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 Mar 2016 A D
ryan
Till I Am A Man
 Mar 2016 A D
ryan
To be a man, is to be made not of
Glass or plastic, fragile or manufacturered
Like these young boys plucking
Away at keyboards day to day, acquiring
Vanishing trophies; a man is made of
Steel and stained wood, screws and twine
Make up his joints and bark is his skin.

To be a man is not smell of lysol or
Carpets, but if sawdust and oil, leather and
Soil, for a man is shelter.
When boys pitch canvas tents
In sand, a man plants logs on sturdy
Ground in which his family can reside, his back
The roof under which it is dry and safe.

To be a man is not to bake your mind with flashes
Of light and thunderous noise, but
To create, to be dynamic and soulful, imbuing
Himself into his creation;
To be man is to help and be helpful, to share and
Collect wisdom from others, to better
Everyone.

One day a Man will be honoured to take you
Home, to care for you until the
End of his days.
One day, that man will be me.
 Mar 2016 A D
Liam Handy
A Hero Am I
 Mar 2016 A D
Liam Handy
I am seen,
As no one
But today
I show myself
and all around
Nobodies can be heroes
just as well,
for nobodies
have less to live for.
First ever on this site! Thank you Hello Poetry!
 Mar 2016 A D
E Townsend
thorns lay down in my arachnoid
membrane, splintering my scalp at the mere
memory of anxiety-
splicing and slicing into my brain
drawing blood, swirling pools
killing me slowly
not all at once,
not all too quickly,
but miserably constant
in a stream that never empties
poisonous venom.
ill expand this later
 Mar 2016 A D
LoveLy
Nothing has changed.
I still feel drained.
I am still the heartbroken girl I was months ago.
You really would think I would know.
But I fall time and time again.
Thinking that maybe this time they'll actually want to be my friend.
But it's always a lie.
Or the love always will die.

Because who could love a girl like me. and everyone loves a boy like him. and there always be a him that I will fall in love with things will never be alright the broken hearted girl.
 Mar 2016 A D
Essen
ᵗᶦᶰʸ ᵗᵉˣᵗ
ᵗᶦᶰʸ ʷᵒʳᵈˢ
ᵗᶦᶰʸ ᶠᵒᶰᵗ ᶦˢ ᑫᵘᶦᵗᵉ ᵃᵇˢᵘʳᵈ

ᵗᶦᶰʸ ᵐᵃᶰ
ᵗᶦᶰʸ ᵍᶰᵒᵐᵉ
ʰᵒᵖᵉ ʸᵒᵘ ᶫᶦᵏᵉᵈ ᵗʰᶦˢ ᵗᶦᶰʸ ᵖᵒᵉᵐ
 Jan 2016 A D
Jude kyrie
troilet
by Roland Leighton
1895 ... December.1915

There's a sob on the sea

*There's a sob on the sea
And the Old Year is dying.
Borne on night wings to me
There's a sob on the sea,
And for what could not be
The great world-heart is sighing.
There's a sob on the sea
And the Old Year is dying.
Roland was born in 1895, the son of Robert Leighton, a writer of boys' adventure stories, and Marie Connor Leighton, a prolific romance novelist.

Roland Aubrey Leighton on a scholarship to Oxford in 1914
Roland Aubrey Leighton on a scholarship to Oxford in 1914
For more information: http://www.oucs.ox.ac.uk/ww1lit/collections/leighton
He studied at Uppington School, where he met Edward Brittain and in 1913, age 19 he began 'courting' Edward's sister, Vera.

Instead of proceeding with his studies, Roland immediately volunteered for service and soon found himself in France. He and Vera became engaged on leave in August of the same year. From France Roland wrote Vera numerous letters discussing British society, the war, the purpose of scholarship and aesthetics, as well as their relationship, which she preserved in her diaries and later writings. Within his correspondence he also sent a limited number of poems.

On 23rd December 1915 Roland died of wounds in the Casualty Clearing Station at Louvencourt, France, having been shot through the stomach by a ****** while inspecting wire in the trenches at Hébuterne. He was 20 years ol
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