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Isaac Ward Oct 18
I don't think, as I reach up,
As I reach up, the stars shrink,
The stars shrink, and like glass cuts,
And like glass cuts, I don't think,

The stars fall, and like glass cuts,
And like glass cuts, the clouds stall,
The clouds stall, it won't end, but-
It wont end, but the stars fall,

We can't die, it won't end, but-
It won't end, but I can't cry,
I can't cry, 'cause in my gut,
'Cause in my gut, we can't die.

I don't think, 'cause in my gut,
'Cause in my gut, it's all drink,
It's all drink, I don't know what,
I don't know what, I don't think.
This is a new form I made, which uses an ABAB rhyme scheme for each stanza, with each line being an odd number of words long, made of two phrases where one phrase is one word shorter than the other. A lines are odd/even, while B lines are even/odd. The second phrase of the first line is the first phrase of the second line, and so on, but the 4th line of the stanza ends with the first phrase of the first line.

The second stanza's  second phrase on the first line uses the first phrase from the last stanza's last line.

And the last stanza's first line should begin with the same phrase the poem began with, to end how it began.

There are no syllabic rules, this is all about recursion.

Mmm recursion.
Christopher Oct 18
I could never believe in such things.
Momma taught me to never make promises.
I'll only have what I make that I say can be,
Even if it means out bleeding the daily dosage than what's given to me.
I trust in it as much as I can.
Until it's like dad coming back with a pack of cigarettes.
It's just an Idea
But more make believe, ya?
Have it Or Not.
Make it or Forsake it.
Sometimes fantasy is better than the picture already given.

I know, I know!
It ain't what it seem!
But it's better just an Idea!

But it's better a fantasy than what you keep feeding me

Dope-a! Morph-a
Feel you in my spine!
I just saw you yesterday with huge *** smile.
But I still can't find you like the rest of my mind.
Incomplete.
But Not Obsolete
Im back
Nikita Oct 18
Pull me
Push me
Force me
And trap me

Build me
Create me
Destroy me
Lie to me

Wrap me
Seal me
Deliver me
And ship me

No matter how much
You try

No matter how much
It hurts

I will escape
Categories, labels and boxes. Don’t stifle who I am. I am not a women to be silenced.
The best
poetry
floods through
the writer’s pen,

A wildfire of shooting stars
across papery rows
of crisp oat fields

The most delicious
imbue the reader
down crowny heads
out waltzing feet,

A lyrical nectar
ejecting the soul
into the stratosphere
Nobody Sep 7
Prettypoet sing me a heartache song,
send warm shivers down my spine.
Brighten the dark hour of my dreams,
fill the void with a soothing cry.
Wake the dead with falsetto screams,
feed all my fires back to life.
It’s a sad day when the music stops,
I never cared for silent nights.
The creative mind
never truly sleeps;
it naps 45 minutes
at a time.
Even, that which
appears to be
sleep, is a fitful
state of poetic creativity.
The brain is like
a patchwork quilt
that uses the scraps of
the day's events,
trying to fit symbols
together, like a
jigsaw puzzle.
Here's another one
from the vast
analog of the brain.
My philosophy on why my brain won't let me rest.
Elemenohp Sep 3
What do I do, with this sadness.
There's still more left after it spills onto canvas.
I write some words with my pen into a journal and then,
I slip further into this state of madness.
Everyone per se is a money buyer
Without money no survival
Some buy money
Selling their talent
Some by creative intelligence
Some by manual labour
Some by physical skills
Some by running businesses
Some by running industries
Some by horse trading
Some by cheating
Some by beating
There are myriad ways of buying money
Most efficient being a political leader
Least tiring being a
beggar
Beggars don't accept in kind
They need money in hand
After all they need to buy a bottle
They can't ask for it in the open
For buying money
You have to put some effort as a price
Hard work to begging
Everyone per se is a money buyer
It's just a satire!
It's okay
If you are not
An artist

Relax
May be you are
An art
Genre: Inspirational
Theme: Know your worth
ChinHooi Ng Aug 7
Another lonely night


watching night-blooming cereus


wind quietly passes by


dewdrop touches my eye


lonely street


traffic coming


going


dusk quietly leaves

the face of this


lonely window


looking at the world outside


alone


raindrops turn into tears


on my fingertips


memories fall heavily


on my heart again


and again


lonely spring morning


riding alone in lush surroundings


sounds of birds and water


sorrow of the wind


gently blows.
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