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Jack Jun 24
Pouring my thoughts with words,
as dancing pen with papers,
Facing this world devil's alone,
Sometimes I'm broken too,
Keep healing myself,
Over and over,
Telling myself I'm not alone,
Slowly emotion has consumed me,
There's war happening inside my head,
Pointless conversation again and again
And here I am,
At the end of my thought,
Ali Harati Jun 17
On a lonely ride
on a silent night,
Going through a high
hitting deep inside,
With eyes open
and sensations wide,
Filling the mind
with questionable thoughts,
It took only a touch
to know what feels right,
What I had lost
through hate and disgust,
In the ******
of overflowing cries,
A door opened
and stepped out a fright,
I know longer knew
If I could feel right,
With another me
so deprived of life.
On a lonely night
in a lonely high,
I found the hidden woman inside.
Conflict is trauma promoting trauma
Conflict is love becoming blind to one's inner beauty
Conflict is wasting moments of growth
Conflict is hating self, and showing others how much you hate self
Conflict is aborting peace as you choose to birth evil
Tempests may surround
in the worst of times
a storm to level ships
capsize friend and foe alike
waves that change not just lives
but memory
how tragedy frames our desires
as need, rather than options
as love, rather than responsibility
how the quilt of phoenix feathers
that we oft cover us for slumber
molts as we shed our tears
molts as we age through life
and though times do change
and shadows creep beneath the door frame
still we hear the voice whisper,

"The winds of victory are soon to come."

Memories are trinkets we trade for action
we trade for purpose
we trade for comfort
Efforts spent crafting the perfect memories
catch up to our imaginations over time
Snapshots we thought were sublime
Calamities we shut the door upon
In the kaleidoscope of reality
we can see their colors change
what was treasured becomes tattered with use
what was feared becomes power over abuse
As we build our lives from ashes
no longer need for phoenix feathers
as we shatter walls of illusion
fact from fiction
truth from delusion
we come to hear the voice command,

"The winds of victory are soon to come."

And there is a tumult in the cupboards
under the floorboards
in the rafters
an aching shout of protest
a rapping upon the windows of the soul
a look, in the eyes, of horror
a clinging on to the raft of hope
a desperate jump to the cliff of salvation
a plunging fall into starvation
a rushing flight into the arms of the past
a stepping back from its cold clutches
a fervent climbing of the mast
looking out to the distant horizon
seeing how light is carved from darkness
knowing how you were made this way
and that your limitations
are at the mercy of your love
walking forward, proudly saying,

"The winds of victory are here at last!"

And how the winds whirl about you
as you dance in the curls and twists
walking upon the waves of anguish
waves of guilt, love, and praise,
to know they all complete you
and that the storm is who you are
you build the foundations
that will prepare you
for becoming
a guiding star
that leads your loved ones to the noble place
where your dreams would lead you thus far
a place of healing
a place of trust
a place we all know is here
To my friend, Amanda, on her birthday.
May this and every day be one of joy or little victories amidst the struggle of life.
Keep fighting your battles with your heart to guide your journey and your mind to light the way.

Much love,

Sophie Mar 24
midnight black arabian prince,
his neck, impressed by the wired
holding him back forever
from the woman of his dreams.
        dark horse
they came for him in the evening
soft, dimming sunlight grazed his eyes
an endurance horse, for one hundred miles
they wanted him but
        he was lazy
his inclination was to stand still
to stroll slowly about a green pasture
forevermore, his dream,
spent on his own name.

he fell in love with the mare
on the other side
of the wired fence
she teased him, an older woman,
awakened his rebel soul,
inspired to break out
of this arbitrary cage
his courage and his passion
only roused by love by desire
something a human would not understand
could not understand
not in the same way

he felt alone he felt trapped inside himself
so he tore down the fence,
cut his legs on the wires
just to be close to
to brush his nose against her
sharpened spine, inhale the scent of
dust mixed with love mixed with
for only a moment
that could extend into
encapsulated in his memory
a snapshot: one piece
of chaotic bliss
amidst all that running
the flying floating cloud of dust
still chases him.

though he no longer runs in fear
no longer gallops away,
lazily trots, hooves dragging sand,
happy under his bold, italian rider
she doesn’t come around
often enough.
today he is young but
soon he will be aged by experience,
wherever they send him,
he has no real home,
only belongs to the night sky,
only matches the color of darkness,
i hope he remembers the way i tickled his lips and
fed him handfuls of dead grass.
he could be gone tomorrow because
animals do not choose their homes anymore.
Ukraine belonged to Russia
So they acted doing their job
To make things easier
Ukraine was Russia
Russia was Ukraine
Outsiders don't get it
One Mother Russia
Always forever
Neo Soviet sleeper cells lying in wait
Or just crossing the border at varied places
Troop checkpoints or a forest path
Or by HALO jump from a plane
Doing their job changing the landscape
Not chopping down trees
But assassinating those on the list
Culling the ones who were an issue
That Putin wanted dead out of the way
Isabella Jan 20
You were the sunrise in the morning
I was the clouds in the sky
You were wide blue eyes sparkling
I was the bitter white lies

You were the child made to explore
I was the one dragging you home
You were fighting to be on your own
I was afraid you'd leave me alone
Deep Jan 9
What a conflict her life has become!
has to pick me
or her God.
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