ๐• ๐•ฃ๐•๐••,
๐”น๐•ฆ๐•ฅ ๐••๐•–๐•–๐•ก๐•–๐•ฃ ๐•š๐•Ÿ๐•ฅ๐•  ๐•š๐•ฅ,
๐”น๐•–๐•”๐•’๐•ฆ๐•ค๐•– ๐•ช๐• ๐•ฆ ๐•จ๐•–๐•ฃ๐•– ๐•™๐•–๐•ฃ๐•– ๐•Ÿ๐• ๐•จ.  

๐•๐• ๐•ฆ ๐••๐•š๐••๐•Ÿโ€™๐•ฅ ๐•ฃ๐•ฆ๐•ค๐•™ ๐•š๐•Ÿ ๐•๐•š๐•œ๐•– ๐•’ ๐•ค๐•ฅ๐• ๐•ฃ๐•ž.
๐•๐• ๐•ฆ ๐•’๐•ฃ๐•ฃ๐•š๐•ง๐•–๐•• ๐•๐•š๐•œ๐•– ๐•ก๐•–๐•’๐•”๐•–,
๐”ธ๐•Ÿ๐•• ๐•—๐• ๐•ฃ ๐•ฅ๐•™๐•– ๐•—๐•š๐•ฃ๐•ค๐•ฅ ๐•ฅ๐•š๐•ž๐•– ๐•š๐•Ÿ ๐•ค๐•  ๐•๐• ๐•Ÿ๐•˜,
๐•„๐•ช ๐•ฅ๐•™๐• ๐•ฆ๐•˜๐•™๐•ฅ๐•ค ๐•จ๐•–๐•ฃ๐•– ๐•ค๐•š๐•๐•–๐•Ÿ๐•ฅ.  

โ„•๐• ๐•ฅ ๐•“๐•–๐•”๐•’๐•ฆ๐•ค๐•– ๐•€ ๐•จ๐•’๐•ค ๐•–๐•ž๐•ก๐•ฅ๐•ช,
๐”น๐•ฆ๐•ฅ ๐•“๐•–๐•”๐•’๐•ฆ๐•ค๐•– ๐•ช๐• ๐•ฆ ๐•จ๐•–๐•ฃ๐•– ๐•–๐•Ÿ๐• ๐•ฆ๐•˜๐•™
๐•‹๐•  ๐•—๐•š๐•๐• ๐•–๐•ง๐•–๐•ฃ๐•ช ๐•”๐• ๐•ฃ๐•Ÿ๐•–๐•ฃ ๐• ๐•— ๐•ž๐•ช ๐•ž๐•š๐•Ÿ๐••โ€”
๐•Ž๐•š๐•ฅ๐•™ ๐•ค๐• ๐•ž๐•–๐•ฅ๐•™๐•š๐•Ÿ๐•˜ ๐•ค๐• ๐•—๐•ฅ๐•–๐•ฃ, ๐•ค๐• ๐•ž๐•–๐•ฅ๐•™๐•š๐•Ÿ๐•˜ ๐•“๐•–๐•’๐•ฆ๐•ฅ๐•š๐•—๐•ฆ๐•.  

๐•๐• ๐•ฆ, ๐•“๐•๐•ฆ๐•–โ€”๐•ช๐• ๐•ฆ๐•ฃ ๐•—๐•’๐•ง๐• ๐•ฃ๐•š๐•ฅ๐•–, ๐•”๐•’๐•๐•ž ๐•’๐•Ÿ๐•• ๐•ค๐•ฆ๐•ฃ๐•–.
๐•„๐•–, ๐•ฃ๐•–๐••โ€”๐•๐• ๐•ฆ๐•• ๐•’๐•Ÿ๐•• ๐•“๐•ฆ๐•ฃ๐•Ÿ๐•š๐•Ÿ๐•˜ ๐•š๐•Ÿ ๐•’๐•๐• ๐•ฅ๐•™๐•– ๐•ก๐•๐•’๐•”๐•–๐•ค ๐•€ ๐•“๐•ฃ๐•–๐•’๐•œ.
๐”น๐•ฆ๐•ฅ ๐•ฅ๐• ๐•˜๐•–๐•ฅ๐•™๐•–๐•ฃ, ๐•จ๐•– ๐•ค๐•™๐•š๐•ž๐•ž๐•–๐•ฃ๐•–๐•• ๐•๐•š๐•œ๐•– ๐•’ ๐•ก๐•ฆ๐•ฃ๐•ก๐•๐•– ๐•ค๐•œ๐•ช ๐•’๐•ฅ ๐••๐•ฆ๐•ค๐•œโ€” ๐•“๐•ฃ๐•š๐•–๐•—, ๐•“๐•ฃ๐•–๐•’๐•ฅ๐•™๐•ฅ๐•’๐•œ๐•š๐•Ÿ๐•˜, ๐•’๐•Ÿ๐•• ๐•ž๐•–๐•’๐•Ÿ๐•ฅ ๐•ฅ๐•  ๐•“๐•– ๐•ค๐•–๐•–๐•Ÿ.  

