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Carmen Jane Jan 16
The way the wind whispers through snowflakes
Trying to arrange  them in lines with meaning
The same way she imagines better days
Fighting against some thoughts she finds demeaning

She  feels the winter shivers on her skin
When hesitation is heavier than it seems,
She pulls her hair to point up her chin
Failure just does not fit in her scheme.

The hour glass sand is pouring merciless
She'll have no choice, yet to choose smart
Always feeling one with the universe,
She'll follow the truth, that comes from her heart.
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

stories
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
although,
it doesn't matter
how or where
It ends
it matters what happens
after
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.
Kelly Hogan Jan 2018
I hate when I'm told
That being nice is getting old
And that my smile should be sold
To the highest bidder.
Now, I know I'm a quitter
But at least I'm not bitter
About the cards I've been dealt
Because no matter how I've felt
My heart will always melt
From the sun's rays
That clear up cloudy greys
And promises better days.
Days where it's only fair
That we learn how to share
And most importantly,
We care.
Being nice to others shouldn't be so much of a surprise.
Melissa Jun 2017
Day by day
Watching my days fly by
Watching everything pass me by
Everything seems to keep going
Keep living
Keep breathing
But me..
Samantha Jul 2016
It's  scary
Not really knowing who you are
I guess it depends on the scene
Every setting a different person
Every setting  the same body

It's  scary
Not knowing  your mind
Not knowing  your heart
You trying to help
You tearing me apart

But what hurts the most
Being surrounded by actors
Wanting to trust
But terrified of dissapointment
Dispite all of this I won't change me because of actors
■sscsx
Don't change because people treat you a certain way. You'll  be   just like them. Just be  conscious.
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