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Marty T Ottman Dec 2021
Sometime acceptance is key to forget about what took the heart's hold.
May of fold, for everything in front of you that you behold.
Cherish what still may accumulate from this cursed concept of time.
Rehearse this mere delusion as it just another illusion illustrated between bonds you may not be fond of, but it will be fine.
Push through and don't miscue.
Remember the solace in the heart but don't take forgranted it's expression.
As it very much may so be your lesson.
Times ran deary, release the fury that no longer serves you.
Don't let the tension of nerves breaththrough.
Rest in a new awake, and don't forsake a new day's break. -marty.
Man Aug 2021
Longing for the land of my lineage
I am dying here, in Beggar Country
Here, where fools act the wise
Pseudo Intellectualism steadily on the rise
Where the disease celebritism has took hold
Forced out the tried and true for the shiny yet old
Where the idiom
The more things that change, the more remains the same
Is unquestionably fact
I long for Ireland
I long to go back

Give me land that's green
And rolling countryside
Give me tide to rival hell's fury
And people that mean well, amid gales so dreary
I miss fog
Like that kicked up by the mire

Give me land that's hungry
Give me people that's tired
Glenn Currier Feb 2021
The wizened old man told me -
sustain the weary with a word
for many a one has none
to bring love and light
into the blight of their dreary days.

I asked which word
and through a wan smile
he said - you figure it out.
Maybe poets are the best ones
to discover and uncover the light
hidden in the weary and the dreary
Psychonaute Feb 2021
A dreary time of year.
It's cold
and colorless,
a monochromatic
I can't see the stars.
The 14th is coming.
Reminding me of all
that I desperately want
but cannot have.
A perfect happy ending.
Alek Mielnikow Nov 2020
Is that danger in the distance?
Or do my eyes deceive?


Like dark clouds
gathering above mountains.
Like how the young see their futures.

(Though it's not like the world hasn't been ending
this entire time.

In billions of years the sun will explode.
In hundreds, our planet will be just dust and stone,
and the bones of industry.
And at my rate
I'll self-destruct by sixty years of age.

But) what is this thing that sticks and stings
and irks
like a mirage?

Not the flavor of fingers dipped in deliciousness.
Not the freshness of a newborn babe.
Not the scent of flowers.
Not feet in a hot bath.
Not fumbling a lovers face,
frolicking through foxglove fields,
flitting a fiery frevo,
finishing first.

none of that.

It's not a thing,
but a feeling.


And it sticks and stings
and irks,
like a mirage.

by Aleksander Mielnikow | Alek the Poet
I have returned.

Make sure to follow my profile to keep up with my new works. For extras, please check out my Instagram, @alekthepoet
Have you forecasted a glimpse into tomorrow's
Embarrassment and read the paper
Only to have the headlines say it is going to rain

That's how my life is like without the dough
Without the rainbows, petrichor
It is an endless flood of melancholic pain

****, it's winter
Not the pompous fellow.
She looked outside
where it was
gray and dreary
cloudy and
about to rain
what a fitting day
for a girl
who was lost
in her own storm
and couldn't find her way
little lion Oct 2020
God, what did I do to deserve such a
lonely and hallow existence,
trudging along such a dreary path
with a soul so heavy and beaten
that it is too hard to love?

Why am I so hard to love?
Chels Sep 2020
You are my pain killer
I've enjoyed every moment
Intoxicated by your effect
Now, I'm suffering.
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