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This is the second day of discourse
And I'm still feeling worn
My heart is torn, crying tears
That mirror melting paintings
And feet withering away
On paths they tread on

My eyes are closing
Only to dream of nightmares
And these words unspoken
Are all but ideas now

That have left their
Stations of innovation
Further to fade in my mind
And further to drift apart
From my creation.
This piece was written not necessarily as a 'part 2' to "Another Moment," but could be considered as such. It's a latter poem within the same vein that was conceived the same week "Another Moment" was written.
Pyrrha Aug 2018
We all hide behind the glass cages of our mind
Through the transparent jail we keep the order

I long to shatter the glass with a perilous thought
Yet none so far have been quite strong enough

So I continue to hide deep inside
These parts of me where no one can find

I'm not so shy, you'd see
In the deepness of my mind

I'm not so great, so organized
My thoughts would show that I am disheveled, in utter disarray

There is chaos here within my brain
You'd never know as I conceal the calamity on the surface

All these things going on inside
I hide within a pre-payed smile
Lillian May Jul 2018
too strong she was.
dizzily on the edge.
Do not disturb the disheveled lady,
made cynical, tottering on the ledge.
"I can't manage tonight."
said poor miss polite and reasonable.
This ragamuffin schleps with leaden gait
     weighted down like Atlas of yore
like that Greek titan upon massive shoulders
     the worldly wide web he wore

if a corporeal being incarnate,
     would be friended on social networks fig ure
especially mythological creations exiled,
     reviled and sent to river elba shore

the lowest watermark of Napoleon,
     and one exemplifying the je nais say quor
my life and hard times as if concocted
     from mind of Charles Dickens or

another deft writer with an abysmally dim,
     groveling vagabond less o more
who experienced rejection
     at every turn muttering to join canine korps

wonder why in this tar nation,
     he got saddled with prestigious title of warrior
truth be told suffered psychological
     stress disorders at veep fog hatted
     Alberts’ epistemological environmental
     global germinal garrulousness galore,

whose hoped friendship glued, clinched,
     billed as storied AA Milne’s eyore
whose jarring inscrutably heavy
     glum footsteps exerted downtrodden chore
impressing mental state with angst,
     whence Hades and river Styx did allure!
Asonna Feb 2018
With every breath my heart hurts
i'm the queen of disappointment.
people build me to bring me down
only to be disappointed again.

I let people into my heart,
one that feels love for another.
When they walk away the hurt is numb
and i'm left cold and empty in pain.

they say its not you its me,
that's always what they say.
paranoia builds more each lie,
but what's wrong with me anyway?

Nobody stays to tell me.
Pennilessness shadows black
unemployment endless track
rails tie-er less lee when dumbly staring
overdrawn account issues
   another clattering smack.

Income pleat undergraduate degree
contributed to the role of a sporadic employee
time to acquire handy dandy blues clues key
lost within vacillating undermining spree.

Mental state can be a precarious widget-like thing
directly at the whim of financial sliding swing
self-destruction demonic ring
courtesy of pauperism
delivers the destructive poisoned scorpion sting.

Immortal force of please hear my cry
provide support while
   under the sheltering sky
steady (just out of reach)
   sought income bolster up high

mirage vision brings transient delight
to this great (former
Civil War Yankee) supreme guy.

If no breakthrough I do not foresee
charity not for profit (but only prophet) I will bee
and this blurb carved outside my cave-like hovel
many moons and break of the day find me

imploring existential vagaries this baby boomer
sans middle-aged man who hankers to be free
thus though aye to be a schnorrer

who scrounges parking lots for scattered change
yet...decries blubbering the beggar's credo
write out a check and mail to me.

Philanthropic persons
   may rightfully balk and get irate
at such brazen plea to squelch
   ma pecuniary financial state

yet where the crossroads of mine future
most likely crop up which
would cause far a tete a tete
meanwhile, stoicism bids me wait...

For Godot, Curly, Shemp, or Moe
the stand-in for a Stool Pigeon
or even an odd antagonist
   or protagonist dreamt
   by Edgar Allan Poe.

— The End —