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In this house so big,
where mammoth appears miniature as a twig,
is occupied by my family lil wacky,
and the members lil shabby.

Fancy dress is a quotidian.
And try to talk in lydian.

I love being with them.
Treat me as a rare gem.

We spend time ample.
But they leave me alone in a temple.

Few times their pretend cuts look real,
like denying to heal.

Forever with me.
But a visiter and no guarantee.

People are weirdly overwhelmed by sentiments,
and ask me how am i doing since the car accident.
Do you also forget some incidents but the gones are alive?
Giovanna Jun 13
In my dream bubble,
all the glee is filterable.
No words said.
The blues with the reds,
on a wide spread.
As the clock strikes my happy hour,
there is a prey of my power.
I stand strong over the killed,
with a thirst unfulfilled.
When I said glee could be sieved,
it was misery I picked.
Do u have a thirst like mine?
The War Pen Jun 8
To some your voice can melt the ice, to others it bites like mice - slowly not to finish but to entice, I can't advise, all I can do is to **** myself away if am the vice.

I wish I could sing like you - You, you move a down soul new, people like you are few, if only he knew, he wouldn't make the same mistake I did before I grew.

You want me to sing?, In B-flat, like what? I only mew like a cat, I sing very low keys always on the ground like a mat, I usually ask myself - my talent, where are you at?, It always answers - just don't excite yourself - cause that which you desire, are nothing like that.
Instead of singing Maybe I will play dart, or *** for ****, like Tom and Jerry the Rat.

The War Pen!
Anne Marie May 22
It was as if a normal day,
Until you decided to come this way
Invited me with open arms,
“Never will we be apart.” You said.
It was as if I wasn’t nervous,
Held your hand, locked it on purpose
—We started this hillclimb.
It was as if we were Jack and Jill,
Just that we weren’t rolling down this hill,
The darkness was overwhelming
And the silence deafening
But I knew everything was fine
Because you are with me,
Because our hands our locked tight.
But when the angry storm came through,
Your fear overpowered you.
You left me alone on this journey,
You made your way out.
That’s when I knew,
The person you started the journey with
doesn’t always end up with you.
One of my first poems.
Giovanna May 14
I start with my poem,                         
when I am down with jeroboam.      
I'll simply tell of the frame.              
Down the river, the moon, the night with a restricted name.          
As the hour of darkness approaches,                                          
the moonlight encroaches.              
Flopped under the cloudless skies,                                                      
far away an owl cries.                        
I call it a night,
when the extinguished darkness arise.
This is the poem I wrote for my family. This signifies their position in my life. The darkness symbolizes adversities and moonlight their love and support.
The end is melancholic. As it ends leaving me alone with my adversities.
Dean Shallow Apr 30
Sat against the head stone and the words still cant leave my mouth.
It's been six years now but it might as well be fifty, time has no business here.
I know the feeling, and the relief that will come after.
It's as if saying the words breaks the ****, and the water has risen too high.
Sure, everyone is there, friends, family, all telling me it's ok, but it isnt
No matter what shred of strength I find in myself, I may never speak these three simple words.

I miss him
For my father
Dean Shallow Apr 30
The bench squeaks as I rest, weary from the walk but only in body. My mind races, absorbing the movements of people never to be seen again.
The warm breeze sweeping the willows over the canal carries with it the bustling sounds of the city.
To some, the word"city" forces images of glass clad monuments and dull grey skys.
Not my city.
Red brick laid by men who likely knew my father,
paths stained by the countless spilled pints, Each one missed,
Streets that twist and turn like wrinkles from a smile
No, my City isn't some cold,  harsh statue to solitude,
it's the warmth of a fire after a bitter winter storm.
My city, My home
Sat by the banks of the grand Canal just passed lessons street is a bench overlooking charlemont place. Sitting there on a warm summers evening during the week is something everyone should experience at least once
Dean Shallow Apr 30
I miss your smile.
You're still here and the moments are good
but the happiness seems different now. A good night kiss to a turned head, a text unread, a sentence left unanswered. Minuscule events not worth mentioning, but every storm starts with a single rain drop.
I hope the storm never comes
Dean Shallow Apr 30
The house has never had more people in it, yet the room is still empty.
he isn’t here anymore, he’s up in the hills.
They pretend to care but do they really?
Sometimes it’s like only I remember and even then, the memories fade.
I can’t tell him, but I he knows.
My shoulder still feel’s the weight.
Sometimes, when I wake in the morning, I have to stretch my arm to shift it.
then it’s gone.
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