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 Feb 2016 Sprishya
The Dedpoet
I am from everywhere,
My homelands nowhere.

In the final night
Take me to the Constellations.

Now while the words still flow,
While the world is a despairing beauty.

While I am full of life and laughter
And I do not fear the end.

Now while the day is at its peak
And my calloused hands grow stronger.

Today, not on the morrow,
For I do not know any better, or want to.

In the final hour let me die,
Not of death, but of life!
Sigh with me...
Escape the sorrow of ire;
For a moments pause,
Delight in fiery breath,
In the Earth's white wasteland,
Catching snowflakes in the gale,
Evaporating nature's dreamcatchers,
Thoughts linger as mist.

Inhale the bitterness of reality...
The thirst of the dry air.
Notice the aches of the naked trees.
The numbness of a dying foot,
Cut off from the warmth,
Of a body struggling in the freeze.
It all builds,
Reinforcing the harshness of,
A withering world preserved.

Sigh,
Breath a little life into the world again.
#hope #despair #nature #thoughts #divinity
 Feb 2016 Sprishya
Mikey Pooler
We're gathered round under the soft glow of christmas lights.

The energy gets heavy you can feel it, for once it seems im in a place, for the first time;

I can't explain everything just feels right.
December 12th acid trip
 May 2014 Sprishya
Jazmine Moore
If
 May 2014 Sprishya
Jazmine Moore
If
I could keep writing you poems you'll never read

Or I could put my pen down and bandage my own heart

Either way, I would still lose because I wouldn't have you
 Feb 2014 Sprishya
Ugo
it's hard to crack a
coconut while
sitting under the
water;
in order to understand
the fundamentals of a
broken heart
you've got to know the
secrets of the soul

wait.

99% of human beings
are enchanted
and to lick the moon
you don't always have to
travel to mars.

Now wait.
 Dec 2013 Sprishya
kiera
We have different views.
In you I see my dreams
while you dream of another.

-kk
 Dec 2013 Sprishya
kiera
I used to write joyful poems,
pointing out simple wonders,
such as how raindrops glisten on a mushroom’s ruby top.
But now the mushroom is only a dullish gray to me;
Everything is wrong.
My feet are cold and numb;
they have nowhere to walk.
My fingers are limp and uninspired;
they have nothing to type.
Outside my door are the sounds of people losing hope and patience;
they keep me inside.
As does the white fog of uncertainty I can’t seem to look past.

-kk
I wrote this in the beginning of the year.
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