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Steve Page Oct 11
I see Beauty
Brighter when clouded,
Bolder when challenged,
Brilliant when questioned.
I see Beauty
Burnished by affliction
Blossomed with age.
I see Beauty
In you.
unnova Oct 9
I do not hate growing older
I hate the failure's reminder
Turning into another number
No achievements to remember
My twenties are almost over
My childhood still need closure
Peering through a old stone gate,
its face well carved, in prayers attired,
I saw a golden wall of late
before which stood cracked streetlamps retired,
their warming light now long gone
yet they still glow stubbornly on
I spotted some retired antique street lamps in the courtyard of the Edinburgh Museum, juxtaposed with a brightly painted yellow wall behind.
The lapse of life
I face with time
It’s like a reply
each day rewinds
My mind entwines
My worth I question,
Myself I pity and the patronise
going to bed with tear filled eyes
Like who are you?
What will you be?
High emotion burdens me
My whole existence it questions me
Like what are you? What are you meant to be?
You seem like her you seem like me but still wo am I meant to be
Steve Page Sep 21
I left my other soul
in my late marriage
I'll be more careful with this one

I keep my spare soul
safe with my neighbour
in case I lose this one

My old soul has worn thin
allowing in the cold
but also the sun

My first soul was reliably robust
This new one feels more fragile
and needs holding with care

My soul and I buried our differences
We now spend time focused
on what we have in common
Triggered by the overheard phrase 'my other soul'.
Erwinism Sep 14
Will I ever reach you
when there are tides surging and sweeping anything in between?

Have you seen something on these stair steps winding within?

Wild-eyed hope scurry into the woods of the night to heed the call,

wasted so many years growing up to find nothing beyond these walls.

I falter hearing blood and friends are in their ways broken, but all I do is listen and pretend to understand,

decipher encrypted messages of fate engraved in their calloused hands.

We are spent being rogue satellites looking for a sign of life,

fledgling wanderers cut by thorns through age made contrite.

When time plucks us out of the tree I’m hoping to pop up somewhere where the sun is free,

unlike this place where the end is only thing guaranteed.

And you and I laugh about it, a reprieve from crying out of sight,

so we hide behind comforting lies,
for the hurt is in the try.

It’s hard to own a face
in a confined and crowded space,

quietly we must go
and in time, leave without a trace.

Yet, though there are waves between us, let me know when you find a beacon guiding you back to the shore,

that unseen in the great unknown, there is much left unexplored.
Jia En Sep 5
My sister made
A little rainbow out of clay,
It sits on my desk;
I look at it every day
Though its colours did fade.
It reminds
Me,
It’s just a matter of time
Before I’ll be able to see
The dust, the grey on everyone’s
Face, as if they’ve misplaced
Their joy and fun.
Still, I’ll wish that my
Rainbow will look Age in the eye,
And just have a good laugh.
My colours will stand
Through every wash, by machine or hand.
Air
Won’t be whitening my hair.
Unfortunately, we're all getting older...
Drab Sep 4
Some People write poetry to be famous.
Some People write poetry to be heard.
Some People write poetry to blend in.
Some People wrote poetry when they are empty, bored old human beings..

Guess which one you are?
NOTIFICATIONS - 09-03-24-666.3   stardate now. R. Stuart is a pretty good lad.
Malia Aug 28
Like a quote that I cannot remember
Like a song stuck right in my head
A fire once, now it’s an ember
Ash pages of words that were said.

Like a waft that drifts out of the kitchen
Just a hint of the past, so sweet.
I have scars that I know were once stitches
But I only recall summer heat.

Like water, like sand, to hold in your hand
To cradle when it just slips away.
It was art, it was home, not written but shown,
Now crumbled, broken pieces of clay.

I miss it!
What was it?
I miss what I lost!
It was warm, it was cold, it was piercing and soft.
It was something, just something
I feel calling me back.

I’d go to it now if I hadn’t lost track.
will tell.
Mae Aug 20
The streets used to be wider. I swear that they did. I know I was a kid, but they used to be thick. They used to have girth, a sidewalk as wide as the Earth. My memory is sketchy, but surely they were wide. You could fit neatly inside, tucked away like a bird safe in a nest. So where is the rest? When'd they get thin, lose all their width? Or was it always like this?

The trees used to be taller. Reaching for the moon, their leaves falling soon, it's early September, this is how I remember. Spilling onto the pavement, these yellows and reds, like someone colored the sidewalk while we slept in our beds. Like a volcano erupting, disrupting the mainland, they'll wash away in the rain and leave behind streaks of beauty for us to recall. I thought there was more, but was this all?

The hallways used to be longer. They used to have an endless row of door after door set snug between a narrow floor. A warm light overhead guided us down to more, seemingly never ending, an eternally descending corridor. They used to be longer, of this I am sure. The scope, an improbable length. That was its greatest strength, that it stretched onward, indefinite. I used to be scared of how long they would be, and now I can see, that perception was me. But I swear, they used to be longer.

The world used to be bigger. Now it feels so small. What happened to it all? Where is the expansive planet that once was? What happened, because it used to be bigger. There used to be more. The sky seemed taller, of this I am sure. Where once you couldn't fathom the length between states, now the length between rooms seems far too great. Where once an hour felt like a year, now fifteen minutes feel like they're never here. The world used to be bigger. I am not lying. But I think perhaps my innocence is dying.

Did I get bigger or did it all just get small? Or was this the size it was all along? Was I incapable of seeing it for what it was, preconception so skewed and all because everything seems larger when you are little. The world feels so big, your life not as brittle. The hallways, the trees, the sidewalks were massive, but was it because interaction was passive. Now I am here, now I'm fully awares. And everything's small.

And nobody cares.
Perhaps not my best work, but it was half finished when I decided to put it up here and complete it. Either way, not terrible, but nothing spectacular either by any means.
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