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Be hopeful,
all things will come to an end.
Somethings may have a new beginning.
Some may be dead.

In this life,
everything is for our good.
We may not think that,
but we really should.

So keep hoping
and keep believing.
You never know
what you might be receiving.
March 2019
Anna Veronica Nov 2021
Let my grave be unnamed.
Let it be unrecognisable too.
Let my haters remember how I wronged them.
Let the people who love me remember me without a plea.
Let my grave be unmarked,
Let me be just a passing thought.
Let my grave be unmarked,
So all those who pass mark it without a farce.
Let their feelings towards me ,
Of contempt or of respect,  be a prospect.
Let there be no doubt when you flicker your gaze at me ,
When I sleep for eternity,
Or till my souls redeems me.
Let my grave be unnamed,
Let my  people name me.
A liar , a deceiver , unloving child
A lover , a foe , a friend with no friends.
Let my grave be unnamed ,
Let my soul be unclean.
For all the thoughts that cross your mind,
Let those be with what I am remembered by,
Never the good , not the bad but the ugly truth with which I passed .
Let my grave be untouched,
Without grief , as their is no one else to cast your burden upon.
Let me go all alone,
As no one stood by me when I brimmed with life.
With all  my  love to share
Your hatred holding onto  my love
Let my grave be unnamed .
Let my peace be on loan
Let my soul be unmarked
Let my sorrow never follow through
Let me be without a tomorrow.
Brett Oct 2021
My heart orbiting
Around these years old coffee rings
That blemish these fading,
Family pictures.
                          A path of precession,
Towards the vernal equinox of my thoughts.
When the sun’s light Scatters evenly across
Lines in the sand We never dared cross
                                       Or,          
The last solemn ride For better words left unsaid
Death truly does Do us part
                            Death of a feeling
                            Fleeting
                                        Stars
                                                Upon
           ­                                             My
                                                            Ceil­ing
Glenn Currier Sep 2021
It is hot
I am sweaty and already tired
a lone mason out here in the sun
my back bent over the edge of the foundation.
Behind me the stack of bricks
in my hand the trowel
snatched up from my weathered toolbox.

My forehead drips joining the goo of mortar
I lay the mortar bed row
and grab the first brick
to begin the southern wall,
the wall that will face the first squall
of this troubled season.
Sometimes one must begin again the project of building sanity.
Carlo C Gomez Aug 2021
~
Jara sang undaunted,
Fet-Mats, turned to stone, dug deep,

—as if a silent prayer in Latin,

—as if the sacredness of wedding vows,

—demonstrative
as a water lily.

There's a perpetually simple elegance
to what water fallen words
kept in a tinderbox stir,

—bless the soft spoken
and the loud cry.

—bless the dead poet
and the buried miner.

—bless the nouns and verbs
of a crescent bride
about to receive her husband
inside of her.

~
Billie Marie Aug 2021
i saw dark gods walking the earth
tall strong broken women and men
with hearts connected and on fire
i saw children playing in peace
and growing in love
i smelled health and abundance
in the winds of change

what should we do when
doing is outdated?
we shall lie upon a mountain
and call out to the heavens
and drink nectar from only
the juiciest of fruits and
realize our Truth and sameness

we made music so we could remember
our true selves we wrote
poems and moved our bodies
to rhythms no one ever knew
i saw our lands overflowing with
the milk we extracted and
pasteurized and bottled
and delivered but never drank
being intolerant of the lacking
flavor in dry white toast

we are the very lands we
couldn’t bury our ancestors in
we couldn’t let anyone
take the seeds they’d sewn
the ancient ones
the ones who planted the seeds
for us seeds that overpopulated
an unsuspecting nation
on the brink of collapse
We are the ones we have been searching for.
You never can go back
Back to the beginning
Begin and end again
Again where we started
Started this mess
Mess of a romance
Romance is dead
Dead is my heart
Heartbroken you left me
Me and her together
Together we’ll be fine
Fine, you win, I love
Love who I thought you to be
Anais Vionet Jun 2021
I've grown rusty and unused to summoning words from a blank page - but FINALLY - there's something new to describe. School (11th grade) is over - at last - and... more.

There's a party tonight - a REAL, honest-to-God, in person, PARTY - for about 30 of us. Yes, vaccinations are documented. Life seems to be beginning again.

I'm eager, like a boxer before the bell or a racehorse at the starting gate. I'm an animal, long constrained, who knows it's about to be set free.

I'm as disorientated as an awakened dreamer and I find myself laughing, drunk with possibilities as I try on clothes for preliminary impressions.

It's hard to quash tremors of impatience.

I'm sick of helpless, indifferent, pandemic necessity.

I'm SO tired of boredom, circling me like a vulture, in my panopticon palace - that I opted for a respite of pure terror - I'm SO clever.

I'm skipping my senior year of high school and heading off to university. I'd rather die than risk spending another year in my room(s) - I almost went crazy.

There's a paper on my desk, white as a bride. It says "ACCEPTED for fall term 2021."

I’m trying not to let on that I’m afraid. Is desire always a tangle of impossible, contradictory impulses?

I've decided that my life is my only real possession - my own, small, life-or-death riddle to solve.

I want to live with intent, like I'm aimed at something and I'm going to chase happiness like it could be caught.

My luggage is open - like alligator jaws. I stare into those tan, Ghurka depths - rigid with anxiety.

My sister (home on vacation from her surgical residency) sees me eyeing the empty bags.
"Are you worried?” She says, “You look worried."

I normally find the sister-teacher-coach vibe irritating, but now, somehow, it seems reassuring.

"No," I lie - then - "A bit," I admit, close-lipped.

But that's a later worry =]
There are some changes in my world - at last
Maria Jun 2021
What have we become, as the years have drawn on
At the hands of ourselves and our fate
Unmoving in the pillars we rested our lives upon
What have we become

Convincing ourselves we were but a moment too late
Biding time ‘till we could fly on the wings of a swan
As our minds rotted at an ever-quickening rate

Dismissing our stumble as an unlikely phenomenon
Our thundering heartbeats left to reverberate
The mirage of our advance now shattered and gone
What have we become
I tried to write something with a more defined structure, let me know if you have any suggestions. It's been a strange week with some mixed news, so I feel like I'm starting over again. I hope this poem got that message across, I hate it when structure comes at the expense of the meaning. Anyhow, hope everyone is doing well :)
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