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CasiDia Oct 2022
I am holding myself accountable
For now, but not always
There's times when I should have
been the first to say I'm sorry
Of course we all have those times.
We must all have those times.
To err, to caution, to be human
Questioning if you said or did
What was right, most kind
The best possible actions
Achieving the most perfect outcome

But I cannot hold myself hostage
To reckoning with perfection
Nor can anyone else reasonably
****** me upon such a pedestal
and expect me to preform
my best, most absolute
unconditional, unequivocal
gestures of good faith
If they have not made themselves
Stand tall in such high places
Responsibly bearing the weight
Of being incorruptible to errors

I allow myself to look within
And search for the answers
As to why there's always this desire
To be something more than
The accumulation of cells and dust
That surrounds my innermost self
It seems like finding answers
Will have to start with asking questions
As to why I am the way I am
Right here in the now.

If I can shape myself into anything,
more than or less than
what I already am right now
How can I ever truly be myself?
How to begin knowing myself
If it was never really clear as to
what my self was to begin with?
Where is the source of who I am?
What I am? How I am, and why?
What happens if I stripped away
All that I am and put the pieces
back together in a different way?
Would I become someone else,
or something else entirely?

I have always wondered
If wondering will be good enough
In search of the answers
In search of the miraculous
An inner earth within the earth
which I heard only
existed in pages of a book
Written in the sand
A very long time ago

If you looked into yourself
and saw a mirror reflecting
the parts of other people
you either hated or loved,
Could you continue to look
at yourself when others called on you
and honestly say to them,
"Look, I am what I've become"?
Glenn Currier Aug 2022
How sweet is our time together
falling softly into violin strings
up into sky on mockingbird wings
across piano keys of white and black
where there is nothing I lack
and every moment stretches
across horizons blue and gold
no matter how battered and old
my body of bones and flesh
every minute green and full and fresh.
Snowblind Feb 2022
Now heaven does not seem so
close, never singing, yet—
I'm putting will to whetstone
while building on regret.
Alexander Foe Dec 2021
You came down like a gleaming sunbeam
One that gave me hope
I stared at the You the whole day
Waiting for Your call

Each time it turned a different hue
I grew sicklier and starved
Step by step I was edging
Closer to the cliff

You left me hanging
But also scared that
You would stamp on my hand
And leave me to my misery

Surely you won't dare?

But now retrospectively I see
Clearer than any brighter day
How things turn out to be
And I fall down the pit to eternity

Now I catch the words as they fall
Out from my mind into these
Words that I cannot appreciate
Until it is all over
Allesha Eman Sep 2021
Do you, too, like to stare at the moon,
chandeliers and *** lights?
when your eyes feel
like they belong to a sculpture
stuck in place, tunnel vision
Do you, too, make moonlight out of street lamps,
and use dreams to feed the craving
of meaningful existence?
Glenn Currier Sep 2021
Contemplation is like fishing.
Often my reason fails me
and I cast out into the waters
hoping I can catch that vital energy
feel its power, its resistance, its strength
that is elusive
but I know is there
and those moments of connection
with that mysterious force
give me energy.
I am alive
so I keep castings into the ocean
knowing the elan is there,
the verve that takes me from my mind
to dance, to move, to swerve
in that moment of now.

Author’s Note: I bow in gratitude to Brian McLaren and Barbara A. Holmes for their wisdom that inspired this poem and kneel in awe and thanksgiving to all the fish I have caught over the years, for the excitement and nourishment – the life they gave me.
JJ Inda Aug 2021
Routinely these words
miss most
and reach only a few.

Some call them trite,
or flat.

Not up to par;
nonetheless they fill this space
and await contemplation.
Osiria Melody Jul 2021
I write best when depressed.
When the world is a King and I a jest,
I boldly seize my madness and
Scream at the ceiling fan.

I write best when caressed.
When the love is a Queen and I a dream,
I boldly seize my madness and
Scream at my browning tan.

I write best when obsessed.
When the world is obscene and I a modest screen,
I boldly seize my madness and
Scream at your 20th beer can.

07/29/21 @ 12:00 a.m.
Marco Buschini Jun 2021
An undercurrent of coolness
Murmurs in the distance,
As the night shadows
Over a language of a thousand tongues.
A bite of indifference
bitterly breaks the silence.
The transformation looms.
A darting melody shoots across the sky,
As the pure light of my mind
Seeks a dance of flavour.
A Labour of gratitude
Lays abandoned on the riverbank.
I seek no mercy,
Just the stillness of the night.
And when will the golden sky appear?
The ignition of the fire inside
permeates the soul,
As the blend of existence
Bursts into life.
The shape of romance
plays into my hands,
As the inner mirror reflects innocence.
The autumnal ether switches sides,
As the world appropriates Timeflow.
The syllables and parables
crack the taste of forgiveness,
And when we finally deliver remembrance,
life will be ours.
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