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Oh! Woe to the poor captivated lover
Being trapped in love, but beloved gone

Oh! The moment I'm sitting as tulip alone
In my heart's blood, she is gone as wind

The voice of ax didn't come from Bistoon
Shireen is gone to Farhad's dream tonight

Oh! I will inform you of my painful alas
The day my enormous patience finally gone

Pity lover that flew your grapevine hair
With a hundred hopes come, gone unhappy

I am happy you abandoned all my rivals
Although, you left me as fistful of soil to wind

Mountains and deserts are mournful tonight
Lovers as Majnoon and Farhad gone forever
- Inspiration from a classic Persian poem
- Shireen and Farhad is an ancient Persian love story
- Bistoon is a mountain that Farhad had to finish a tunnel to reach to Shireen but eventually died there
- Leili and Majnoon is an ancient Persian and Arabic love story
Maria Etre Feb 4
When was the last time
you called to show
It's been forty three years since that night
when i went out to do what's right
Something that I've kept inside since then

People searched but never found
They followed my prints on the ground
Never looking for anyone else, but men

I'm the one who shot him dead
Two bullets shot, and then I fled
Now it's time to tell my tale 'bout then

It was the night the lights went out in Georgia
It was the night that they hung an innocent man
Don't trust your soul to no back woods southern lawyer
Cause the judge in the town's got blood stains on his hands

They looked high, and they looked low
followed my prints in the snow
Never caring if he did the crime

They hung my brother from a tree
The one who should have died was me
I've never left, I've been here all the time

I guess what goes around comes around
The judge is now dust in the ground
The sheriff, he is also long time dead

It was the night the lights went out in Georgia
It was the night that they hung an innocent man
Don't trust your soul to no back woods southern lawyer
Cause the judge in the town's got blood stains on his hands

It's been a long, long time since Andy died
Rivers of tears that I have cried
But in the end I can' change what was done

Cause Andy's cheating wife never left town
And her body has never been found
Cause this little sister don't miss when she aims her gun

It was the night the lights went out in Georgia
It was the night that they hung an innocent man
Don't trust your soul to no back woods southern lawyer
Cause the judge in the town's got blood stains on his hands
Haylin Jan 20
My knight does not need to be
in shining armor,
nor blessed with prestige
or countless honor.

It only needs to be you,
someone who could wield
a sword, respectable enough
to be able to strike a heart of gold.
ollie Jan 13
“We kept walking the tightrope”
It was a whisper before she started coaching me
Memorized because I’d found a passion for it
It got easier to write after she’d told me to
And I can write about lots of things
Like how it’s easy to go unobserved if you keep your head down
I learned how to walk in crowds without looking a long time ago
Do you want to see me become someone I’m not
I won’t look different
I’ll just be a lot better at making people laugh
“You’re approaching a very difficult time in your life”
“I know”
I don’t need reminding
I just need some help figuring out who it is that’s going to help me there
Who I am
Can’t somebody help me figure it out
I’m willing to be the image someone has of me as long as it feels right
He said he saw a lot of himself in me
He said I have a very tilted image of the world
That I was given the world and instead chose to lift the lid and make something out of it
And for once
I’m upset that someone read me better than I read them
I guess it’s still a sick feeling
Having my plug clogged up so no emotions can trickle through into my own body
And sometimes I still feel them
When I’m awake late and someone is begging for help
It calls to me in the early hours of the morning
I would not take this world as a given
I’m going to make something out of it
Whether it’s in a way the man expects or not
Ali Jan 5
Thy pride is as ancient as the splendor sun,
Thy flame is as old as the ashes of eternal glory,
Thy wrath is as wretched as the false marbles of Nero,
What giveth thee such wicked pride, thy over charring flames:
Thy envy or greed is as vast as the unbinding waves;
Twas by chance a ray of light you saw by blunder:
Why did all the scorching heat turn Into morbid ice,
Life’s a shadow; more you insist more wretched thee become,
Long agone before thy birth, angels bowed before thee:
What giveth thee such wicked pride or thy undying flames,
Thou shan’t creep to darkness nor fret over the long winter,
Thou art prey to thy desire, ***** to sweet temptations,
In thy gods name thee eagerly trample upon countless souls:
You have forgotten that you are meant to be human,
Proud is what you are, pride is all you have for eternity,
May thee remember; why and whence thee came in.
Annie Dec 2018
You're just a soul
Without a body
A void, the hole
Inside me

I am unable to give you a form
A structure to the laughter I hear
You're mystical
More than just a smear

You're my intangible creation
Above everything, and all
You'll rise with me, if I fall

Too holy for the rest
Unfathomed, my beloved
Keeping me closest
With requisite gazes
Simra Sadaf Nov 2018
read the funniest satire, the funniest irony
the thing I most craved for is killing me

not so long ago, found myself in a different version
I was neck-deep into a writer, a ****** good one
a cliché – a cig, a drink, a *** of ink, a quill, a paper
also ******* acted for him as momentary pain eraser

‘twas the writers ball where I first saw him
the year was 1940, he looked beautiful but grim
stared at him unapologetically
but all he did was self-pity

the essence, the manners, the abyss in his eyes
every word, every action revealed a man so wise
spent all my nights deciphering every metaphor
curious about what was written on the papers he tore

I wished to reach out and say even poets ***** up
he was busy taking sips from the death cup
wrote to him asking to let me in his world
crossed my heart to keep him secure and furled

I hoped to unburden the sorrows he hid
but death reached out before my letters did
the adversity of not having said, not having heard
drove me mad like him, like him now I live in words.
sharon Oct 2018
they don't know that
she is classical;

she is the kind people admire
but seems to be impossible
to be figured out by anyone,

but when they do,
oh how they can hear the
most beautiful lullaby
coming out of her.

— s.r.
— and not everyone is capable of getting to know and understanding her.
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