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alexa Apr 12
the world will still turn on it’s axis,
even though you told me you didn’t like my lashes.

it will still turn on its axis when you don’t call me one night.

it will still turn when you stop looking at me as often as you do.

it will still turn when i move on.
when you stop treating me like i’m some pawn.

and even though i’ll feel like the world is ending as i know it, the world will turn on its axis.

i will feel as if the weight of ten suns has been put upon my shoulders.

but one day, maybe not now, but one day; the weight will be lifted from my shoulders.
my life will continue as if it never got colder.

and the world will continue to spin on its axis.
thank you.
nightdew Mar 25
you caught me spinning on my axis,
only to knock me off my spin.

and now i'm afraid i'm the only one,
falling off their routine from missing you.
cant stay stable
I. Black Eagle

A casket.
Simple. Brown.
Made with the wood of an oak tree.
And covered by the flag of a once proud nation.

Within that box
Lay the remains
Of the one he called his brother.

The one who, despite everything, was always there for him.
The one who, despite everything, followed him through it all.
The one who, despite everything, was loyal till the end.

And now that man was gone.

No longer would he wake up
To that cheery pale face and those crimson eyes.

No longer would he live
Knowing he still had family.

If the war is truly over...
Why was he still hurt?

- - - - -

II. What Never Was

Those stern,
Blue eyes.
Shallow, yet so deep one would get lost in them.

The still, cold frown,
Begging
To be turned into a warm smile.

The face he had wished,
So many times,
To see again, if only for a moment.

All sorrow, all grief,
It all evaporated
As he ran into the arms of his lover.

Then he woke up.
The ring on his finger
Now a painful reminder of what never was.

If the war is truly over...
Why was he still hurt?

- - - - -

III. Cherry Blossoms Stained Red

Scattered petals
Of cherry blossoms,
Painting the land fuchsia.

He’s felt this before.
Loneliness. Abandonment.
So why was it different this time?

The commanding shouts of the German.
The boyish charm and playfulness of the Italian.
And the silent whispers of birds in his empty garden.

If the war is truly over...
Why was he still hurt?

- - - - -

My only brother, dead.
My family, gone.

My heart, once full of unexplainable emotion,
Now empty, torn, his memory slowly fading.

The pain of abandonment.
The same, yet worse than before.

If the war is truly over...
Why are we still hurt?
A compilation of all parts in my trilogy 'If The War Is Truly Over', plus an extra part.
The trilogy is three Hetalia fanpoems based in my Hetalia AU 'Isolated'. The three poems are in the perspectives of the three main Axis countries (Germany, Italy/North Italy, Japan).
Not that I haven't said this before
But recently, I've felt the need to say it more
My emotions are running deep, like a river
That treads off course, and images are cutting me
Like paper cuts that make the insides of my skin
Sting of soreness

A fortress of imagination
Broken down in a moment's instant
I feel almighty, on top of a mountain's point
But like a pencil sharpened too loose
I break, falling off this high-rise
And feeling my moment lose its momentum
A totem that has stopped spinning
As I lose control into the waves
Of another current, down below

Its purpose?

To slow me down
But how would I know...?
I'm just another moment
That has turned upside down
With only places left to fall
And nowhere left to go.
This poem marks one of the first times in my experiences writing poetry, that it's been the starting piece of a sequence of poems to follow. That said, it still has a life of its own, as each poem does. Hope you enjoy, and thanks for reading.
AsianGenderWater May 2019
Who am I?
I’m Canada, your owner.
It’s ok if you don’t remember.
You never do.

Who’s the sixth Ally?
It’s me, your brother.
It’s ok if you don’t notice.
You never do.

If I’m not America, then who am I?
I’m Canada, his twin.
It’s ok if you didn’t realise.
Nobody ever does.

What was I saying?
Why don’t you ever listen to me?
I’m sick of this, brother.
I’m sick of being ignored.

I may have burned down Washington,
But that will never hurt as much
As the pain in my heart.
The pain you gave me.

I’m invisible.
Nonexistent.
I’m never here
Even when I am.

Who am I?
I’m Canada, your twin!
I’m sick of this, America.
I’m sick of being forgotten.
A poem about Canada from the anime Hetalia: Axis Powers
Nick Stiltner Apr 2018
My head is stuck at the peaks of youthy rooftops
trapped in moving circles and daggers rotting brain.
I hover, gliding above the generated, empty plane, tracing the moving shadows below and tracking the nights that rain.

i was so careful but the lines oh the ever running lines they vibrate frantically, I cannot look away they dance back and forth between both crests of their prison, their XYZ axes gripping them trapping them within definite images between associations and contexts, between gleaming ascent and its tumbling recoil.

The ride hick-ups and pollutes the clouds
filling my scent and descent pulls at my stomach,
gravity yanks me back, pulling on my rope and
laughing all the while.

At first you fear it but then you are laughing and shouting
and throwing your arms in the air and having the wind rush
into your lungs and whip your hair it is so beautiful it is
unlawful it is unreal i cant be seeing this and it spirals and tumbles and shriekingly grinds to a halt, panting.
Bryden Jan 2018
My home is the axis.
I am everywhere at once
but still I am lost.
I can show you the world
but you will experience nothing.
Sometimes I worry that I will be forgotten
as I am simply a starting point
for greater things ahead.
I wish I could travel in another direction.
These circles are tiring.
I radiate knowledge from my plump ***-belly,
but inside,
I know far less than you.
I accommodate the whole world,
but my shell still fits in your hands.
I lodge the scorching swelter of the deserts,
but I only feel warmth between your palms.
I breathe the icy air of Antarctica,
but the only snow that bothers me
is the grey blanket that sits on my surfaces
when you are gone for a while.
My home is simply the axis.
I wander all the places  
but still I am no where to be found.
(Poem about a globe spinning on an axis)
Vexren4000 Nov 2017
One can beg and plead,
For help from far above,
For some light of redemption to shine down,
Upon the forlorn lands,
Pleading to a god,
A god named Set, or Yahweh,
Dead gods forgotten by man,
Now man pleads to gods,
Without realizing his own strength,
Is what got him through his life up until,
This axial moment.

©BAS
Paul Jones May 2017
You are my other,     alike but unlike.
As our axis turns,     we are each at ends.
10:30 - 13/05/17
State of mind: thoughtful; relaxed.

Thoughts: from thinking - about how opposites attract. I have likened it to the polarity of planets.

Questions: are the rotations of love spherical and oscillating?

Notes: expand idea into a sonnet.
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