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Refused to follow
Beaten path
Incurred their wrath
Sound decisions
His acts reasoned
Worked with precision
Man was seasoned
Refused to follow
Beaten path
Incurred their wrath
They sank differences
Converged to a point
They were seasoned
Reasoned decision
Executed with precision
Their plan
Buried him underground
In unison they talked
The man was missing
He went on an errand
Refused to follow
Beaten path
Lost in his chosen path!
How many meal worms
Does it take to rot
Until they fester
Evil  hunts
Chinese believers
Corrupt police
Carry out monstrous torchers
On their brothers and sisters
Twisted barbaric torches by
Twisted CCP
They haven't any Good
They are wicked sick and cruel .

Chinese believers need our prayers
The world needs to put a stop to this evil act.
Chinese believers
Without fault
No fault of Thier own choose to believe and follow God
Suffer at the hands of murderous
Policy not to believe in God.
They pay a very high price .
For to believe in Jesus Christ.
clementine Jul 2020
i like me when i'm with you
when you hold me in your arms so tight
and my shoulders that you bite
oh baby, i would love to be with you for years
you whispering sweet words in my ears

one cozy afternoon,
while we're watching our favorite cartoon
hands clasped and forehead kisses
i closed my eyes and recall my wishes
this is what i wish for and i couldn't ask for more

a loud noise banged at the door
suddenly, a drunken man fell to the floor
then, his gang came in and punched you
metal clanking and bubblegums they chew
i shouted in terror when they hit you hard

white flowers and black outfits
what did we do for them to throw a fit?
i could still remember the bloods
and how they throw you on the muds
baby, i miss your touch on mine.
i miss you.
Grey May 2020
And with just one word,
I watched as my dreams crashed down,
unable to hold
when life's harsh realities
beat down on their fragile frames.
May is the month of tankas and ten words, I guess.
Amna Khan Apr 2020
Brittle, broken, beaten
I carry in my chest
a moldy stone.
It used to flutter once
and beat harmoniously.
Medusa's hair,
coiling around this planet
finally found it.
And now my heart is only a moldy stone, all thanks to this cruel world.
Michael R Burch Apr 2020
Ince St. Child
by Michael R. Burch

When she was a child
  in a dark forest of fear,
    imagination cast its strange light
      into secret places,
      scattering traces
    of illumination so bright,
  years later, they might suddenly reappear,
their light undefiled.

When she was young,
  the shafted light of her dreams
    shone on her uplifted face
      as she prayed;
      though she strayed
    into a night fallen like mildewed lace
  shrouding the forest of screams,
her faith led her home.

Now she is old
  and the light that was flame
    is a slow-dying ember . . .
      What she felt then
      she would explain;
    she would if she could only remember
  that forest of shame,
faith beaten like gold.

Published by Piedmont Literary Review, Songs of Innocence, Romantics Quarterly and Poetry Life & Times. This is an unusual poem that I wrote in my late teens or early twenties, and it took me some time to figure out who the elderly woman was. She was a victim of childhood ******, hence the title I eventually chose. Keywords/Tags: child, abuse, ******, fear, night, faith, prayer, screams, shame, beaten
muteD Mar 2020
Words hurt
But yours shouldn’t have to.
The things you say stick to me like a
I’m a vacuum.
I **** up all the things you say
and it just replays.
You say
things you think you have to say
in ways
that are better left unsaid.
Too bad you can’t UnSay
the things you said
even though I know
you never would.

How come
it is always the ones we hold closest
that is gifted
with the blueprint
of our defeat?
a way to have us
beaten, broken hearted
and down
on both knees.

How is this honest?
How are we fair?
To be clear,
as you sleep
without fear
I sit here and think.
If you had a snore for every tear I’ve shed,
you might never wake up.
Written : 3/4/20
Proctor Ehrling Sep 2019
Torn up shirt
Ripped up blazer
Hair of dirt
Occam's razor

Tries to stand up
Hides the inability
Takes a step, has to stop
Law of probability
Freestyle written in 3 minutes.
Taylor Broussard May 2019
Scared to open these tattered wings of mine
In fear that they'll fall off
Putting on this dim halo
For all to see
Feeling nothing at all
But an icy darkness
Instead of my usual warmth
Whatever happened to
The holy angel I used to be

You took everything away from me
From my lock and key memories
That you sharpened
And continuously used against me
Down to the pure white cloak
That I use to wear so sacredly
Who knew that
I would encounter the devil himself
This poem is about a very dark time that I went through. For those of you who can relate please know this, YOU ARE NOT ALONE.
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