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I just believe there is a truth,
I have my lips both sweet and cruel,
I see my shy jewels craved by fire,
it's a myth upon desire,
I play the games of innocence,
come forth in roses, purple disease,
I open up the flight, it's sea breeze,
I'm in shades for I'm just quiet,
waiting no longer silent.
Poem from my book 'The Allure Of Time, now available on amazon.
Go and get your own copy.
Hershey Mar 2019
#3
although i was the one to never believe in fate⁣
somehow i knew you were my soulmate⁣
and even before i could wish forever⁣
you came and whispered in my ear "NEVER"

it hurts because the whole universe said yes but you said differently
Chris Mar 2019
Flatline
__
Empty space.
Nichts.
Kurac moj.
Nothing.
People who think that the stars talk are dumb. Deal with it.
This tunnel of vision
defies indecision.
To choose with precision,
I hide from derision.

The voices outside me
tell me lies to guide me.
With no one beside me,
I hear what’s inside me.

I can find my out.
I’ve always done without
others knowing my route
or what I’m all about.

Though the tunnel’s unlit,
dark and loneliness fit.
I’ve made myself commit,
Straight ahead, and don’t quit!
Instagram @insightshurt
Blogging at www.insightshurt.com
Buy “Insights Hurt: Bringing Healing Thoughts To Life” at store.bookbaby.com/book/insights-hurt
Ramón Mar 2019
What is god?
Who is god?
Is he, or it, bound by religion?
Or does its omnipresence go beyond man-made margins?
Why should I believe?
What happens if I don’t?
Will I burn in hell, is sunscreen sold down there?
Does my sarcasm and mockery infuriate you?
Do you want to punish me, I thought you loved me?
Why did you create me, out of boredom?
For your glory, your amusement, at my expense?
Why am I instructed to listen but you don’t speak?
I can’t even touch you so you can’t feel my pain,
Your throne is far more superior to the **** filled toilet I’m forced to mount everyday in life,
Am I really made in your image, then how come I’m not perfect?
Are you not able to heal, then why am I hurting?
Am I not your child, then why am I starving for the things you’ve promised?
Are you not omniscient, then why do I have to ask for these things?
Are you not all powerful, or are you just unwilling?
What is divinity?
I desire simplicity of the intricacy of infinity,
Who is this GOD?!
A fraud, my rod, the one who I can count on when times get hard?
What if told you I don’t like to read?
Would you then read me the Bible before bed like a child, since you are my father, right?
Is your throne comfortable, you know, the one that sits above all else in the highest of heavens?
Because comfort is foreign to the feet that are oppressed by the gravity of the reality you’ve trapped me in,
But as long as you’re okay,
Just trying to be unselfish, isnt that what you want?
Well what about what I want?
Isn’t that how a relationship works, isn’t that what you want from me?
What do you want from me?
Do you want just me?
How can you want me when you won’t even tell me who I am?
How can you ask of me what you refuse to give to me in the first place?
I know that I’m a little out of character, seeming that you are the creator of everything and decide my fate and all,
Excuse my humanness as I question your godhood, but these things I just gotta know,
And who better to answer them other than you?
Not a book, not a preacher, not religion....... but you
Dustin Dean Mar 2019
A palette of every hue, tells a tale
Visions of terrestrial views, we shall fail
As a community, burdened by lust
For green, in paper, until dust

Vehicles in bloom, make the distance
No question to intentions, incentives
For a reality, structured in somethings
A mere reflection, for greater summits

In days such as this, in my mind
Shrouded in willow green, I find
Must I question, a beckoning call
Before the season’s quilt, shall fall

I am blinded, in peripheral vision
To carry on, toward no provision
For anyone, or anything in my way
Until the white light graces me
In my wake
Hello Prolly Mar 2019
naked souls over naked bodies,
naked bodies all over one another
Maria Etre Mar 2019
For what separates us from
creating magic
is the lack
of belief
in one's
power
Hurricane Mar 2019
writing poetry is like writing to an old friend ,
one you haven't heard from in years ,
one that , frankly , you forgot existed ,
you meet for coffee , discuss weekend plans and live in each others light ,
you'll still try to prove something ,
whether you're ready or right or fine,
eventually you'd part ways after promising you'd meet up again ,
for coffee in that same corner shop ,
on a gloomy day ,
to reminisce .
for Anna , whose love for coffee and friendship will always bring me joy .
Sanjali Mar 2019
20
Believe, my little darling
In all your precious dreams
That are called silly
And make believe.

They’re the ones
That’ll keep you strong
And you need strength, little one,
To move on and on.

Who did ever say
That dreams are lies?
I’ll tell you true
This world isn’t right.

So my sweet little bird,
If you want to be free
Believe in your words
Believe in those dreams.
10.3.18
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