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In your words,
I find cure.
By your look,
My soul enlivens.
O You Who dwells in my hearts.
Julie Grenness Aug 2019
Here is my home, swell,
It is where  I do dwell,
I fit into this 'burb real well,
In summer, hot as hell,
I sit here with my coffee,
To gaze at society,
You do appear strange to me,
Want to know what I think about thee?
My home is here, all is well,
I fit into my little town real swell!
My little town,  a blithering suburb. Feedback welcome.
Sophia Apr 2019
The good.

The bad.

The silence.

The eye contact.

The feelings.

The end.
Luna Jay Mar 2019
The reason you cannot pass is the same as the last.
You are blocking yourself from moving forward
And dwelling in the past.
A mirror image of your flaws.
Physical science-
That unlawful law.
And your reflection is the one who saw
That you are stuck behind the glass
Of who you make yourself out to be.
But you…
You’re just not who you see yourself as.
And your reflection has known for
Its entire existence.
Eric Jan 2019
Sometimes I feel I miss
To much.
When I close my
Eyes .
solfang Jul 2018
how can I envision the future,
when I'm stuck in the present,
dwelling on my past.
I find it hard to plan or foresee my future because I can't handle the things on my hand now. I blame my past memories for all of this
hxrvld Jun 2018
Horrendous hurricane
A resemblance of my storm,
Crevasse on my heart
Reveals my another disastrous form,
A body dwelling with two souls,
Schism ideologies,
Contrast personalities,
Continuous inner war,
Dying and reincarnate,
Until the right one win,
The others hibernating,
Temporary heaven insecure me,
A drop of hellfire disguise as water
Will drown me into a new war.
Whispering winds of solemn sorrow
In the mundane hours of the night,
Surmise the falsities of tomorrow,
Spreading dark throughout the light.

Preying upon the minds that dwell,
With woven lies, a web so foul...
Hark! The sounds of voices swell
As the whispers rise into a howl.

Soon settling the sorrow of the traveling fellow...
He never could find his way,
Strumming tomorrow like it were a cello,
Snapping the strings in dismay.

Who--alive for years, never did live,
As his angst and diffidence cumber.
Even the magnanimous can't forgive
Missing dreams of untried slumber.

Remnants of his tortured call
Were swept away in the breeze.
A feeble ripples arduous sprawl,
Replaced by the fray of the seas.

His idle mind tended to wander,
Through yesterday's--before tomorrow,
Distorted pasts of future's squander,
Finding days from which to borrow.
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