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I wrote for 10 minutes,
A lifetime of carefully chosen words,
But the app crashed and closed and burned,
And my finished poem disappeared.
Rui Rosa Jan 12
We meet at "discord"
over an IPv4 connection
Talking for hours through microphone
Your electronic smile has awakened,
a feeling that the CPU does not process
You entered my HDD with your virtual love,
which filled so much space of illusions in RAM,
So much that it gave Blue Screen
A love story with some tech knowledge
Nathan Duncan Nov 2018
I try and try to change my life
because I feel such inner strife.
There’s discord ‘tween body and soul
that keeps me from reaching the goal.

My mind says yes; my flesh says no.
Without true strength I’ll never grow.
I need some help from higher pow’r:
God! Please be merciful this hour.
Patricia M Oct 2018
He who walk with my throng.
Must prove that they belong,
cause once you have fallen from my grace.
You will soon know how it feels like to be replaced.

If you don't want me to be your end,
Then don't be ****** and become my friend.
So be careful of who you betray,
cause I can lead your life astray.

Started a war with an apple,
Just because of a forgotten invitation.
that lead to the destruction of people,
A day that is full of sorrow

I am Eris,
Daughter of night,
sister of war.
The goddess of Chaos, strife and discord,
Lyn-Purcell Sep 2018

I will deafen my soul to the chords
of discord.

No drama wanted here.
SoZaka Aug 2018
who could sleep on a night like this?
how could you not stay awake?
whilst I wander amidst these wildfires
you started by mistake
anger rage discontent
M Aug 2018
A chair in the corner sits huddled with the shadows,
while a second chair lowers itself by the door.
A window between the chairs hangs silently on wall,
as the curtains whisper with the wind outside.

Towards the left of the window is a shrunken bed,
with bedposts like redwoods and the body of a willow.
On the bed is a bundle of fabrics and tweed,
twisting and spinning amongst eachother.

Joining the first chair is a spindly wooden table,
with wobbly fingers and with only three legs.
The top of the table is clustered with trinkets,
pinecones from Alaska and feathers from Pompeii.

Littering the floor are denims and glass,
clothing and pieces of vases strewn under the door.
Thrown under the second chair is a pair of old shoes,
weathered and worn and left to die.

On the walls with the window is doodles and sheets,
drawings of childhood tapped in the space.
Paintings on the plaster are dusted with flakes,
burdens of memories of past and future.

In the center of the room stands a coat stand of mahogany,
standing tall and strong in the ruins of its lost kingdom.
Unaware of what goes on outside of his window,
all he knows is the dust and objects trapped with him in the room.
Transferred from my account from AllPoetry. :)
MicMag Jul 2018
the words will come
just let them

the words will pour forth
without prior consideration of the meaning they'll produce

sometimes words have a tendency to do that
those fickle little things

little grunts and clicks and hisses and waaahs
that somehow collaborate
better than any set of politicians the world has seen

or sometimes create more chaos
more confusion
more discord

than if they'd never been uttered

so be careful with those words
those fickle little things
Kwabena Antwi Jun 2018

emotions RUN rampant


like the path of moonSoon windS

screams, Yells and cries

Music in discoRd

fear aLL around

elepHants traMple on grasses

grasses, NOWHERE to hide

young plead with old

When mum and dad fight.
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