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 Apr 2016 MadHatter66
Gidgette
We are none truly alone,
I've written of this before
I shall write of our souls
And the invisible chains, once more

We are all connected,
By these universal chains
From the beggar on the corner,
To the broker squandering gains

We are seven billion shades,
Different shades of the same hue
From me here in my mountains,
Across the earth to you

Whether you're a dancer,
Stepping to a tune
Or a night fisherman,
Gathering food, under the moon

These universal chains,
They bind us each together
That's what the universe wanted,
And so it is forever

Each time you defame,
Your fellow human across the way
You're defaming part of yourself,
So be careful what you say

This is how its been since the beginning
This is how it is until the end
Be kind to each other,
Remember we're all akin
Oh wow! Thank you my fellow poets. Thank you for reading and liking my words.<3
 Apr 2016 MadHatter66
mikecccc
I doubt
material wealth
means anything
in the afterlife
on the off chance
that I'm wrong
bury me
with my books
and my plastic owl.
Didn't expect to find
One of mine as the daily
Thank you
for the hearts and views.
 Mar 2016 MadHatter66
Ree Bunch
Your lies were dipped in bittersweet chocolate;
with a heaping amount of caramel sauce drizzled on top.
I gobbled up more than I care to openly admit;
in fear of what others will think and say.
After enjoying your momentary treats;
came the truth;
with so much salt, it was baffling to eat.

A.K.A

(10 w)

The lies I ate, but
the truth I couldn’t take.
 Mar 2016 MadHatter66
Fudz Lana
Your eyes are telling a tale
Everywhere you go

Your steps are making rhythms
silent and slow

Your head was never high
Nor does your voice

Every tremble of your hands
Every quiver on your lips
I know.
for my lovely friend who had thought for all these years no one has seen the pain in his eyes or the anxiety on his face. I miss you. be strong.
In Florida sometimes it rains so hard
that you believe that it can't possibly stop,
that it will just rain and rain forever.

Sometimes I'd wake to a storm late at night,
and I'd sit out on the porch.

You could smell the lightning, and the coolness of the storm would
make your hair stand;
I'd feel so alive.

Some nights I'd go out, and my father
would be sitting on the porch already.
Lost in the storm
or maybe
called to it.
We wouldn't talk,
but we'd be lost together
in the rain and thunder.

Sometimes I wonder what of him
is left in me.
I am not sure
if I am more afraid of there being
very little
or of there being a great deal,
but when it rains
I think about him on that porch;
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