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 Nov 2015 moss
Day
drowning in air
 Nov 2015 moss
Day
when looking to help,
don't give a man a life jacket
when he's dying
of thirst
because kindness born from ignorance
can be
just as cruel
as hatred born from pain.
 Nov 2015 moss
Day
my pen is deadly* \ but it cannot stop
the force of a bullet
and
my words are sharp / but they cannot stop
the blow of a bomb
and
my thoughts are strong \ but they cannot stop
the anger of men
because
if i could a sow peace around the world
with just a pencil
i would
but like i've said
my weapons are strong / but no match for  
     a
         war
                 started
                               long
                                        long
                                                 ago

i mean really,
what can a word-hungry poet do
amongst
blood-thirsty warriors?
 Nov 2015 moss
Day
nightmares [10w]
 Nov 2015 moss
Day
how
can
i
run
from
the
monsters
in
my
head?
 Nov 2015 moss
Day
B* ringer
O of
M***
Berevement

Grief
Unleashing  
­Nightmares

Terrifying
Endings
Riddled with
Restless
Obsequies
R**epeating
 Nov 2015 moss
Nat Lipstadt
~~~
to whom do I address this?

to whom do I
forward fling, weep and sing,
this bequest~request,
prayer~***~worship~***~blessing~***~
howling
to and upon?

where shall I commence?

for there is no beginning or end,
resurrection,
a continuum,
a progression permanent,
from inside out
to harmonize, coordinate,
what the outside has taken leave to
inject, insert,
to our selves query,
our life hood very,
impoverish our senses
and still, and yet,
to ever inspire and seed
relief

do you possess that requisite
belief?

that all
that is illogical,
beyond sensory comprehension,
that all
is a steady running creek
of fluid starting points,
none that can be deflected,
nor forever held

that all,
being demands unchosen but acquired,
that all,
demanding constant reflection,
and realization
that the acceptance mystery is but a
molten crucible
wherein wonderful and awful
must of necessity,
coexist

so you alone must construct,
what chance desires to destruct,
weld the joints of new iron works that
require the bonding of a special solder
of asking and acceptance,
to be the special soldier
of acceptance
overcoming that which we can never accept,
yet must

be purposed to build high the edifice,
to stand upon the crane,
to look down on what
has been lost as well as
not yet gained,
and that
requires saving

to see the far, observe the near,
merging both into a single point ring alloy,
manufactured in order
to never forget
to be forever certain,
it is within our assured power
to comprehend and apprehend
belief in blessed resurrection

where there is no birth nor death,
no start nor finish,
just the
munificent satisfaction
of lawful acceptance,
that all we build of any matter,
that which we create,
cannot be destroyed,
but will be recreated,
for that is the purposeful meaning
of resurrection now
and every day forward


Atlanta, Georgia
Nov. 16, 2014
for E.R
 Nov 2015 moss
Angie
You loved me until the star dust
Spilled from my body onto the floor
And the galaxies spinning inside of me
Crashed out of control
 Nov 2015 moss
L Marie
I am nothing but a broken china doll
Who has been glued back together
With that same, painted on, red-lipstick smile,
Pretending those cracks on my face
Aren't actually there
And that people will just think I'm ugly--
Not that I have been shattered into fragments
And struggled to stay together;
No, I am just ugly, not a survivor,
They'll never see the pain I've felt
And that's okay,
It's better this way,
So I can pretend, as well.
 Nov 2015 moss
Day
noise
 Nov 2015 moss
Day
i don't want you to listen to me
*
i want you to hear me
because listening and understanding are different
 Nov 2015 moss
Mike Hauser
This is the last poem to ever be written
The very last rhyme to come down the line
We'll look back on it all, this thought in the making
And realize the decision was not taken light

With poetry reflecting the heart as it's given
Sometimes filling the spot in an unmade bed
Breathing into the moment words that are living
A thousand times over, what must be said

This is the last poem to grace these pages
The last piece of poetry leaving all this behind
Last in a line of heart felt words being delivered
Giving a blind notion a sliver of natural light

The last poem to show up for the party
With nothing prepared before they shut out the lights
All dressed up with no where to go
As it steps through the door in its last goodbye
Going through some old poems and found this little trinket, apparently it wasn't my last...
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