๐”ธ๐•Ÿ๐•• ๐•›๐•ฆ๐•ค๐•ฅ ๐•๐•š๐•œ๐•– ๐•ฅ๐•™๐•’๐•ฅ,
๐”ผ๐•ง๐•–๐•ฃ๐•ช๐•ฅ๐•™๐•š๐•Ÿ๐•˜ ๐•€ ๐•œ๐•Ÿ๐•–๐•จ ๐•’๐•“๐• ๐•ฆ๐•ฅ ๐•๐• ๐•ง๐•– ๐•”๐•™๐•’๐•Ÿ๐•˜๐•–๐••โ€”
๐•Š๐•ฆ๐••๐••๐•–๐•Ÿ๐•๐•ช,
๐•๐• ๐•ฆ.
Original work by me <3
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๐Ÿค
 181ยฐ 
WILLIAM WORTHLESS
when its christmas in the hills folk all gather round
they play christmas songs to the hillbilly sound
banjos and guitars and the fiddles  to
playing all night long till early morning dew

hand clapping knee slapping dancing to and fro
dancing  all night long in the christmas snow
dancing altogether to the the christmas beat
christmas time is here theres dancing there feet

dancing in a line dancing in a row
dancing altogether dancing to and fro
hand clappin knee slappin and a turn around
dancing all night long to the hillbilly sound
 179ยฐ 
Tim Wallace
To keep you here ...I will quit the bottle don't you fear
I will climb the highest mountain to stop you from crying......and with these words you can know I am not lying
In this drunken state yes I knew you didn't want me.....I can clean myself up and make you see
I want you here with me till the end of time....
Who cares if it even rymes
The love I have will fly through the skies....it will even reach where the angel flies
We shall be as one....till the angels reach the sun
 177ยฐ 
Murphy
and i write and i write
and yet
no amount of ink and paper
could ever
scribble off the feelings i had
from the things
i was writing about
 168ยฐ 
star
9.15.25 [20:52]
it's not quite like you to disappear on me like this
disappear on everyone
just
leave like this

it's not at all like you
or maybe it is
it's like everyone before
to leave me like this
again.
playing: ever after by mico and eaj
 160ยฐ 
Jimmy silker
To wrestle
With
Every note
Turn em over
In your hands
Then pull
The insides out
Perchance
To hear
A different
Sound.
 150ยฐ 
zoe
I loved him and now I don't
It's not because I feel disgusted

It's because I accept it
and I don't regret a thing

I sent you a letter
the one you read

Later you sent me a message
and told me the truth

you don't like girls
it's fine I said

I was disappointed at first
But then I accepted the feeling

I support you
no matter what
 147ยฐ 
South-by-Southwest
If you look up
Is it there?
All I see is air
Why do I raise
my arms up
hoping that God
hears my prayer

Is it some kind
of wicked game
we play ?

I never dreamed
I would meet
someone like you

What a deception
fast of feet
What a reception
so incomplete

I raise my
empty hands up
asking God
"Where is my love ?"
 146ยฐ 
OnLithium
I want to go back,
after turning my back,
on all I know,
trying to prove I could go,
the distance,
I put between us.
I want to go back,
before I left myself,
in the dark,
losing all sight of what I chasing,
turning the lights out,
with my own hand.
 132ยฐ 
Lostling
I cried
But no tears fell,
Frozen by the winter air

Bound by frost
Bound by guilt
Bound by darkness

It carried a lonely chill
That settled in my bones
Forever there

Just like me in my grave
Cradled in the arms of death
Why would I want to leave?
Down Day
 128ยฐ 
lana
sorry i hurt you
i wonโ€™t apologize for
leaving-i just canโ€™t
 126ยฐ 
Zywa
Where will I be safe?

Where will someone say to me:


You will be safe here.
Poem "Hier ben ik veilig" ("Here I am safe", 1994, Frida Vogels), published in the collection "De harde kern 3" ("The ******* 3" [part XII, Evaluation]), and in "Diary 1974-1976" (2013) - December 5th, 1976, Bologna

Collection "Trench Walking"
 124ยฐ 
Jay
"Broken down and hungry for your love
With no way to feed it"

                    - Jeff Buckley
 117ยฐ 
Urvashi
Why donโ€™t I love?
For this love is a
possessive obsession to handle.

