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Grant Dickson Oct 2017
Waking from a short sleep
From the curtains I did take a peep,
The sky it did look ugly I did say
Was something wicked on its way.

Pondering within the present moment
Feeling intrigued about what it meant,
Had I woken from a dream into reality
Or was it the reality of a dream to me

Visions of late I'm sure we've all had
Pain and suffering it's just so sad,
Thoughts of nuclear nightmares
Clasping hands we'd say our prayers.

Returning to the window we go
Waiting to see if the sun will glow,
Then it appeared orange blood red
Picturing Mysterious skies sat on my bed.
Wrote this after waking this morning and seeing how the skies changed so quickly, from whitish blue to almost dark sand.
Breeze-Mist May 2017
Do you ever drive
By a city or town in the dead of night
And wonder
About the people within?

How many are in debt from school?
How many have gone to bed with the love of their life?
How many are trying to hide family troubles behind locked doors?
Is the world's next Einstein in there?
Hollywood's next rising star?
How many go to bed afraid of coming out to their friends?
How many have some buds they'd die for in that town?
How many struggle day in and out, fleeing from a substance?
How many go through a routine each day, afraid to do more but afraid of leaving their path?
How many jot down ideas for that play they want to write on a napkin?
Is there a future president in there?
A poet of unparalleled verse?

How many people
Go from day to day in that city
Thinking they're alone in their problems
While surrounded by people who also think that?

What's going on
In those unlit houses of the city
Where the human mind resides?

Who's there?
Thoughts from a 4am bus ride in Georgia.
Cedric Jan 2017
Vices, heartbreak and spices,
Oh how enamored we can be.
It's all so amusing to us,
How we can die drowning at sea,
Drowning with our aroused senses.

It's all exhilarating!
How a tiny spat can spit blood,
Pushing up the daisies to go splat!
As you see the pavement and hear a thud.

You lay in flat in bed then you sat,
Thinking of every detail and all.
Other's drown in alcohol instead.
It's a good thing you didn't fall.
Because curiosity would've killed the cat.
A poem of death beyond physical incapacitation.
Raylene Lu Mar 2016
Just too many questions
Twisting their question marks into hurricanes
the mazes of my brain
|[ ]|
There is an urge to
grab the answers
With the hook
of the question marks
To let the question marks straighten
slowly into
exclamation marks
To then swallow
the stem of them each

To leave a full stop
An answer.
jerelii Aug 2016
better get the idea
of learning new things.

through experienced
you know.
It comes from you.
being knowledgeable it isn't all about as being as smart or nerdy but being aware of your surrounding that you know is something that is not right.

August 28,2016
Rae Anne Jul 2016
He was so intense
His brow, forever cast down,
*Was always furrowed.
Aaron Bee Jun 2016
My mind is on fire
with the itch of
Like the flakes from
my scalp
Ideas fall from my head
where they lay, I simply
blow them off.
I left empty handed
And sore from
scratching for answers .
Skylar Bouchard Dec 2014
Pastels and pretty pictures,
I lean back in the couch,
The elephant in the room,
She'll never know about,
How the critics wail over the way the paint falls off her brush.

I would rather drop-dead,
Than ever talk about
That night back in 07'
Teeth flying out my mouth,
But I think you would've liked me better then anyhow,

                                                        ­                      I'm curious...

                                                     ­   I'm curious...

                                                     ­                      ...I'm curious....
            ­                                         wanna
                                                           ­       see
                                                      ­                  what
                                          ­                                       makes
                                                           ­                                  you
                                                             ­                                        tick  

Each year he writes a note
and leaves it in his room,
Key lime pie, Saturdays at the zoo,
Reminiscing flashbacks of better fast food,

Dead the day,
He scurries home in the dead of night,
Dragging his will, whats left, shaking off the frostbite,
Volunteers to play drunken clown for another night,

I think of their eyes and everything that they've seen,
Nothing that I see could ever be unique,
So don't you lie and say you see it shining in me.

                                                              ­                I'm curious...

                                                     ­   I'm curious...

                                                     ­                      ...I'm curious....
            ­                                         wanna
                                                           ­       see
                                                      ­                  what
                                          ­                                       makes
                                                           ­                                  you
                                                             ­                                        **tick
Written by Skylar Bouchard. All Rights Reserved.
Rafael Melendez Mar 2016
A heat that keeps the chest warm, reminds of the days that hurt the most. They leave a feeling of distaste, but a curious cat walk trail has you lost in it all. A care in a world of apathy, the holiest of feelings in an unholy being. You look back on that trail, realizing that the warmth brought the coldest and most stagnant of days, you are frozen in time.
Been feeling a bit frozen in time lately.
Ejiogu Stanley Dec 2015
The colours of life all seem bleached out now.
At the edge of euphoria, we deepen our curiousity.
Our need for fresh evidence and knowledge is the river from which the liqour of drive is fetched
And the sands of time are the canvas on which our deeds are etched.
Life births curiousity which in turn births passion, then purpose, drive and accomplishment chronologically
Adam must, however, remember not to forget to keep his feet grounded and not get swayed by the swift tides of this river of knowledge for it is a never ending one that flows into an ocean only swam by the dead and supernatural.
For the ones that matter the most at death are given at births.
It is then, when we've circumvented life and must leave it behind, when we boomerang to the dusty point where it all started, that we have a full palette of rainbow colours where our *** of golden knowledge is found
And not a single shade shall be missing from the crayon box.  
This is fulfillment.
This is Legacy
This talks about mankind's never ending search for answers,a legacy, knowledge and understanding and how that quest is only quenched in death and the afterlife
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