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Karen Lee Jun 2020
sea waves blue, smooth as a silk sheet are
gently lapped by chilly December air
my skin prickles as the air leaves
goosebumps on my bare arms. i try to
ignore them as the frosty gale bites into my clothless skin.

boats are tethered to shore, no longer
roaming far at sea, they have a home at least
though only temporary, but a safe sanctuary. i wonder
where the people are, perhaps safe and warm and cozy
in the comfort of their fireplaces and families.

i lay down on the barren grass,  now mere stubs that too
***** my skin, they were once lively and green under the shade of a once blooming tree,
now limbless and leafless,
a mere trunk of wood that stands stubbornly on a patch of forgotten ****.

as nighttime falls the boat lights come on, setting patches
of deep blue ablaze, like a fire it spreads and spreads until
you can no longer see the depths of aquamarine,
and maybe just maybe pretend to yourself that they
never even existed.

maybe grass needs to be barren before spring brings shrubs and
trees decapitated before they can bloom again,
maybe matches need to be lit
and places burnt to ashes
before the past can fall away like a brittle husk.

I look up to the cloud-filled sky, blue dotted with specks of white and
perhaps there is no heaven beyond those clouds,
no god near welcoming doors, and
if all prayers are just a shout into the empty void
then perhaps all we can do is
shout.
Isaac Jun 2020
and i thought i could hold out long enough
to keep you alive

but you're burning me out
and so I will, you
Rakshitha Kumar Jun 2020
There's a hoard of chaos all around me
You seem like the eye of a tornado
Chaos surrounds you,
even when your soul has that calmness of the eye
Getting close to the tornado now
A sea of dust, destruction, and death surrounds me
The chaos in my soul can only be brought to dust
once I reach the eye
A price to pay for a deep dive inside your soul.
There are many perspectives to this poem and every reader perceives this in a different way. An optimistic look at this would be an attraction or a sense of curiosity towards a calm soul.
However, if you think about it carefully you find that the eye of a tornado is the origin of the destruction. The most unexpected events or people can cause catastrophic destruction in your life.
VIKNEYSH RAJ Jun 2020
Where have you been, all these days
Under destruction, is the human race
For you have left our hearts
Leaving nothing but stony thoughts
Everywhere there are raging wars
With numerous firing battle cars
The number of people shot down by force
Could be seen by the blood down the valley, which pours
Humanity, where have you been?
Nowhere now you could be seen.
pôr do sol May 2020
I write poetry
and paint sunsets with those words
I lie on rooftops
until the sky's adorned with birds
I dream with music in my mind
and in colours you haven't heard of
To you,
I am beautiful
I am something different
I will fill the hole in you
your emptiness brimming with laughter
I will lift your feet off the earth and plant them into my heart
but you will keep digging -
trying to unbind my roots
But I am not gentle, as that flower
You cannot like what you see, and pluck me out of the water
I am not what I seem on the surface
I am a flood
and I leave destruction in my wake
I will wash away all the paths you've ever walked on
and I will leave you astray
Wondering
if you'll ever find your way back
Marisa May 2020
the proverb goes:
you who sit in a house of glass
shall not throw stones

but i just keep throwing them
towards the ceiling
and the walls - windows to my soul

because an exit wound is an
entry wound on the other side
and at least i am in control
And then there was evening.

The edge of our estate, a wire fence.  
We ducked under it, Cole's fat neck scraped,
he squealed.  
Older boys sniggered.  

Once buildings grew here,  
it now sprouted vegetation.  
We picked our way through.  
Here we built the world: a haven of ***** mattresses and wooden boards  
holding shaped rocks and bones found somewhere,  
that hint of death.  

Cain was bigger than the rest.  
He liked fire,  
pushed at the mattresses, unsettling dust.  
He picked up a stick and beat down the walls,  
eyes filled with that blaze.

Suddenly sticks flew,  
we thrashed with fury and rage and everything,
at our creation.
Soon our jigsaw walls were waste upon the ground.  
Then there was light.  
Cain's father, passed out, drunk,  
missed the silver lighter his son produced.  
Roaring flame which singed our nostril hairs,  
smelling bonfire for a week after.  

Cain's eyes saw everything.
We stood, in his image,
chests heaving, we looked at what was done.  

I was scolded when I returned home late with sooty skin,
and went to bed  
with tear tracks on red scrubbed cheeks.  

And there was morning.
Fiona Apr 2020
I’ve never laid eyes on you before.
But I’ve felt you.
I’ve felt your rumble,
bellowing against the walls
of my house.
And I’ve heard you.
Your lonely howl
sighing against the small window.
And you’ve taken away my sight;
The way you ****
light out of a house,
a deep cry filling the air.
Yet the worst is
that even in the dark,
I can smell you;
toxic fumes billowing
in the humid air.
& As you came at night,
the only sign of you
was your roar,
the shattering of wood,
and each light
dropping in the city.
You may be beautiful,
but you left behind
violent demolition.
Easter Sunday.
Peyton L Apr 2020
Ash floats around me
my hands caked in soot
the burnt match between my fingers.

Remnants of flames burning in my eyes,
smoldering rubble
smells of smoke and destruction.

I lift the match to my mouth
touch the tip to my tongue
the salty taste worth the raging fires of my sins.
Somehow inspired by the salt lamp I have on my desk.
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