Itโ€™s a constraint,
sealing you mine forever.

So just fleeโ€”
or better,
not come at all.


For it's a Red envelope,
A prison houseโ€ฆ or love?
My limitless love !
 115ยฐ 
Lost Indeed
The rain that fell today  
Was born of the tears we shed.
It carries the ghosts of the future we never lived,  
And it bears the sadness I could not speak
 111ยฐ 
RMatheson
Im huffing ether
to dream of you.
 108ยฐ 
Karen
Sea, a mist of blue
Gentle waves draw me, nature's
mantra to the soul
Modern haiku nature
 101ยฐ 
Poet B
-
Whispers about willows,

their leaves sealing secrets,

blocking them from the sun.
 99ยฐ 
David J
To him they tried to speak,
But he was far away
Another day, another week
A life time it will stay

He shall find no quarter, no peace
A life with no real bond
He dreams of that barter, a breeze
Then rest on crimson pond
Sorry for the write, im a mess. Just needed to sleep.
 95ยฐ 
Traveler
Are such narratives abrasive
Such as the condition of our racists
Like our cops who fear black faces
Perhaps you find such dialog tasteless

Would you rather read of love
Higher powers from above
Blinded souls that now can see
Angelic intervention when we bleed

Are you afraid to know
Or uncomfortable
Surely you must have a care
The establishment
Has taken the power
While we were unaware...
Traveler Tim
 94ยฐ 
nivek
all things for love

all things

conquered

death
taken
prisoner
 91ยฐ 
Nat Lipstadt
Sep 15
2 0 15

your poem read,
awoken by lightening flashes of
morning notifications arriving,
postmarked from
"I liked it"

but it does not
end there,
continues,
to a new ending

who and why,
who and why,
did this one find
their own
worthy in it
that was writ unknowingly
just for them

and
you look them up,
guessing
who and why,
rereading your hand's work,
which verse was it,
was it for a blessing or a
curse,
that touched them,
that made them
touch
you

each "like,"
a work in itself

re examined,
re searched,
re imagined
in the
light of
who they are
and
why they are
liking words I wrote

a single poem
bring hours of imagination,
each "like"
individually gift wrapped,
each human liking rapt,
each imagine a rapture,

each "like"
a new poem
about the who and why
each name a disguise to unravel,
each name a title
of a new different,
imagined poem,
who and why,
we
like
each other

~~~
6:53am
 82ยฐ 
Rafael Alberti
-Bien puedes amarme aquรญ,
que la luna yo encendรญ,
tรบ, por ti, sรญ, tรบ, por ti.
  -Sรญ, por mรญ.
  -Bien puedes besarme aquรญ,
faro, farol farolera,
la mรกs รกlgida que vi.
  -Bueno, sรญ.
  -Bien puedes matarme aquรญ,
gรฉlida novia lunera
del faro farolerรญ.
  -Ten. ยฟTe di?
 78ยฐ 
Esme
You looked at me like love could grow,
But, I, am a garden choked in frost,
Our love could never blossom,
Never break the icy exterior,
You are the brightest sun and ,
And the winter grows stronger when I believe
that spring was possibly near,
I still doubt the light that reaches me,
I remember I learnt to freeze warmth too,
Now I spend my days surrounded by evergreen
Bound to wither forever,
And sadly my fate is sealed,
And you my love,
Have to bare witness,
Working over time to save me and yet still,
I frost every summer,
And still you warm,
And still we sleep,
And still when winter comes,
You, my love ,are gone.
being unlovable
 76ยฐ 
Andi Leigh
Dew can be found
Upon my cheek
During the waking sun.

Through the captive lens
I see your smile

In windows

That allow gusts
Of our humanity to pour
Over our skin.

There is dew upon
Your cheek as well.
 75ยฐ 
Dead lover
Why seek truth when everything is a mere perspective?
 74ยฐ 
Nobody
i walked downstairs to my room
and cried the way i had taught myself.
curled up in a ball
tears dripping to the ground
gripping the floor
screaming
crying
yelling
but never heard.
silent.
i would never wake my family!
why, that would be mean.
so i cry.
silently.
and rip my hair out
and try not to cut
and punch the floor
and hug myself
and punch myself
and hate myself and feel so, so sorry for the little boy who had to deal with this.
for myself.
i hate this
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