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In between city buildings
Streets filled with crowded bodies,
Loneliness fills my ears like the high pitched frequency of silence.
I sit in my car staring at the landscape of apartments hovering one
on top
of the other

Desolate like a desert of cement.

My body thirsts for contact.
My heart for meaning.
New places
IncholPoem Jan 11
I  am  *****
  like
FRANCIS     1ST  CLASS  
RAILWAY'S   *****
CARPET.



      I  am  focus-less
    like
A   MOVING  NEUTRON   STAR
TOWARDS      UNLIMITED
DESTINATION  AREA.


I am   looking   you
like
A  RIVER  IN
DESERT  COUNTRY
WHERE    WATER
IS PRECIOUS  THAN
UNNECESSARY  WATER-FLOWING.
David Abraham Jan 11
I remember my dreams of a holy place,
a library where I ran, just a little boy with other boys,
with a great stained glass window filling up the space
on the pointed ceiling above the sacred text
that left me perplexed
and mouthing a few syllables when I could understand,
and wishing to feel the soft cloth on my head,
over a short haircut that I didn't have.

I can't truly say if it was a dream,
but I remember walking outside into the desert with those little boys, feeling jealous of their kippahs,
and eventually we stopped at what I thought might be like a stream,
but was only a canal in the wasteland.
The tumbleweeds whispered and rattled,
but no snakes slid out of them with a tail that rattled quite the same.

I grew up though, far away now,
with the heavy weight of knowledge on my back
and the feeling of sweat on my brow.
I have heard a lot, and that soundless world where I spent all of my time looking and none of my time listening
is gone. I listen and I look now,
and I tell a girl about my observations
while she marvels and tells me what to do with them,
but there is nothing much to become
when despite my ambition
I hold myself back with the most unholy things.
2318 jan 10 2019
Neuvalence Jan 4
The children grew heavy on our backs
The desert sun was baking our skin
But we could still see sand, endless at the horizon
We knew our last days were near.
Rina Jan 4
My soul turned a desert.
I can't grow a rose anymore.
I can't seek the red petals.
For, they have fallen for you
mourning for all the hope
that turned into nothing
but love deprived thorns.
Sophia Dec 2018
so dry
am i
i lie
in sand
i wait
for water
that will
never
come by

so dry
i cry
but my
tears
wash
away
into
nothing

so dry
i want
to die
so i
say
good
bye
Kate Dec 2018
I need to see the looming sky
A wide, gasping chasm of color and power
Cold and unfeeling
Hot and passionate
Black fading into red into blue

I need to feel the burning air
Arid and biting on my eyelids
******* the moisture from my skin
And the toxins from my heart
Engulfing me like the embrace of a captor

I need to see the silhouette of mountains
On the striking horizon, eclipsing the void
To gasp in the thin and desperate air
Cacti that claw at the dusty wind, and
Beg for nothing in the kingdom of bones
Lucius Furius Dec 2018
This desert is our life.
From the dry earth we gather roots and melons.
Over the endless sands we hunt the gemsbok and the springbok.
  
Sometimes the ga roots are shriveled and bitter.
Sometimes men are sick with thirst and hunger.
  
When there is water we drink and sing and clap our hands.
When there is food we eat and dance and clap our hands.
  
The eland does not come to us and ask to be eaten --
one must know how to make the arrow and poison it
and where to look and how to hide and shoot. . . .
  
What man is so foolish as to expect more? To expect
the rain to be always falling, his eggs full of water and
his stomach full of meat?
  
You have strong animals to carry you.
You have much food and water.
Your digging sticks are hard and sharp.
Your shooting-sticks are like lightning.
  
You are a powerful man and a good man.
I can see that in your eyes.

But what you offer is a dream.
  
You can give us water and meat.
You can fill our hands with tobacco and perfect beads.

But you cannot give us happiness.

  
A man can only drink so much and then he is full.
If a man is always eating honey, he tires of it and becomes sick.
  
And even if all life were sweet --
what man is not food for lions and dogs?
A man who has tasted in his life no bitterness will find death very bitter.
  
My mouth longs for sweetness
but sweetness brings bitterness
and in the end they are one.
  
So I ask you:
Take your digging sticks and your shooting-sticks.
And do not leave them behind.
Go to the green lands you came from.
We shall walk in this desert as we always have.
(The occasion for this speech is the arrival of an expedition
headed by a European in a Bushman werf around the year 1900.)

Hear Lucius/Jerry read the poem: humanist-art.org/audio/SoF_007_bushman.MP3 .
Note: This poem is part of the Scraps of Faith collection of poems ( https://humanist-art.org/scrapsoffaith.htm )
Maxim Keyfman Dec 2018
next to the totem I'm standing
make a square make
numbers and runners ran
down your sweet ice
and I'm standing with a totem make
square number of knowledge of the way

red stripes and green
wild huge sharp eyes
big long bright tongue
like my late friend
like a friend of my past winters
oh I will never see him again

squares like circle circles like rhombuses
oh yeah i know what a circle is i know
what is square and know what is
rhombus red and green yellow
colors i know i'm near orange
desert and no this is my bag of light

19.12.18
writer omsy Dec 2018
Long across the grains
Watching the hills float
Screaming till he faints
A droplet in his throat

Straight shooting arrows
Vaporized his proud entity
Raising both arms in sorrow
He cried his eyes empty

An attempt to beg forgiveness
Fell on his knees and rose
When hope struck the witness
On a lost mirage long across
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