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JA Perkins Sep 13
Cast to raging seas;
a boat beaten by
an angry wave.
Unanswered cries
like pleas from
crows that cry
above my grave.

Now, the living  
only mock me,
dancing around
my doom singing
"Here lies the
foolish boy who
followed freedom
to his tomb."
Can these dry bones live?
Maria Mitea Sep 6
Burned by the sun,
In the middle of the day,
Nowhere to go,
It has been dry for a while
and I pray “Rainy rain
fall on me, and fall on him,
fall, fall, fall ... if not
I’ll be the rain,
and he'll be the earth,
falling into each other secrets”

I’ll be his fresh rainfall,
His clime and his
Every season to come,
when burned by the sun,
earthy earth,
sip me all
when runoff on
crispy skin.

Drink me,
deeper, and deeper
into his colourful roots
where dryness cheers
humusy kisses,
shower his face with
tender driblets of
sweet promises and
roses will never fade away
on his chest, 
in the midday,

Burn the rain down where the secrets are,
where the trees and large bushes survive,
and high winds have only one way.

I’ll take rainy droplets away
and fall over again when his
Burned by the sun,
Waiting in the middle of the day,
Nowhere to go,
But hiding in the rain when
Burned by the sun.
Aashi Sinha Sep 3
a dry leaf on a cemented ground, me chasing you all around, is really everything fine?

Shocked to the core

i want it, i need it, it’s not
come and go
come and go
come and go
come and go,

entangled legs and intertwined fingers, velvet sheets and sweet lies
searching for you between atoms and skin cracks, you were here, right here, right now, where did you go?

white noise, the crackle of static, rain on me, Joji, the ocean between us, darkness surrounds u-- me.
Gerald Sep 3
You squeeze all the
love out of me.
Then you leave me
on poles to dry, hanging.
Tears from the mystical sky
seeped in through my shoulder—
as I let its fervor tears
dampen my lowly soul;
he said, “hear me out”

The way it moves around
sailing toward to broaden
mysterious mists—the plastic clouds
covering most of the gleam of the sun
and the way he murmurs into my ears—
I can never get out again.

While strange stares pierced through
my core—a menacing way of
forcing unraveling fragile pieces
of my silent port, and there I
let a foreign one
travel his way through—
sailing beneath my springs.

On this day of August's chilly afternoon—
while the tears of the mystical sky
tumbles through my shoulder—dripping
my cold dry bones.
after a week of not writing.
TD Jun 9
There are real victims
and then
there are the actors.

Hollywood must be
a barren wasteland
at the moment.
Absence makes the heart grow fonder.
Mrs Timetable May 25
Why plant
A fragile heart
In the wrong place
Setting it up
To suffocate
Like a tulip
In a xeriscape
BLT word of the day “xeriscape”
Poetic T May 24
Your ink will never dry,
        smudging every time  

I read it..

there are never goodbyes only

         I'll read you again soon friend..
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