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Ecstabell  Dec 2018
Ecstabell Dec 2018
You ran from my tears
Like a flood
When all I wanted
Was for you
To dive in
Piper Diggory Aug 2018
The difference between Monday and Sunday;
A vague salt upon the upper lip of some life apart,
Pages incarnate in an acrid stomach guilt,
And some bread and wine selling out
Before I make it to the queue.

Between the rest, perhaps a better hour;
A few words absorbed, wrapped in cling film
Like the ham and pickle I take on the train,
On the bread leftover from the priest on Sunday. Slightly stale.

For the most part, I try to keep on my shoes
And off the grass. The cling film makes it
Exceedingly difficult to know -
And I can never quite discern
The start of the horizon.

And the irony of it is, I can’t cling to much
Myself. City smog is honeysuckle riding
A summer’s breeze; Singapore slings,
Coffees and teas, and daydreams of you
Are more real than me.

It’s like looking through a car window,
Seeing outside rush away behind you
Before you can think about how beautiful it is.
Like having tired of a masterpiece from which
You expected timelessness.
One which was difficult to find words for
Ralph Akintan Feb 14
Recircled czars drenched
In the blood of despotic swayers.
Encircled proteges with the
Aura of treacherous thorns
Keeping vigils in the basilica
Of authority
Year in,
Year out .

Selfsame partners in politics,
Selfsame partners in crimes,
Selfsame partners in progress
Selfsame partners in poor
Setting subservient subjects
In perilous bays of hopelessness.
Scale of disengagement
Dangling carrots of
Intimidating threats.

Recircled ideas.
Recircled inhuman governance.
Recircled personages.
Recircled wasted years.

Deluge of prognostic plans
Sinking boats of tale.
Decades of experience yielding
Inexperienced tzars.
Torn garb of treachery
Covered up blazers of falsehood.
Stench of stasis enthroned on the
Stool of power, wrenching
      corruption from the grip
      of guilt.
Populace sitting on sulky
      directing the horse of
      hardship with the
      wailful whips of

Epochal terms of wastages
      roll in
      roll out
      like a spiraling
      viperine grass
      beneath the
      hybrids of weeds
      on a crest of
      spring cress.
Yet, promises promoting
Superannuated gains of
Effortless dividend.
Home ( less)
is where the start is,
when you become a magnet
for misfortune and a scapegoat
for those who would look down on
those who'd pass you by without
a second glance

by some grace be it God's or some other
deities there are places
where though ill
at ease you can find a moment to forget the
trials, the tribulation, the awfulness of your current

The universe spins on a pin and things change,
you might begin to see the light
I said, might, it's difficult to alter one's perception
when the view you have is limited, but hope, that
which springs eternal is something you should never

Living proof,
A roof over my head
not dead

it takes time and sometimes a long time
and the magnet you became seems to
get stronger the longer you're down on your

But you must engage even when disengagement
seems preferable or inevitable,
there is nothing more frightening or terrible than to
be totally alone.

It's not easy, but to be honest nothing is easy that's
worth anything and your worth is inestimable,
your resources are legend
you just need to tap in to them.
A sermon on account of there being no mountains in Stratford
Freya Adirhe Oct 28
Muffled sighs and pity cries, blinking along with the,
Newly untangled blinds
As flying separate shields illuminated by the sunlight within
Haze and cross-around stars and departed ambience,
Masking our wrinkles and glassy eyes
Decorating our limbs for the next rounds of,
Blinking lies and astuary promise, shall we dig our memory again?
Instead of reflecting, it would be my pleasure to be bestowed upon,
Proof of innocence and proof of allegiance
Even though it has been almost a second ago, since my last try...

Seeking admissions of relentment proves us a lost cause,
Even though, we'll be always by your side
When you call
We'll be here
We'll be near

Prove us right? We'll be visiting some of our bloods detached
Nothing some sort of inherently dear to our highness fear
Deciding to depart and abandon crumbling gates, not for the first time
Tainting our disengagement and sprawled scent
For no any discerning leads and logic, we'll be returning to you
Asking to the abyss, for some scenery of habits and routinity,
Avoiding every siren singing about,
Matters of eternity and entropy
When we open our lids, we'll be welcoming...

Light years ahead of mutiny,
Now we've come around to the same point where we made,
Some sort of above-all armours and odds and ends,
Finally breach the point of hesitance and pride,
Maybe should've stood there and should've not stare
My temple is lying against your overworld
Sort of bounded, neverthless infinite cause
Starry nights and marine lights among these cold chimes
Better off maybe you draw me your nightmares,
On my palm
On your calms

Seeking victories among some gale force proves us as another blink,
Even though, now I'm by your side
When you call
I'm finally here
I'm finally near
I never remember the last words I said to her, but I imagine it's the similar sentiment as his last words to me

— The End —