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Andrew Rueter Jul 21
Does an artist have a responsibility
to steer their audience in a positive direction
or is honesty and self expression all that is required?
Lisandro Jun 11
In a vast canvas, outside the spread of doubt
the feathers from my brush start to settle.
As my pupils stare through, I reach within my thoughts.
Every movement and every breath...
slowly desiccating through motionless actions of uncertainty and question...
Have I seen her before?
The harmonious sigh extracting a simple, no.
The spread of wonder inside and around me
start to grow
marching up and down the peering eyes
I tell myself that I know.
Density and silence
embracing the frames around her face.
Then I remembered something else and slowly smiled
the awe of skepticism peering through me
I paused for a moment...
just to wonder.
Again, I wonder
To the inquisitive self within, without.
Love is given to anyone born
Later on, it starts to prickle like a thorn
Between one's business and so on
The heart gets too crusty for love to grow on
But I swear I love you
My love is unswerving and true
Bigger than that dreamed by a romantic poet
Artistic than that painted with a great palette
I know you don't love me
Though, I couldn't stop loving thee.
I wonder what in this world could stop me from loving you.
Lyner May 31
My thoughts could run a marathon
Faster than Usain Bolt
But they can't focus
All over the place
From here                                                                  
                                                                   To there
Up high

And down low
but they never stay GROUNDED
My words f l o a t away from me
Like balloons set loose by a child

"You don't care," they say
I care too much
I care to the point of pain
Am I enough yet?
I would cut myself open
Rip out my heart
How much of me is too much?
Nolan Willett Apr 27
Because we thought inebriation
Aided an understanding
Of metaphysical creation,
And dulled our wistful longings
That could never be fulfilled:

We turned to tablets and things distilled.

But we are poets
We see things clearly;
The only essential is artistic focus-
To distort reality;
If my body is a temple,
Then my brain is a deity.
Just not excessively
I feel like
I am strong
I cut the rope
From my neck
Leave the scene
Crashing once again
I was strong
I was full of hope
But too wreck-
less - crashing
Diving once again
           And down
                             To the floor
Was I wrong?
I say as I *****
For a speck -
A morsel of peace
      Standing once again
To stand
To rise is to fall
To fall is to stand
I only fall
To rise again
- I am strong -
Today is a day to celebrate, not to be taken as a given
 Nor take for granted the gift of this our mortal life
  To praise which is to pass from here onto life eternal
   Don’t you know? It’s a mother who forms the endless circle
    Where the circle begins and the circle should end
     She opens a door with a key held only by her hands
      Calling upon angels of heaven to grant her a soul
       She has known me from before the first kingdom
        When the Father brought light to our existence
         Even then, she knew my flaws to their very essence
          She welcomed me without an ounce fear or reservation
           In humility, in obedience to the Father, in loving kindness
            By our Creator’s love, by mother’s choosing, her bravery
Today is her day
                                                                ­                         My mother’s day
Faizel Farzee Nov 2019
In the silent night, silently your words like snow falls.
Icely freezing my heart, its frosty whispers
My soul freeze, my voice frozen
A avalanche of saddened tears fall.

My minds been rocked, an everest of thoughts in a crater I find
It's depriving me of oxygen
Our relationship was always a cliffhanger
It's a mountain we both lustful, wanted, needed to climb.

Waves of emotions washes over me roughly.
It breaks,
Every part of my broken heart drowning
feelings caught in a whirlpool
Rising inside of me, silently screaming
It's haunting.
The line between words and the picturesque, is thinly lined
you can make words laugh or make them cry,
broken words, i try and make it fly.
the above is about heartache, with a twisted write.
Larry Potter Sep 2019
You fiddle with colors and make them bloom
Like cherry blossoms in a dismal room
You stitch the tatters and make it work
Into a masterpiece of various quirks.

You see the world as styles and hues
An artist mixing her reds and blues
To create a lilac sky with a sun that sets
Into a supernova skyline where flamingos nest.

You must keep that passion and hold it dear
As it burns away many doubts and fears
If Midas' touch turns all things to gold
You make lifeless objects into stories told.
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