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Me in the rain now wry dusk nigh
and hail next awesome seed
even lightning is on the way
that plaza carry street too
where crumbs last an entire day
if rampart ring side their wing
with a pigeon in flight that dine here
then my rapport commence with dance
but a lesson left to chance
dawn in these throes of thunder
but wake incredible desire
and shake an incredulous mess
though my excess horizontal
with wind and sea ex aequo.
ex aequo in Italian means first
xmxrgxncy Feb 2017
There is no poison anymore.
Past thoughts, past dreams, past hopes,
key word; past.
It has drained into everyone- you have seen this- and it has destroyed more than is healthy. None is healthy. Unfortunately, that is not the case, not even close.
But now the toil is over.

You can only push so much out, can only drown so much.
You're tired, I can feel it.
You're weary, I can see it.
Memories strain against the metal bars guarding your heart and your head

Opening broken boxes of leering letters can **** the heart. I know.
Unearthing memories you'd tried to shatter can **** you.

But better than blocking comes redemption,
albeit harder and a longer process.

But being a whole puzzle means fitting the pieces together,
not throwing away those you wish you hadn't touched.

There are those who wish to build you up, those who wish to beam you into the high place you used to inhabit.

And you know what?

They all miss you.
To the broken dove...we want to help you fly again.
My crystal-clear
inkwell
ran dry,

so I dipped
my quill-pen tip
into the sky.

I said
a little prayer,

and blew it out
into the air.

I spent a tear,
I sighed a little sigh,

I tried so hard
not to breakdown
and cry.

I took a deep breath
and closed my eyes,

I hoped
that the heavens
would hear
my silent cries.

I sat down
with my back
against our big tree,

it still looked
exactly the same
as it used to be.

A white dove came
and greeted me,

I then remembered
those words
you once said to me...

"It's in your blood,
it runs through your veins...
Just let your inner voice
guide your hand,
its ink
will leave beautiful stains!"

I thanked
the Gracious,
Merciful Lord
up above,

for he,
sent those words to me,
through the beautiful
white dove.

The white dove flew
from the branch
of our big tree,

I knew
that the white dove
was sent
to watch over me.

By Lady R.F ©2016
Repost
Àŧùl Dec 2016
Scared before she could be my only wife,
Flew away on my tender touch a dove.

Abandoning the sinking relation-ship,
Caring not about the poetical trove.

She let me drown in the gifted grief,
Never cared to give me a shove.

To my eyes, it was just another blip,
Her hand was never in my glove.

The calm sound of happiness fife,
Than ego, she wants it not above.

It is strange how she lost grip,
Always like a princess dove.

Melted in heat of real life,
Such was her waxy love.
Rhyme scheme:
A
B

C
B

A
B

C
B

A
B

C
B

A
B

Rhyming is not a job for the dumb.
They hate rhyming poems.
Such fake inferior poets please excuse me.

HP Poem #1293
©Atul Kaushal
Loveless Nov 2016
Chaos in heart
Madness in brain
A white dove
Longing to sigh again

Wings are soft
Eyes are blurred
Burden of message
Carries a little bird

It's tired wings
Just want to fly
All it wants to see
Is a peaceful sky

Vast blood filled sea
Reach the shore
Patron of peace
Just end the war

Everywhere is blue
Smile lost its way
For a better future
Waylay today

One side is peace
Joy she brings
See her dance
Hear her sing

Other side is war
Standing still
Everything, everyone
He wants to ****

This is thy wisdom
You have will to loose
Which way to go
You have to choose
Peace!
CZ Malouf Oct 2016
Dare i call you love?
you
who fills my heart with morning dew
and holds me tight,
my guard
against the edge of
darkness.
You are my spirit,
my evening dove.
who illuminates the night
and whose wings,
envelop me,
like a springing bud.
K Sep 2016
We drink wine
As the weary wings of the dove
Labor over restless graves
Weaving between the carnival cruises
Drifting along the red canal

Three hundred cubits long,
Fifty wide and thirty tall
Rivers red overflow
The cypress whip cracks
Licking the ****** hide
With a serrated tongue

Ripped from gnawed *******; Raw
From the desperate lips of brothers and sisters.
Rivers red overflow
With the whimpers of last breaths
Muted by the blade of violent delight
And teeth grinding machines

We sit in our squeaking rubber boots
Cutlery clinks and clacks, saws, severs, slice.
Rivers red overflow
With an anguished unholy
Screeching sound
Deaf are our saintly ears

We drink wine
As the weary dove
Returns empty beaked
Once more to his perch
And preens his scarlet feathers
Sam Sep 2016
The dove left awhile ago.
The flamingo stared as it flew away.
The sparrow sat silently,
watching and observing,
Knowing that eventually one would break.
What the flamingo doesn't know, hurts it.
The dove, in fact,has had its wings broken before.
It was said that the wings were broken to no repair.
The dove was paralyzed, could feel no pain.
It was numb, it was in vain.
The sparrow sat patiently on the side.
It helped the dove get back in line,
Time was the true healer.
The sparrow watched as the dove failed,
The sparrow watched as the dove grew,
The most important part,
is that the dove overcame.
Even the sparrow thought there was no return,
though it never said it, it believed it.
Until one day, the sparrow looked out,
and saw the dove flying away.
The dove had healed, the dove was free.
The numbness went down and it began to see.
Now, this is a message for the flamingo to hear,
The sparrow has everything to fear.
The dove never wanted to fly away and not come back,
Yet the flamingo desires exactly that.
The dove was able to overcome their pain,
so I believe the flamingo can do the same.
It takes time, it takes patience,
but in the end, it is worth it.
The world will be clearer, and the flowers brighter.
The sparrow can not wait,
until the day the flamingo can fly away.
But to fly away with its own wings,
with its own strength,
to have overcome this obstacle,
and finally be free.
The sparrow will wait patiently for that day,
Helping all the way.
The flamingo will soar high,
not has high as the heavens,
because it will be low enough to where it can fly back,
Back to where the sparrow sits patiently,
for the help it can give once more.
xmxrgxncy Sep 2016
Haven't you had your fun?
Aren't you sick of the facade?

Do you have any idea what it feels like to be numb?
xmxrgxncy Sep 2016
I introduced the birds to the flock
the dove was awkward, the sparrow, excited

but the falcon towered
and the partridge left
and the starling was left to cry
with the eagle just standing by

and who, you ask, who, who am I?

I am the flamingo.
Do I belong?
Not I.
I'm starting a bird series because it's easier to talk about events that way.
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