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jcl Dec 2020
The lights
are screaming,
"may the night
doesn't end."

We, too.
When we are
at our best,
we hope to
stay the same.

As the sun rises,
the lights say,
"I will be back."

We, too.
There'd always be dark days, what matters is how we get over those.
Lanna K Dec 2020
My concept of time is completely warped, and for that, I pay no attention to it. Remember when you were younger and a year felt a lot longer than it does now? When you are young, and life is long, there is time to ****, but as we age time escapes us. However, we are just doing laps around the sun.
Bri Aug 2020
a sequence of numbers i have buried in my head. the moment things unbearable those numbers pop into my head
they tell me to hold on. they tell me to see if tomorrow would be better
they tell me to think of the handful of people i would inconvenience with the news of my death
these numbers are always just on time. just right before i tighten the noose
and just before i fix my mouth to swallow the pills I've collected over time
they remind me of the time i held my stomach for laughing so hard
they remind me of the excitement i had to bring my nephew home from the hospital
they help me be hopeful of my future
Sally A Bayan May 2020
Orange and pink hues of sunset
are nowhere...rain pours
trees are talking, leaves are fighting
the violent wind...the shutting of doors
and windows startle...and disturb

no more candle lights on the altar...prayers
have been said, tinged with whispers and
hushed giggles...the tingling of china and
silverware float in the air...the radio is off,
no more worrisome news.....what's left is,

a soothing feeling....the cool wind
makes the curtains dance...a sweet
silence breathes outside my room...both feet are
flexing...relaxing on the bed....waiting for end another virus-stamped day,
the rainy dark comes with a sacred stillness,
we're not over the woods, yet...but, it would be
nice to hear about less, and more:  a decline
in cases, a flat curve...a rise in recoveries...a cure,
a vaccine would disable the claws of the
evil virus......meanwhile, we keep the faith,  
as we wait...and look forward
to........better days...
tomorrow is another day.


Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
May 15, 2020
Zywa Jul 2019
Expats, foreign workers, people
who are stuck, stay and continue

dreaming of a free life
as shepherds and cattle lords
in their own country
of grassy meadows, milk, and honey
the old promise

The young men long
for the beautiful girls
of the north
while they do the work here
in the delta, where they feel at home

in the stories
of the ancient god who created the world
with thoughts from his heart, living
words from his mouth, the Potter
who molded man

that mold their souls, giving some light
when it is dark in their hearts
filled with old ash in which still glows
the fire of the Destroyer
Prince Djhut-mose / Thut-mose (the eldest son of Amen-hotep III) = "son of Thoth" (Djhut) = Moses (in Goshen, the eastern Nile Delta, where he is high priest, in the temple of Ptah at Memphis)

Ptah = Maker (of the world)

El Shaddai = God the Destroyer

Collection “From Sacred Scripts”
Nat Lipstadt May 2019
~for better days for the poet betterdays~

mournful tunes play silently, but still too often,
eyes wet but in corners kept, recurring then the
memories, keepsakes, letters, books, small trinkets,
not dusty, but dusky, resting on in-between ledge of a
mountain-sized twilight of well lit shadowy haziness,
edgy dark brilliance, a comprehensible contrast non-comprehendible

tunes that bless with equal measures of grief,
comforting, by memorable card flashes of good relief,
a dividing line, hazy and frequented crossed, a sort of path,
with no destination signaled, as if the path itself was an end,
to a meaning, a solution, with no clarity divined, a division
of sight and insight, providing an ill fitting reconciliation

mourning is electric, morning is electric,
letters, words bottled up in evaporating perfume bottles,
seeking the comfort of dissipation unto a larger atmosphere,
the scent in everything tangible, stronger still yet, in intangibles
that can erode but never ever fail to return instantly when voked,
by vision, odor, a particular child’s smile, line in a poem volunteered

recovered, uncovered, a post first writ to be written, discovered,
when time and place coincidentally breathe together, at last,
beckoning you to places where memory serves only as a pleasuring,
upright mind marker, decorated in chains perpetual reforging,
absent pain, gleaming dreamings full-replacing longings for pasts,
new verses composed, passing, a grand addition to a child’s legacy
loss can only be tempered, reforged, and ultimately used for our  own betterment when the heart commands, now write!
purple turtle Apr 2019
We all have durations
I like to call them moments
some have moments that linger
just a little longer
some have shorter
They too,
have thorns like roses
but one way or another
it'll just end
it doesn't matter
how or where
It ends
it matters what happens
And what happens after
Will be better
Natália Jul 2018
I've been struggling
For so long
I've been feeling down
Like there was no hope

I haven't been able to sleep tonight
My mind has been so full
Full of thoughts
But this time
After such a long while
They are nice

I had a moment of realization
When I knew I had to write
No matter how bad this poem would turn out
I needed to share
Share that after months of sadness
Today I've had a sudden appearance of happiness
Vinny Chav Jul 2018
I don’t regret the **** I do or the choices I make. Love is over rated and you’re a down grade. I tried my best to look out for the rest but I guess it’ll be me myself and I. I pray for better days and better ways but how am I supposed to do that? When everything I do reminds me of you? Of us? Maybe one day it’ll be a better day.
Lyn-Purcell May 2018
Your truth is not my truth nor is it the truth.
The truth is the truth is not easy.
The truth is the truth has many roads, many forests.
But the truth will always be the truth:
Honest and harsh and damaging
but alive and freeing.
The truth is the truth can be a defeat as well as victory.
The truth is the truth is a sword and shield.
Short poem I wrote in my journal.
Things are looking up...slowly and steadily granted, but looking up.
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