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Whenever I try to write about her
I feel like I don't have enough space on my paper
How can I define her? 
When I myself originated from her definition
How can I restrict her within a few lines? 
When my entire words are enslaved before her
How can I portray her life in a poem? 
When my own life is indebted to her...

And even if she herself asks to write her down
Then also, a tale for her won't be enough
Even if to summarise her down
I'd need to write a novel or two
And if she asks to be drawn down
Then nothing would be tougher than this
'Cause a canvas won't be able to hold her entire explosion of colours
And to counter that, I'd only be left with a single option... 
To build an art castle in a space not less than the sun!

Can u write down ur mum?
I S A A C Dec 2022
stomach aches, anxious daze
body anxiety ruining the day
candles burn, ravens sing
the feeling of death is sinking in
acceptance, repentance
anger comes in waves
transcendent, independence
refining my old ways
Jonathan Moya Nov 2020
I plea for my mother’s spirit
to wait for me before the ascension
because I want to know more
beyond her sun, moon and stars;
for her to show me
the other colors
hidden inside her;
shades my crafted words
can only reflect in broken shards.

She draws me a symbol
for a word only
known to her and God,
a word so complex
I can never remember
how to draw it,
never define it fully
and can only stutter-
a seed stuck
in my throat-
whenever I try
to release its
sounds to the world.
Jonathan Moya Jul 2020
The moon was neither
voiced into creation
nor was it defined.

It was just parted
from the dark ink
of God’s voice.

Alphabets don’t
exist on dark vellum
just illuminated papyrus.

God doesn’t have the power
to banish those things
that have always existed.

He can’t create the perfect night
just pull crows out of it,
really, the simplest of magic tricks.

The small orifice below the cheekbones
exists to project the whiteboard
scribblings of the human mind.

Man is sad because he knows
that his words and thoughts
fall short of God’s magnificent language.

The moon witnesses what
is below and above its light
and keeps both their secrets.
Alex Gifford Jun 2020
Every year comes less defining.

Deeper roots and with less pining.

Past decisions, cobblestone.

Better think before you sow.
Quarantinistani Apr 2020
You are not who you think you are.
Nor are you who you say you are.

Rather, you are
who you prove yourself to be

by the actions you take
and the choices you make.
Amanda Kay Burke Dec 2019
Bad ones build character
Demolish hope

Days that define are also the days that leave you damaged and dented

I slept to escape pain but in doing so also avoided change
Bad days are necessary
Decent for dessent
That’s how it’s rhythm went
As the conflict came to rise like the spark inside a fire
Intrepid since creation
We’ve been walking many wires
Feigning fear to To try and feel
A discernment of what is real but what’s disregarded is the fact you even have to question
Ignorance is bliss? Or strength in your intention?
Thought cannot be the only thing to exist
However a zombie is a waste if it doesn’t eat
Have a little taste of a musing ride
That brings the flavor, you’ll need a guide
Clear it
Hear it and run
Takin’ a century can it be done?
The meeting as one
Secret salvation the secret is done
Are they telling in whispers and walking like drifters
They’re  tripping on papers it’s time to re gift it
explain in due time ya never could fake this
Always trying to break us
But the music is strong and it’s beat  will make us
The beings that we are
the worlds we are
The birth of the universe from another’s dying star
We are the afterlife of another existence
Brand new creation looking for witness
Billions of years  to finally have it here and now it could easily disappear
Reality is what?
Desire and emptiness?
Why’s the door shut every time I vent through this
Aging agitation
Buried vegetation
It’s time to find the faults within and bless it all with love so that the veil may fall and the world may hear it’s original name, but for now it shall be a very long game
October Dec 2018
I had a different name
It was "Undiscovered"
Now this name, no longer my cover
There's a darker truth as to why it's updated to "October"
Tears of joy, tears of sadness
They all share this amber month of blackness
A deep history of sight
The pain and origin of why I write

Her name was Erin
She was beautiful
She was young
Erin, was special
and Rhett's, without doubt, the devil
The disease rendered her without brain function
Resulted in physical mutation
Erin, had an expiration
The day came
In the same month born
She would, from this life, be torn
I love you Erin
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