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Kai Dec 2020
An art more than words painted across pages,
am I still a poet if I do not write?
Sounds and rhythm embedded on the papers,
am I still a poet if I cannot rhyme?
A canvas of colors or daubing of doom.
This a gift, or of pointless literature?

Way of words plays into our brains,
infects us with emotions-
to break a wall or stand up tall.
Take a trip down memory lane.

Fill the world up with saddened tears,
make the ground quiver and quake.
Maybe all of these intertwined,
now that is a great poet’s mind.

Tales and stories of limitless outcomes.
Like a maze leading to a blind alleyway,
or a simple serene stroll on a nice day.
And a little bit of everything combined,
sailing without routes, no captain to decide.
The path I chose just happened to save my life.
A poem I submitted for a contest, why not put it on here too?
Tamara Lynn Feb 2020
We are all one in the same
The stars are from which we came
The elements that comprise us and so much more
Were fused inside the depths of an inner core
To that state we’ll return one day
When the sun engulfs us in a fiery fate
See pt. II for an an expanded idea of this thought
Tamara Lynn Feb 2020
When we focus on what makes us human in the expansive cosmos that is our only home

It’s a humbling experience to have the knowledge
that this existence is impermanent
And that we are not alone in the awareness

These beings among us are the only ones we know of that will ever grasp the concept of our place in this universe

For that we can at least empathize with one another
Realize that love and peace is what we should pursue

If for only but a second could we all zoom out
and come to conclusion that we don’t really have a clue

That it’s okay that we don't have every answer

At times it’s necessary to admit defeat
We can find solace in the incomplete
Meditate on the beauty in the madness
Rest our minds amongst the mess

The way of this world is not meant for perfection

Entropy is inevitable
Destruction and decay
We can hope and pray

But this universe doesn’t speak that language
It’s set on its own path

Time flows in a linear direction
from which we can’t turn back

Nevertheless we are apart of a whole

We have to keep that in mind and hold on tight
Please allow this message to console

In the midst of this glimpse in the timeline of human life
It’s crucial that we waste no time and choose to live it right
Ashley Feb 2020
One day.
One day, there will be a rapture.
There will be a mighty roar and the Earth will rebel against the sky
And the floodgates of hell will open.
One day, our lives so small against the dawn of life itself
Breaks upon the night destruction and Death.
One day all will be broken as we have broken the bread
And our blood will stream into a mighty ocean
That covers the sun forever
Bringing Death in its wake and Death in its part
One day the line between life and death will blur
And all will be cast in the shadow of our own actions
One day.
Hunter Cilman Mar 2019
Home is where the heart is
Oh that’s a funny thing you been told
Just because a homeless man
Found a home for his heart
Doesn’t mean he as a home

Oh that’s a funny thing to say
Home is where the heart is
When young people fall in love
Have they found a home
Oh how easily that home can be taken away

Oh home is where the heart is
To bad the heart is so fragile
Just how easily it can break
It’s always quicker than the repair

Why does home have to be where the heart is
When a heart is normally full of lies
Lies that the heart finds as truth
Lies that make the heart find false homes

So why is home is where the heart is
When it should be
Home is where your broken heart has taken you
lowkeymorns Nov 2018
I sit watching with a lifeless gaze I see only the thoughts that grip my mind all an effect of words said.
Not the words spoken out loud but the words stringed into answered questions. Questions I have yet to ask and will never ask.

I see visions of what if's and what will, I see images depicting years of the most likely outcome influence by years of observation. i see them fall in place like falling leafs from a tree. A tree whos roots grew from insecurities of being nothing more then a seed.

I see not love stories nor happy ever afters but that timeless story life has forever told, the story of Truth.
I see a play of the willful becoming those who lack the will.

I see the stage set with actors holding back their desires fighting their inhibitions till the clock ticks hitting that split-second.
STOP!
Release the lights!
QUIT THE ACT,
Let the water run and split  the bar on the gate that is life.

I see the mind of those so many who jump ship in this flood, simply to drown in their waters. their last breath a regret! As They sink in their sea of pain calling out no name only asking who do I blame?
The waves washing over with no sway as if to whisper but one name.

I watch the outcome of this play day after day reeping my mind like the sun seeks the shade. it's fear, fear of loss and Fear To Love, it's of failing and failing to try, all the hellos and goodbyes. it's the moments and memories of with and without, its my thoughts and my doubts, it's no life with. And its a life going out.
I wrote this off of how I was feeling, the meaning behind it is how ever the reader interpreted it
Poems should be simple like a brush
So that you get the Idea of its purpose
But as complex as a riddle
Because the beauty,
Is when you understand
How much work was put into it
aarti dhillon Apr 2015
To the point where it starts or is it to the point where it ends
A sinful but childish memory  that knows its way to the back terminus
The coda of a moment with the certainity of a melliflous flow
What makes it deep and so ween is the never ending uncertainity
Uncertainity , whether its to the point where it starts , where it ends or is it just simply to the....!!!
Brittany C Apr 2014
Is it weird, that I sit here, thinking about the now?
Thoughts are cleared, and I might fear, that I'm lost somehow?
In this moment, I feel alive, and it's rather freeing.
But I'm broken, and I'm deprived, how am I so late to seeing?
Fear sets in, mind starts to race, and my heart beats faster.
I begin, "I don't like this place," but I stop with no answer.
I write, to escape.

— The End —