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Xant Sep 2019
The man's Mr. Rogers
by God he had been sent to fly
And now, he is on his seventh's sky

Sometimes he misses life,
his two kids and his wife,
also the earth where he once thrived

But alone he must go
on this sea of galaxies he must row
and although he feels no sorrow
he fears being lonely

So he sings a tune familiar to all
This time no red sweater nor piano
not even children singing along
for he is alone in the cosmos
heading to the bliss where he belongs
"I have always wanted to have a neighbor just like you,
I've always wanted to live in a neighborhood with you."
This Poem is a tribute to Fred Rogers, a wonderful soul.

Read this poem in another perspective : https://hellopoetry.com/poem/2367625/a-lonesome-astronaut/
Mitch Prax Aug 2019
she kissed the moon and
made the sun jealous, for her
light outshined the stars

2:04 AM
11/8/19
Mystic Ink Plus Aug 2019
I will stop
Looking at the Moon
And the Stars

Sincerely
Believe me
You
Are enough

Enough
To get inspired from
Good enough
To stop time

He/She said
Genre: Romantic Raw
Theme: When everything inclines towards the one.
M H John Aug 2019
what would the moon say to the earth
if she knew that your beauty
stayed flying high
while hers fell to the ground?
would she hide
in the suns shadows
for the rest of her life?
or would she distance herself
so far that
she turns into one of the stars
she used to wish upon
Aditya Roy Jul 2019
Hail the laborers at the mill, hail the jokers with witless tastes
I ain't going to work on any ordinary farm, of the ordinance and well-ordained
They sabotaged lifts and all walked but nothing was gained
They huffed and puffed and blew themselves to absurdity
They planned and plotted only to see boredom engulf the crowd
Ne'er to do the foot-slog, ours is to laugh at the Wigan pier
What is idle rest, I laid my hay long ago and made my peace
With the catatonic curses, and scatological invective

If the mill laborers know what I know
They will see wasters working hard to make more waste
For theirs is to work and fret, berate each other and work
From birth till death to ghosts already remembered
Above the antique mantel
An educated mind would entertain the thought of numinous reminiscing
An excellent habit, to focus at the elephant that cumbered the room
The dearth feeling that was filled with scarcity, memoirs lay strewn

Like the law and edicts, that flustered the mind
Clinton and his economics liberalized my mind, but, piqued the market
I read these in papers of the age of dying punk, and gregarious bylines
Witty writers pen their names in bold, on pen and paper meant for the literate
A kind spirit lies in the artist within
Reminders and unneutered plants are willfully disregarded, with the milk untouched
Spiritualism is stolen from my doorstep, sold to ragamuffins and rapscallions

Exchanged for the dream of more reading, with an understanding of the antiquated climate
Dostoyevsky, a small-time Russian who stole the hearts of many, living by his word
Told us of crime and punishment, with a large intelligence and deep heart
The darker the night brighter the stars
In the empty sky, I offered my confusion
Failure is not our punishment for laziness, its other people’s success
It’s our hunger that floats on the surface of other’s hatred, more like oil and water
Russia was a bed of gelid ice, unable to tell the approximated difference
I make approximated decisions with calculated assumptions, and all my dreams turn to ashes
Years past, and this knowledge brought me peace in my last try at catching the sky
Catching falling stars, and preserving nature
Some poets of the fall, prefer the winds of change instead of sprig icicles of spring lust
If the mill laborers know what I know
About celestial being as known in a jestful pun
These clowns of the roving ferals
Casting lore of dubious yarns
And lugubrious lacing of yawns intertwined by laziness
Thinking imbecility resides in all as they reside in it
The implicit assumptions of wishful vacuous to fester mind
If the opaque laborers know what I know
Their aims redundant as always eggs would wear translucent faces
and pointless endeavors will carry owned banners, second as farce
The over thirty years jokers still blinded to the reverse
Rama Krsna Jul 2019
inside this black hole
where no light trespasses
his linga alone does,
smoothly into the event horizon
marking a point of no return

even sand clocks
at this gateway to heaven
tick slower
as gravitational time dilation
takes over

upon entry
no escape routes
or parachutes
exist for exit

only a free fall
into singularity
where space-time curvature
becomes infinite

odds of mere mortals
surviving this plummet
are nine billion to one

any volunteers?

© 2019
MisfitOfSociety Jul 2019
I’ve been,
Crawling,
Down on the dirt,
On my abdomen.
Searching,
For a tree,
To hang from,
To set the butterfly free.

This skin I wear,
Encases me,
When I’ve molted,
I will be free.
I will wiggle off the confounds,
Of bone and flesh,
Of space and time,
And of birth and death.

I was once,
A baby larva.
Eating my birth leaf.
I was so small and hungry then,
But I have eaten enough now.
It’s time to harden,
This old soft skin.

When I pass,
Through this knot,
In the infinite,
Line of life.
I will squirm out of my biology,
Taking on a whole new body.
That’s beyond all senses,
Beyond our limitations,
Beyond our imaginations!

Butterfly!
You call to me!
Butterfly!
You will be free!
Your time has come,
You have been waiting,
For this moment,
To break out!

That inner beauty is shining through,
Becoming that apparatus that moves you!
Listen to the rhythm of the beating butterfly wings!

Am I,
Just an isolated ray of sunshine,
Or am I,
The one behind the sun?
Am I,
Just some burden for light to bare,
Or am I,
The one who will bare the light?
Am I,
Just some insignificant speck,
On a spinning ball?
Or am I,
Something so much more?

I tricked myself so long ago,
Thought I was nothing more,
Than a worm on a tree,
Stuck to the a sphere,
Spinning out to nowhere.
This body is just an egg,
That encapsulates me,
Soon it will hatch,
And I will be free.

We are all larva,
We all have a butterfly.
Come and crawl with me,
Get down on your abdomen,
We are going to find a tree,
To hang from upside down,
And set the butterfly free.
Brandon Conway Jul 2019
In the center gravity holds
tightly as we spiral
awaiting to enfold
ever pressed in cosmic vinyl
A father's kiss.
For the very first time.
On my new born face.
A Mom's dawning smile
is the very first rainbow
that I ever saw.
Hanging there on her LOVING face.
Crying bliss pours out of my infant eyes.
Mommy and daddy, you are
my forever HEART!
God has given me ten tiny fingers.
Ten wiggly toes.
This sacred,
Mommy
and Daddy love fills me up so!
Fills me up with precious
Baby girl hope.
I am alive!
Mommy and daddy!
Look at me!
I have arrived.
Protected by your Parental DIVINE.
Feeling all this permeating beauty  from my mommy and daddy expressed in giving LOVE.
After all, I am your baby girl gift from heaven above.
This is 'Ode to My Precious Baby Girl Love.'


Copyrighted 2016
I thought about the birth of my precious little niece.  She means the world to me.
We give ourselves separating names.
Separating nations.
We create our own pain.
A pain that does not have to be.
Let us bring back together the days of FREE!


Copyrighted 2015
With all the violence happening in the word; my soul searches for that country named 'SAFE!'Future
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