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Charlie Gnarly May 2018
Bin
Sometimes I wish I really was a bin.
Trash could fill my surrounds, and in.
******* would be in my mind,
I sometimes I could hope,
that a coin
might land
inside
.
A graphically pleasing poem written about embodying my alter-ego transformation.
Many a coin laid at the bottom–
Resting pon the fountain’s floor.
Large, small.  Bronze, silver,
I couldn’t tell, but there were more.
Gazing down into the water,
A longing face stared back at me.
I made a wish right from the heart.
Please, dear Lord, now, let it be.
I cast my coin into the fountain,
’ Mongst all the other wishes there.
It slowly settled pon the floor,
Quiet and still, within its sphere.
(4/7/18 revised)
Colm Feb 2018
Polish a coin until it shines
A coin it still remains

Scratch the surface, smash the matter on the tracks
And yet the etching still ingrained  

Flattened to the edge of flat
So the world around remains

As a coin which flips is falling fast
With fate less interchanged

No bounce determines forward path
Which wasn't first ordained

Mere steadfast midst matters of the past
For we all in life break change
Just started writing on a whim and the reference made me think of an old acquaintance from a former life. Ember Nickle.
Liam Handy Dec 2017
I'm stuck in a loop.

Endless similarity between days after days
Not ever seeing a glimpse of change.
Life itself is a coin
going down a spiral wishing well.

Round and round; accelerating back to it's former position over and over again
inching forward in time.

Until it may meet the end.
Yet... Something's different now.
My coin has escaped the well.
How has it eluded the innevitable?
Something must be wrong.

What's happening?

Someone sits next to me now.
I don't know them. But I like change.
Change is good, I think.
Who is this person?
Not sure I want to know.
Or do I?
She seems interesting, yet I know not should I introduce myself.

The coin rolls across the floor.

Someone sits next to me still.
I love her so much.
I've loved before... Or so I thought.
An unfathomable amount of longing fills me.
All the time I wish to be near her.

The coin stops.

Her spark gives me light.
I feel it burning.
Is this good?

Wait.
There's another coin next to mine now.
I reach for my own
When I brush someone else's hand.
A nervous smile sits on their face.
She points to something
Another coin well on the other side of the room.

I'm here now.
She's in my arms.
She reaches up to my chest
I look down at her loving eyes
She puts a coin in my pocket.
Never thought I'd be writing again.
Colm Jun 2017
Stashing them everywhere
I store such coins to pay away the could've beens
To keep my bones and alabaster skin covered until the rainy day need not appear

At which time I can and will, take you by the hand
And show you either the former Winding Way, or create anew
By pulling coins out of the thin air, like a magic man

For this is how I make my way into the world of words
It is...yet it isn't. An act after all.
Gabriel burnS Jun 2017
Smiles, tram cars, stinging eyelids
Transparent brittle shards,
Ashes finding water surface
All of this onto a palm
Locked into a fist

I’m the coin that’s landing on its rim
The odds were slim and yet
I am standing on a grin
The third side says that
Karma always wins
Yanamari Apr 2017
Why is it we're always
Surrounded by water?
Birth
Struggle
Cleansing
Drowning
Lost.

What makes water
A universal dissolver?
What changes when we submerge
And when we float?
What makes water
Both a healer and a
Suffocator?
Like two sides of a coin
It spins and it spins...
Rather than continue, I'll leave it up to the reader to make connections
maxime Mar 2017
flip a coin
take a chance
of one in a million
to have met you

wear a mask
hide yourself
from everyone
who wants to know you

stand in rain
burn away
the monsters
that still haunt you

say goodbye
leave me to die
hate me forever
because i knew you

watch from far
never to speak
checking on me
because i scare you

guard me dear
teach me now
stay on the edges
because you can't let me go
ah. i don't know why i miss them. i need to stop reading old messages.
They once loved him
and soon tied their whim
but forsakenness spurned so  
early to tender their mulberry
that a night as bold in toe
where a fleece of whiten civility
thus foretold their lamb.
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