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 Dec 2012 Samuel
Brycical
to define love.
You'll be baffled
bewildered & broken by the end.

The cynical ones
will laugh,
say it's dead,
overused and cliche.
Why try write what Whitman, Dickinson, Frost & Shakespeare
have already covered?

The romantic ones
will wax on for hours
describing inner & outer beauty
compared to anything that strikes their eye.
Why can't you see it's everywhere?

The hip ones
will scare you,
take a ****
& describe some detailed carnal fantasy
involving tapioca & a talking *****
named Pony.

Ask a lawyer,
they could tell you the legal definition.

Ask your parents,
they will tell you something trite about seeing it through.

Ask little kids
for an adorably wise response.

Ask a dog
as it's ******* your leg.

Ask a scientist,
they will describe the chemical reactions in the brain.

Ask a prisoner,
they will tell you it's something they miss.

But never ask a poet
to define love.
Your brain will hurt,
half your day gone
& you'll be left heart broken
by the end.
 Dec 2012 Samuel
Emily Watkins
When I was a girl
I thought love was
a guitar player
with
shaggy brown hair
colored eyes
a poet
a Christian
with perfect teeth.
I thought love
was
someone who would put up
with my craziness
and my insecurities.

I didn't know that
love
was ***** blonde hair
and
green eyes
with teeth that
weren't quite perfect
but would shape the words
"shut up"
every time I plucked an insecurity like a harp string.
I didn't know that love
hated reading
but would watch me while
my eyes caressed the words he could barely read
I didn't know that love
would be dyslexic.
But love
pretends to understand the words anyways.

I thought love
would stand the test of time.
I thought that when love
picked up a uniform and an M-16,
boarded a plane
it would grow stronger.

That was 2 years ago
this past May
and my place in your heart
has been replaced by a patch that reads
U.S. Army
Airborne
Ranger

Sometimes love
turns out to be
a soldier.
 Dec 2012 Samuel
Lindsay McAvoy
...
love*  heart  *know  want  little  thoughts  fact  
lust  electrifying   sorrow   think   really   people  wish  
matter  pain  place  knew affair   power   leaves   new   change  sound  return  end  continue  truth  bridge  flirty  ­murky  clear  reason  
waiting  free  sad  fabrication­  past  afraid  small  chance  different  influenced 
s­uddenly  falling  evil  stupid  feeling  nightmares  rhy­thm  happy  friend  pleasure sadness

Words are so many,
Emotions are few.
Even with all of our words,
We can not fully express the depth of our emotions.  
As I cannot express mine now,
Nor will I ever be able to.
Sadness is the term I believe.
Or could it be turmoil?
Depression? Confusion?
I can't be certain any combination of the words can ever express,
The way I feel right now.
 Dec 2012 Samuel
ana pascual
120712
 Dec 2012 Samuel
ana pascual
And when you lay there in your skin
Motionless, silent
Beautiful, perfect

How could I not love you more
 Dec 2012 Samuel
Emma
No. 59
 Dec 2012 Samuel
Emma
Your sweater is warm
The feeling on my skin stays
Smell of you lingers.
 Dec 2012 Samuel
Nicholas Harris
Welcome to 4 A.M.

Where almost nothing ever happens and the universe sits mostly still, where indie music is life and where photography is heaven. Where silence is golden and life is absolute. Where we all wish to be, and where only a select few of us can go and handle it.

Welcome to 4 A.M.

Where we lie in limbo, waiting for the sun to come up, the moon to go down, the median between life and whats left of the dark decay of lifelessness. Where Your eyes open wide, where your thoughts wander into the void of the infinite. Where we wait to see the beginning, the middle, and the end.

Welcome to 4 A.M.

Welcome to the dead, the living, the mourning, the crying, the sad, the happy, the over energetic, the under enthusiastic, the over enthusiastic, the insomniac, the insane, the beautiful, the quiet, the peaceful, the thoughtless and thoughtful, the kind, the caring, the listeners, the wonderful and magnificent, the open minded and wide eyed sleepless.

Welcome to 4 A.M.

Where we wander, searching for answers in our sleep. Where we wait for contact and a view into what we think is the future, and where here, we wait for the future. Where we sleep only to be dreaming of our answers we are searching for and never getting the full answer to questions like-
"Who am I?"
"What am I?"
"Who do I love?"
"Who loves me?"
"Why am I here?"
"What awaits me today?"
"Who thinks of me?"
"Who are my friends?"
"Who are my foes?"
"Who are the friendless?"
"Who am I to judge someone?"
"Who are they to judge me?"
"What is left for there to question if I already know the answers to my questions?"

This is what we ask, and wait for...

Welcome to 4 A.M.

Where our mindless infinite, grows! To be ever infinite into the oblivion of exaggerated proportions and ridiculous time! Where everything meets the beginning, the middle and the end. Where life dies, starts, and lives once more for us as humanity to enjoy through one more day, for us to catch our breath, and to breathe the dead and living. For our eyes to capture the very beauty of life through blinking as if our eyes where the lens to a camera and our brains the film to feed it.

All in one quiet, peaceful, beautiful, and insane, hour. Everything lives, dies, and starts over again.

Welcome to the beginning, the middle, and the end.
Welcome to 4 A.M.
Welcome to life.

Good morning.
 Dec 2012 Samuel
Amber S
blank
 Dec 2012 Samuel
Amber S
the blank page holds nothing,
but water stains and empty words.
so why does everyone compare life to this?
(so why can i make no sense of it?)
fill it with dreams and aspirations, advice
and lessons learned, admirers and lovers,
enemies and relatives.
still, the page is ashy, and the ink stains, soaks.
i try to write on my blank page,
(but i draw a blank)
all i have is unreachable heights,
a demon encircling my throat,
men with too many teeth.
each day i throw away the blank pages away,
and each day i try to scribble something new.
the words are *****. vile and grotesque.
(i must throw it all away)
i'm trying again, tonight.
(maybe it's all about timing)
but so far, the words are useless.
tightening me, closing
until all
that's
left
is
ink.
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