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rivers of tears we'll leave behind
leave them for a stream
of a more peaceful kind

in the year that has just slipping by
the world's many continents
have all had a reason to cry

those sad events of wars and natural disasters  
did within our hearts and minds
etch their marking casters

toward the new year's dawning days  
we shall look for brighter news prevailing
our planet's population not weeping in splays

this orb of ours finding a stillness  
from its endless wailing turmoil
which hath given its soul such distress
#tears  #New Year  #peace  #distress
"Do not ask for whom the bell tolls
It tolls for thee"
As if all rights and wrongs were just
a memory.
We set ourselves out to sea
in an ocean of imperfections
where the only way to see inside ourselves
is through vivisections,
we watch science explain everything for us
while concepts like faith and love
sink into the background
and we cannot hear the answers
over the sound of cannons firing
because we throw money at problems requiring
care instead of denier
but we still think we know where the heart is.
It's right there,
in that empty chest
in which you keep your best
hopes of ever knowing love again
in a world where we only make money so we can spend.

There will be no exodus,
purgatory is a breeze next to this,
because we bend our children's backs
like pipe-cleaners
just because that's what our parents
did to us,
it's been about growing up
it's been about moving out,
with a rebel shout
we barrel towards the future
because there is no turning anywhere back
because the train-track wasn't made
with brakes in mind
and if, out of all this, there is even a lesson to find
it's not in textbooks or written in flesh-tone ink
on the back of hands,
THINK
we've pushed ourselves past the brink
in the name of progress
with everything always being
no more, no less
we cannot digress  
because we are hellbound
I've been teaching people
how to be poets.
Now, even to me,
this sounds like canned *******.
But I believe that there is more to it.
It sounds so elitist to think
that you were just born with poetry
in your heart and mind.
That it could ever be so hard to find
inner meaning where there is none.
Even love is an illusion
the same way color never existed
outside the eye,
your beauty never existed
outside my heart.

Now before I start,
let me go back to square one.
I find it hard to believe that someone
can't be something just because... they aren't.
Poetry, like all art, is a skill
and like all art, you don't need to be good.
No-one is judging your art
unless you ask them to
and if it ends up in front of their face,
you've asked.
It's a skill, you get better and worse,
good days and bad days,
but some people just need to realize
what poetry really, really is.

It's not about rhyming, or even sounding good.
It's about meaning.
What's the deal with this flower?
This flower is art.
It's a piece of chlorophyll, who cares?
Because the flower is beautiful.
What makes the flower beautiful?
Because I choose to believe that this flower is more
than what my eye percieves.

Boy, this art **** sounds like
a bunch of crap.
*It really is.
A malady of spirit has taken up residence
somewhere in the gut.
Its' presence is announced by hollow sounds
and the falter of hands.
Beneath puckered brow, my jaw has tightened.
Clenched. Rigid.
I float on inflated irony, somewhere in the gap between
nostalgia and regret.
Like a flat rock meant to skim the surface...
I've been flung too hard by a lazy grip.
I look towards the surface as sunlight fades from view.

I know now why it's called
'rock bottom'.
I was throwing stones into the sea this weekend and this came together :)
I'm pathetically in love with YOU
Sometimes when words failed,
and despite all my detailed
carelessness,
you stayed.
I will never forget
your lasting love
when we thought
we at last have met.
This is so crazy. This does not even make sense. La la la! I am crazyy! But I'd love your company and suggestions. So please..:))
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