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 Jan 2013 Farah Hizoune
Lee
I want to meet you all over again;
like it never happened that way in the first place.
Some alternate time and reality,
where logic didn't apply,
simply because we didn't need its boundaries anymore.
Then maybe
all those words and smoke,
and *** and coke,
could have just stayed choked down
and I wouldn't have to endure
these lonely thing's:
loyalty
and trustworthiness
and camaraderie.
Maybe then
in that place
at that time
something great could have happened,
and it all would have been left there.
Like all those wonderful dreams no one ever remembers having
and all those wonderful feelings and sensations
no one has felt, and so never will fiend for;
but then we wouldn't be here would we?
In this great silver lined grave
we have dug for ourselves
hoping some overlooked imperfection
could let us
just climb our way right back out
into the midst of the crowd
and insecurity,
or awareness.
I think I wrote this a couple years ago, found it sorting through half burnt old notebooks.
 Jan 2013 Farah Hizoune
Lee
I'm tired of love poems.
I'm tired of heavenly descriptions
of throws of woe
and ******.
I'm tired of infatuation
some spellbound obligation
to writing unread words
to the ones
we all know we love.
I wish for tales of conquest
great bounding stanzas
pitted on the edge of glory
and mayhem.
Haggered hero's
covered in mystic blood,
and enchanted rivers bathed in immortality
that run pure and crystal white.
Liquid Snow Raging
Some conflict amongst our hero's majesty.
Beasts of old forgotten legends
leaping fiery and writhing from the written page
licking blood from the bones
of lesser men
and past tales.
Devouring swooning poets pens
and ripping the hearts from loved ones
on conquest to find some battle to rage in.
Great tale of old insanity
and wisdom
beyond the mortal.
Fantastic.
I want an escape from the sadness
of my soul
not to be engulfed in it
wrapped in endless pages
of commiserating hearts.
Yet.
I
too
fall prey to
the love poems
whimsical
enchanting
call.
*The deadliest
and most deceptive
of all the ancient beasts
and martyrs.
 Jan 2013 Farah Hizoune
Chuck
A monster lurks inside of me
I try not to pet or feed it
It's best to hide and let it be
To be me, I guess I need it

My monster is honest and curt
It doesn't often try to bite
When it's fangs come out, it can hurt
It never retreats from a fight

Not all have beasts so mean and tough
I want to be loved, it not much
I want to be soft, it is rough
Maybe I'm mean and it's my crutch

I hurt loved ones, telling the truth
Friends and strangers can get bit too
My blunt, true ways have crushed the youth
My monster destroys more than you

I'd slay the monster if I could
It makes me weep, it makes me blue
I, of all people, think I should
I just want to be loved by you
This is a serious issue for me, but I love the juxtaposition when it's read like a children's poem.
~~                                                                            it was
                                                                            Complacency
                                                                                   and never
                                                                                  Curiosity

                                                                                         that
                                                                                       killed
                                                                                        the cat

- Vijayalakshmi Harish
   14.01.2013
   Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish
A solitary tree exists in the centre of a barley wheat field
No one sits for miles
So no one cares how he feels
He grew from a seed till he stood tall and strong
But no seed grew beside him
He was all alone

Seasons would pass and crops would be sewn
Leaves would be shed and again they'd be grown
A lowly old oak tree he began to become
Then one day something happened under the surface

A seed started rooting before it had sprout
The ground opened up and the sprout shooted out
Now the oak he had company above the soil
But the sprout she was struggling through times of toil
She was straining hard to get sun and water
The oak soaked it up before it could fall to her

But down below, underground, something stirred
The roots of the oak began to move like a worm
They wriggled and writhed through the soil to the top
Where, as if though by nature an innate ability had been drawn
The roots of the oak tried to keep the sprouts roots warm
Just like a parent would for its child
The oak shared nutrients with the rest of the field

So; the water he drank would be evenly shared,
The sun he soaked up its warmth would be spread
The sprout it was grateful and soon, it did grow
And beneath the big oak, some care it did show
For when the oaks branches began to bend
They were given support from the branch of a friend

The roots underneath entwined and linked
But to the naked eye you'd have to think
Was the oak still alone?
Did he feel pushed aside?
Would this small tree last?
Or would it just die?

But look you, to this field of barley wheat today
An there sits two trees
Together, I'd say
For the oak had, some company
The little tree, had a friend
And the roots of these two, were linked
End to end
Written on 26/08/12 by Josh Morter ©

I wrote this poem on the 26/09/12, it's a little story about friendship and how in any given circumstance friends can help us through all our own issues if just given a chance.
 Jan 2013 Farah Hizoune
Marian
Grey clouds in the sky,
Grey clouds which raindrops fall from,
Gloomy is the day.

**~Marian~
I can't
Sleep
Tonight
So I
Wish
You were
Here
Because
You never
Seem to
Sleep
And it'd
Be nice
To try
To sleep
With you.
Might be too hot ....he'd gladly freeze me with the ac if that were the case.
 Jan 2013 Farah Hizoune
Jerry
I noticed the lack of a word!
Not everyone noticed.

It's but one word that it lacks.
A very special word...

It encases many different emotions.
It's an endearing and meaningful word.

It's also, the most over used word.
But, I see that it is as you intended.
Inspired by "I  Lack the Words", by Katrina Wendt

— The End —