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 Feb 2018 ronnie
ryn
Sing to Me
 Feb 2018 ronnie
ryn
Sing me a song.
Sing of days of folly.
Sing it sad...
Sing it as it is.
Sing its story.

Extend each syllable
into mournful vibratos.
Drown the
crests of choruses
with wrenching falsettos.

Let it be soft...
But sharp as a knife is keen.
Let it reach into my chest.
And grab at the lull in between.


So sing me a song.
Sing to me how I failed.
Serve me my sadness.
Sing to me...
My tale.
 Jan 2018 ronnie
imperfectwords
"I can see my door, my bed, my window, my chair, and my table.

"I can feel my spine against the wall, my feet against the floor, my jaw tightly shut, and my fingernails buried in my arms.

"I can hear the wind coming in from the open window, my heartbeat rapidly thumping, and that familiar voice in my head, shouting once again.

"I can smell the dampness of the ground outside as the breeze carries it to my room, and the sickly sweet odor from the soap used on my hands.

"I can ******* blood spilling from the bite in my lip; my last harsh reminder that
        I
        am      
        still
        alive.
When you call a suicide prevention hotline, they will often ask you to describe to them 5 things you can see, 4 things you can feel, 3 things you can hear, 2 things you can smell, and 1 thing you can taste to help ease anxiety. I hope this poem helps someone struggling to look forward, because believe me, it does get better.
 Jan 2018 ronnie
Mitch Prax
You are a novel
gathering dust on my shelf
but not because I don’t want to read
but because I’m afraid
to turn the page,
afraid of how you’ll end
 Jan 2018 ronnie
Mongi
Love
 Jan 2018 ronnie
Mongi
Love

Love,
A luxury common across mankind
But intriguingly,
Never experienced the same
Just never
Never
Just
We love and want to love differently, but it's all love
 Jan 2018 ronnie
ryn
Contradiction
 Jan 2018 ronnie
ryn
if indeed
my heart
knows every
word to
this song

why does
my voice
argue that
it should
never be
sung?
 Jan 2018 ronnie
ryn
Awareness
 Jan 2018 ronnie
ryn
I pine for,
     crescent moons
     and star-peppered skies.


I notice and hear,
     swaying silhouettes
     and whistling night breezes.


I anticipate,
     the expiring hours
     and dew-scented earth.


I only exist in,
     extended silences
     and shattered lenses.


.
 Nov 2017 ronnie
Lior Gavra
The impatient soul awaits.
As crowds push towards the train.
He rushes to pass, can’t be late.
He looked at others, the insane.

He squeezed against and did shove.
They looked at him, silent grunts.
His angry mood, bared no love.
He was used to his way and wants.

One more push and catapults.
Into the air and did not fall.
He laughs at them, at their faults.
As he flies pass human walls.

Surprised, he got no attention.
He roared at them, till the last door.
His super power, that strengthened.
No longer waiting, he could soar.

Everyone looked to the left.
Train now expected delays.
Some tears were dropped as they wept.
A red end to someone’s day.

He flew back in that direction.
A sudden feeling, temptation.
There caught in the intersection.
His body, the impatient.
 Nov 2017 ronnie
Ryan Holden
Her eyes glisten like
The drops on morning dew grass
Through beams of sunrise
 Oct 2017 ronnie
A Thomas Hawkins
Never fall in love with a poet
for their words are sometimes lies
on occasions they're a shield
on occasions a disguise

They will take you on a journey
upon which they bare their soul
in a bid to ease your burdens
in a bid to make you whole

But in every word they choose
for the stories that they tell
lies a little piece of heaven
and a little piece of hell

Tormented souls we poets are
sometimes quite broken and despaired
in search of lost expressions
missed by others who once cared

Never fall in love with a poet
unless you're prepared to share their pain
to hold them close on the darkest nights
over and again
Follow me on Twitter @athomashawkins
http://twitter.com/athomashawkins
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