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Hear me now.

I say

I want to live.
Pick a number,
pick a moment,
pick a memory,
pick a thought.

These are all the same.
There are just as many of each of them.

They are just as close to each other
and just as far apart
 Dec 2013 Ocho the Owl
Ghenwa
i like artists
artists of all kinds
artists of words
artists of colour
artists of thoughts
they're the civilisation
they're the world
they're the visionaries
the children
the lovers
the hearts of gold
an artist is the one with the voice
the radiance of the sun
the summer in your eyes
the lover in disguise
the hurt in the dark
the tears and the smiles
an artist hides deep down
the one who lives in pain and shame
they say artists will never survive
i say artists are the reason we're still alive
this is a poem dedicated to every single artist there is out there
 Dec 2013 Ocho the Owl
ottaross
Five forlorn fugitives stood tall
Five warnings to all who approach
Heavy bows move with foreboding in the wind
Chained to the wall of the ever-dark wood.

Needles brush needles,
Their tips like razor claws
Needles against bark,
Coarse and the colour of old blood.

They gaze across a soft blonde prairie
And the elders tell the tale.
"Avert your eyes, do not look upon the fugitives."
"Past those five, none return."
"Better to stay on the plains and live."

Five tired, twisted sentinels mark the boundary
A dark forest wraps around the low black mountain.
In our fathers' fathers' days, they say,
Pursued by horsemen they made it to the forest-edge
Five murderers, fugitives from the people.
Five went in, and none came out.

Their backs were seen immersing into a green wall
Their tracks ended at thick beds of needles
The horses would go no further.
The screams and howls were heard through the night.

Five fugitives went into the forest.
The next day, five tall, ageless trees
That were not there before.
They stand, and watch, and remind the people
You can run,
You can hide in the grasses.
But the forest wields a dark justice.
"Stolen Thoughts" project:
-First line borrowed from Ocho the Owl's "Stories & Statements #42"
 Nov 2013 Ocho the Owl
ottaross
Darkness arrives
But I'm not finished with the sun.
Hey, I was using that!
Those gears turn
Without any input from me.

Like a conveyor belt
We're whisked away
To the shadow side
And dropped into the darkness.

Nobody here gets out of this day with sunshine.
Our freedom from darkness only, finally, comes
When we're well and truly sleeping
And wish it wouldn't come so soon.
 Nov 2013 Ocho the Owl
Ghenwa
have you ever felt
the weight of the world?
heavy on your shoulders
bringing you down
no return from the fall
no sunshine after the storm
no light after the dark
just tears running down your face
the street lights are your refuge
and loneliness is your best friend
your cigarette accompanies your letters
your poems
your clothes
bringing you down
rock bottom
and i wish i could see your face right now
that sinister grin
the sad look in your eyes
 Nov 2013 Ocho the Owl
ottaross
It freezes you in place,
A cold gust of wind from the North.
It locks you in your home
And has you hover at the window.

It freezes you in place,
A fear of where you are heading.
Your only measure of freedom
How far away, the walls.

It freezes you in place,
A mirror that holds that other you.
Those eyes are always looking back
When you chance to look at them.

It freezes you in place,
When you embrace the immobile.
Tiny tendrils of inaction
Sliding over icy skin.

It freezes you in place,
But a thaw melts the icy clutches.
A thought, an idea, a chance –
Anticipation is a burning fire within.
 Nov 2013 Ocho the Owl
ottaross
Yesterday died late last night in the darkness.
Today was born in the small hours.

It lay there quietly gurgling
Alone and vulnerable in the inkiness.

At the break of the sun
That stabbed then tore the horizon,
I knew it was mine.
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