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Chris Jan 8
Honey Covered Lies
Sweeter than the truth
Poison in my system
Botox in my veins.

Honey Covered Lips
The sweeter they taste
The stronger the dose.
The truth can hurt but it's necessary.
Oh no jobs
The difficult is surrounded me
I suppose I will fail

Down down at the deep of the well
The helper will not save me
His rope was so old and jagged
His bucket was there
But it was so damaged

The land which I was on
Will be fallen over my will

My will is vanished
As the light of candle
Try to resist the wind
The dark united with the wind
To hide all things at mind
And the light could hide
So the difficult succeeded
The wall of failure covered
High ,there is no light
the save of jobs needs only minds and great vexperts
sad
Sad
They made sad
To everyone who may stand
With amazement

The words were evaporated
Their clouds covered the land
By their rains which were downed

To destroy every stand
What problem not to be sad
Or not to distribute it over any sand

God creates angels
Devils choose their followers
Who loves ruins gaining at all creatures
the sad is bad ,but it gains by hands of others gets more pain and suffer
GoldenVirgo Feb 2019
Bundled flakes of frozen tears
Came from the sky to greet the ground
The frost races the wind as sound
Silences in the world snow-bound
A whisper from a will-o-wisp
Guiding the cold warmer places
Snuffing the fast pacing of time
The snow is not to be hasted
sky Nov 2018
The door remains locked
when we mustn't leave.
The windows covered
and boarded.
The wood underneath me
doesn't creak
when we mustn't leave
as if he too fears what waits on the other side.
We mustn't leave when it's dark out
and soon we won't see the light
so I'll stay away from the door
and pinch my mouth tight.

When we mustn't leave,
we mustn't make a sound.
So I will remain silent,
and still.
Anya Oct 2018
Being frank here,
I think a lot

And I think about
my thinking

And I have a unique way of thinking
as do most people

But I combine my thoughts
with analogies
I conceive through
my creativity
And weave them
into words

Which I have learned to love
through my obsessive reading
in my elementary
school
days
...
That's it
I haven't read
enough official
published
poetry

I don't really
edit my
poetry
much

I don't overthink
it
too much
either

Just my thoughts,
on a lonely page
...
...
...
I've wondered time
and time again,
is this even
poetry?

My thoughts
carved with
a
choppy
cleaver

Rough on the edges
with spots of
honesty

As well as
parts,
as smooth and cold
as marble
The honesty hidden
beneath
eloquence
analogies
other distractions
evasions
...
when the truth
is too much

But it's still me on the page
...
...
But what I can't figure out
is,
do I do it
for social approval?
To be heard?
To spill out my emotions?
To make something beautiful?
...
Just cause?

A wintry night
the wind swirls around
...
...
...
blowing my questions
away with a chill...
This was inspired by the poem on this site "Poetry Reeled me In".
Amanda Aug 2018
I am like the moon
Covered in many craters
Nocturnal beauty
It doesn't really feel right calling myself beautiful but I do feel beautiful sometimes. Not compared to the moon though.
Payton Hayes Jun 2018
You’ve grown on me
like moss and ivy,
slowly at first but
before you know it, I’m
covered in you, and I
choose not to remember
what it was like to be naked.
Nick Stiltner Feb 2018
Have so many days passed
since those shining lights were to
iris pressed, or have I just
covered my eyes?

Every man speaks of time
and how fast it flies
but I believe that it
gets off a hard day of work,
barges in the door,
founds its spot on the couch
and then collapses
with a gentle sigh.
Mystic904 Sep 2017
Chaos, demolition, destruction
controlled through supervised instruction
no end to slaughter, no reduction
have their own ways of seduction

On that throne, they sit and stare
The one which is called the 'chair'

Nation's green honour gone abrupt
you say, you're still not corrupt?
no one points at you, while you deduct
waiting for the world to erupt

Just about everything, you'll see here
Roots all clung to the evil chair

In which those so called governors sit
organisers, runners of this lovely bit
performing tricks for the show to lit
prepared for them is a special pit

Looters and criminals, all have a pair
Of gloves to keep stain off their chair

Don't believe their words, bark whatever
bamboozle us, truth from our eyes they sever
residing in those large structures like hever
could write three books upon their clever

Dreadful reality transferred heir upon heir
Criminals need not legitimate relations, just their ****** chair!
Didn't want to end it, but you know everything comes to an end at some point 'except' corruption. lol
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