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As a member of the human race I question almost anything in existence. Answers to questions we don't even know to ask yet. We all used to look up at the sky and wonder about our place in the stars. Now we sit, living in our own *******, wondering about our place in the dirt. The beauty of our planet lost in our desire to create, to innovate and to further evolve our civilisation.

Now we survive in the ruins we have left behind. The greatest landmarks of all time, now a simple lost memory people share as if part of fiction. Religion, a subject long since lost with the world we had and often blamed for our destruction. We await a moment of divine intervention, where an almighty being sends down his hand to guide us, the surviving humans on planet Earth.

It is at this stage, the ****** of our existence, where we as a united planet are ready to change our ways, to adapt and forget our modern view on humanity.

The Monolith. We stand looking into the sky, half our vision blocked by an object. An object of which has no origin. But some claim is responsible for the survival of our species. Bringing back love, compassion and above all, an appreciation for life. We live on now, saved by an object of God's design or a random occurrence. The way of religion is our savior, we live on now as if the past was a story we tell our children to scare them at night.

We now live on, life without end. But the thought of our past haunts our future.
Lucy F  Apr 2019
Whats it for
Lucy F Apr 2019
Smelly perfume sinking into my skin
heavy powder breathing on my face
black liquid dripping off my eyes
shiny red punching me

Alex I want to be a lawyer
                                  a doctor
                                   a teacher
                                  a president
more importantly I want to
eat lush greens
lay next to death on the sandy orange beaches
watching the pink elephants bounce,
bounce up and down until they break their legs
and start jumping on their hands

I want to see my grandma smile
I want to see a terrorist hugging a white southern man
                                 The ocean will turn green
and the land will turn blue.             in 3002
nick armbrister Aug 2021
The Q Man
The Q Man was somebody who was different
He travelled the galaxies and universe doing a job
Flying a Type 6 spaceship interstellar style
Normal space travel took forever and a day
But his ship was a souped one off
With engine and fuel enhancements
Zipping from world to world to work
He lands in a remote place and hides
His pointed ship from observers or spies
And hikes to his location to do the job
The tool of his trade is a long range rifle
Made on Planet Earth three millennia ago
It’s fitted with modified 7. 62mm bullets
These **** every single life form from a mile
On normal blood and body organisms
Normal explosive bullets do the job
With insect like ones with an armoured body
Armour piercing acid bullets eradicate them
He has 3002 different bullet types to use
Each one killing a designated target
The contract killer with no home
Except between the stars in his ship
Living for a dozen centuries extendable
You don’t want to mess with him
Nor be on his **** list as you’re ******
Zapped by an old skool high tech bullet
Fired by the best assassin there ever was
The Q Man and his rifle always on call
Raven Feels  Apr 2022
3002
Raven Feels Apr 2022
DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, still moving?

that ego of mine
will be the death of that spine
that nose in the sky
in dooms when thinking a fly
like black & white tiles
still moving right & left not high
can't help the crave of the cold
the one for the illusionary stillness been sold
yet what coldness do you see?
the one that shelters a shell of pure heat in me?
foreigners despise them borders
them feels excluding a hexagonal soldier
do you indulge that part of my be?
the one them thoughts seem to poke my free?
or that urge to write the sights surrounding
worship the floor those souls float a grounding
don't ask which is which
let it comedown on me let it slip let it stitch
a reflection of the past some mindless ghosts fabricated
a reason to a reason to be reasoned on my chapters situated
clinging lines & yearning for the words to utter record letters
something for the universe to swallow in feathers
have them digestions rip in shreds their tongues
nauseate the trachea from those lungs
but I rest it forgive forgave & let it be away
forget not shall stay
tired of the things they never admit to a said
yet my satisfaction of looking back entrapped a bled
makes me deny a defeat
for the respite of jubilance wasn't a retreat
pushed my feet to that lake
put a pen to a paper & called me on stake
never have I ever said yes to a dawn
for that dusk my hopes come clean & drawn
jumping on one single foot loose
holding my own form on an one-ended-noose

                                                ­                      ------ravenfeels

— The End —