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Emmanuella Apr 2019
"Oh! 'Tis great grief,
Wrought by fate's mischief;
To pledge my love by some vow,
Even when Cupid hasn't strung his arrow into his bow."
An Elizabethan tragedy in four soliloquical lines.
And a sprinkle of an eye rhyme.
Look at the grass grow,
look at the spirits flow,
look at the sun glow,
look at your sons go.

Look at the rip tides,
look at the grey skies,
look at the black flies,
look in your own eyes.

Look at the hurricanes,
look at those in pain,
look at the pouring rain,
look at those showered by fame.

Look at the burning coal,
look into the black hole,
look deep into the soul,
look at the world as a whole.

Corporate conquerors conquer the economy.
Seven sickos ****** with ******.
Honest Al has no honesty.
Endogamy?

Some poor sinner selects to sin.
Whiny woman want to win.
Crazy killers **** their kin.
Fin?

No! Lets keep the show going!
Skies are clear, but it is snowing.
Rowing, flowing, with the stream,
is this all a dream?

A dream?
Awaken me!
I scream!
I flee...

I'm floating on a stream,
crying in a dream,
waiting to be seen,
by you.

See me,
hug me,
kiss me,
love me.

Hate me,
shun me,
as long as you loved me,
then I can die,
I can dream,
in peace.
Copyright Barry Pietrantonio
Tom Shields Nov 2020
I want to leave you on a better note, with kinder vibes and more hope in mind than what I last wrote
destitution is not inherent vulnerability, ingenuity thrives behind the lines of poverty
good will can be chipped away by promises that turn predatory
you'll get out someday, pay dues by coping, thickened skin quick to kick holes in drywall fighting with your next of kin
being white trash, man, I was comfortable in pain before everything I owned was reduced to ash and swept into a can

I was nothing before I let go of the idea that my materials were my value
and I was never happier with everything I have and nobody to share it with
than I was with a notebook and a pen and nobody who gave a ****
there's no doubt about my hypocrisy, humans, I love you and can't live without you
but step to my left brain and my introspective is anesthetic, I don't care and hate you
trying retain a positive mentality while remaining true
to this retrospection, filtered vision through brutality and cynical objectivity
how can I look at the world any different if I refuse to view myself with honesty?

Classism, like a caste system, stay in your place, predestined and determined from birth, endogamy
enforced in strange ways when it's not a native part of society, tilted thinking, you can buy a gun it's easy
catching heat is simpler than getting a degree, intoxications and temptations wait more readily than self-improving opportunity
it is a wheel that takes a different form, oppressing a variety of races and religions, sexualities and incomes in communities
I don't know who I am to point a finger anymore when I have stood in an open door and let myself be crushed by anxiety
depression, insomnia, self-destructive tendencies that I wore like both sleeves, validation, sure, it feels like one bad dream ended and no one believes
if not for the entirety of the building that collapsed on my classless ***, I don't think my own conscience would relent on finding me guilty to give me a pass, shut in and shut out so fast the doorframe was still standing when the force blew back wind in my face from the ferocity

All I'm trying to say in my roundabout way is
I carry names attached to emotional scars, but no grudges, no hatred
the roads I've gone down, the bridges I burn when I cross I have no need or desire to retread
I feel older for all the life I haven't lived, and sadly grateful to still be alive
meaning, purpose and balance find their own way whether or not we strive
if I could only give one thing to all people right now, speak one word, one tone
in a way that it could be felt, understood, absorbed and known
I would not give you respect, which can lead to love,
nor would I give you love; I would give you peace.
write
please read and enjoy
Satsih Verma Apr 2020
Endogamy.
Don't hear much
of human voices.

Moon will rise again?

Deep angst,
pitch dark.
There was no truce
between the trees.

Undermining-
the sanctity of god's words.
You want to take the chair
of judge and hear to yourself.

I spot the blood
on sleeves. Who had used
the cleaver?

Can you bring
a period of silence, to
meditate for peace?

Somebody was laughing hilariously.

— The End —