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Bohemian Mar 11
°                °       ☽     °   °              °
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  _________
If you feel free
Being wicked even,that you've turned
The acceptance may begin to vindicate the sins.
King Dec 2018
Legs spread, mind scattered
Organs decay, insides battered
The thought runs wild
“did it even ever matter?”

Blood pours, like wine
Ripe berries, already burst
“Childs joy was never mine"
Tears follow, a mother cursed

Blood fills the floor
Search begins for something more
Ripening fear begins to mild
Dire sorrow fills mothers core

Lifeless child, fresh of womb
A mistake, time has forgot
Too ripe, child now faces tomb
And a sorrow, mother lays distraught
Estelle Dec 2018
Babies get all the attention

Babies get all the love

I understand that they're cute, but why must I be ignored for one?

Are my needs not as urgent?

Are my words not as sweet?

I could be just like them but I want you to listen to me.

Listen to my scars, that you never hear

Listen to the way my words go in one ear and out the other.

First it's always baby, then sister, then brother.

I'm not a bratty child to you, I have my own outlet.

But I know that when I bleed your name you will never. Listen.
Alienpoet Nov 2018
Laser light
born for flight
Sun rise keen
living in a open top dream
where’s my balloon?
light to pierce the gloom
flowers in full bloom
cover your babies cheek in the womb
the room inside your stomach
flummoxed by the madness
glistening gladness
the tide of times
everything that holds me rhymes
I am a poet life is a poet tree
I bleed ink in the heart of me.
lovelywildflower Nov 2018
i'm a dreamer
i like to dream of my future
the things i want
the way i want my house to look
the person i would like to love
just everything
lately, i've been dreaming of you
and lately, i've been looking at baby clothes
whenever i get the chance
because it reminds me of the life i want with you
and it reminds me that i can wait for you
and the life i've always wanted
Michael Oct 2018
I don’t really want it,
But you tell me I need it.
Hands reach in to take what I have.
More hands reach in to take what I need.
You have plenty, so why take mine?

They say it makes the world turn,
But it does not turn mine.
For me it does a good job,
When it comes to making it stop.

My bank balance is low,
But my head is held high.
If only I could feed my children,
Using my own stubborn pride.

Only then could my babies eat like kings.
Money is something of a myth in my house. Paying bills is a worry and keeping a roof over my babies heads is the biggest worry of all. I absolutely detest money and the social pressures that come along with it, but in this world I have no choice but to chase numbers.
Stanley Wilkin Sep 2018
NAS
Her beauty rests on her
Like lavender in the hand
Like smiles from a baby
Like heat from the sun:
It meets her smile with a kiss
And drops glistening light in her eyes:
Her beauty greets admiration with a glance
And settles gently like clear water,
In a rippling pool edged with drifting beams,
Her black hair burnished with fire.
Her beauty surrendering to the shackled
Gaze of my surrendered sight.
Jack Ritter Aug 2018
A baby boy shuts his eyes and sees
bull continents drift,
collide, startle, spin around.

Prehistoric bucks suddenly accusing-
(Did YOU just back into ME?)
They jam head-to-head,
gouge, reconcile, then confer.

The boy likes what he sees.

The beasts get down to business.
They iron out earth's future
with special bellows, & lots of musk.

Above this caucus
of nodding, naying heads,
clacking antlers mesh
into a burgeoning thicket.

He calls for more!

The thicket shudders,
sprouts into a dagger forest.

It shoots up recklessly,
like a baby's legs,
and jabs the sky
with young ideas:

New species, struggles, lies.
Whole societies in the air,
too busy to teach their children
about the bellowing below.

           The weight of so much life is too much.

There is a final SNAP
of prehistoric backs.

Not a grain remains on which to carve
the memory of all the things
that passed before this boy's eyes.
A friend called it a Darwinian myth. Highest hurdle was anthropomorphizing continents.
Willow Aug 2018
How can you look into their innocent eyes and slaughter them.
Because every time I look into their eyes, I see their soul. I see the beauty in them. I see their kind hearts being broken and beat down. And you know what is even worse, after all of that, they would give a second chance because all they want is love. They weren't even supposed to be born, their mother was *****, then had to see their babies taken away. And from when they were born, all they saw and felt was pain. And you know what's even worse, after all of it, they would give a second chance because all they want is love. From when they are born, to when they are about to get slaughtered, all they want is love. You eat pain, suffering and torture, and if you see what happens to those innocent souls and still eat it, you are just as bad as the people who own the companies and slaughter them.
Vexren4000 Jul 2018
A garden planted at the height of spring,
Growing aching for sunlight,
The sun blesses the crops,
The farmer harvests,
The world goes round,
And society sits,
Forgetting the arts that fed them so well,
Now being reduced to babes being bottle fed.

©BAS
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