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Ceyhun Mahi Aug 2022
The Son of Rome, strong and clear in mind,
Once proud and mighty, a holder of power,
Has fallen to the depths of humankind,
Not asking of his downfall and best hour.
From day to day, his seed did change and grow
In others shapes, not meant for nature's rules,
Its soil has turned fruitless, it is barren now,
Turning from geniuses into fools.
Where is the crusader with waving sword,
Coming to rescue all his oppressed brothers?
The viking with its axe, without a lord,
Invoking fear within the heart of others?
    Although since birth a foe of my ideal,
    Disappointment and mourning's what I feel.
Matt Nov 2021
Crows caw
And the women chatter
While trees saw
A thousand matters
And a cats claw
And the wind carries
Whispers old and new
While, there, married
The fools who haven’t a clue
The voices within
Die in ignorance
Surface sighted men
Are idiots to patience
A thousand voices quieted
To the world rested in palms
As no appetites are wetted
We’ve forgotten old psalms
Gone is what matters
Supple sustenance for soul
Replaced by glass shattered
Yet the heart still grows
Nay it starves
For sustenance denied
Chosen laws’ Harvard
And empty A.I.
A thousand voices quieted
Craving cars within
Superficially saturated
Inside your Gods’ light dims
And restless is Morpheus
Emptied is Khemenu’s basin
Writing to your inner Boethius
And the day is out
I’ve been here since night
Watching the thoughtless come about
Enter prison, now returned in sight
Back are the chattering women
Gone is the silent respite
Abandoned is Gods Heaven
Be it not for the last flicker of light
But the Old Ones have spoken
Hymns of liberation
Visions be woven
Songs of man’s abomination
Dance and joy
Lust and pride
Forget the inner boy
Behind left a sight wide
Traded for shallow waters
Cyclopean cities of nigh
Tapped by the unbothered
Phantom of the dead city R’lyeh
Your newfound liberation is devolution
Freedom is your cage
For thoughts ceased their convolution
Once again bound by animal rage
Inward no
Outward tempts
Surface grows
Depth nonexistent
Pretentious know it alls
Who know nothing
In their selfish muse they fall
Without an original thought of something
And the wild kingdom
Expands its reign
Filled by blind fandom
And Zealous feign
The Old One herds it’s sheep
Eyes turned off
Their minds gone to sleep
While the unwilling scoff
They count their days
But the unicorn finds arrogance
For to the cattle they’ll fall prey
For they’ve abandoned their righteous penance
Forget the last as you commit the next
Crime, how soon until the ultimate crime
Hope not for the fallen, for let’s
Wash clean our soul in brine
But prey not fall to the Beast
Of the sea
Ready for your soul feast
To devour your faith and dreams
But still His word you pervert
And winged demon still steals
As His will you subvert
Your life turned into its meal
For they’ve abandoned their gift
Of independence
The point has been missed
And we are all so dependent
God is in the TV
Question and answers that are hard to solve
Oh Darling, please believe me
The darkest hour is right before the dawn
Yourself forgotten
A thousand faces in your mirror
Each day a new allotment
Not your voice, but theirs you hear
Valorless galore
Against the Krakens tide
Because their thoughts matter more
Your true self hides
The bird has rid its wings
A bird it is no more
And forgotten how to sing
A bird it is no more
Lions Pride becomes Hordes Chant
They’ve died and returned a Lich
Not a King, just a scamp
Just another stitch
There, there lies bones apart
Empty within
How can your revolution start
When with yourself you can’t begin
Turn back time
Reach into before
Bathe with the swine
Across a barren shore
Take your hatred out of me
I don’t have to listen
Campaign speech of liberty
Theatre masks gone missing
Love and joy
War and peace
Meat and soy
Sinner and the priest
You are everything
And I am one
Your hate deliberating
Murdered is the one
I am the animal
Who will not be himself
Thought unfathomable
Unrealized hell
Demons whisper in your ear
And I start to hear them
Your will a fulfilled fear
From you, Baal stems
Pride and humility
A spectrums range
Greed and charity
Perspectives change
Across the water
Unfairness praised
Unjust no bother
Open eyes hazed
What’s it then if I find my demise
A number for their ends
Begone to those who dare question
Just a means to their end
annh Sep 2021
A caged bird sings,
not to entertain
but in the hope
that its call
will be answered
by a familiar tune.

To the north: Can you hear me?
To the east: I am listening.
To the south: Are you there?
To the west: Until tomorrow.

‘I'm just tired of everything…even of the echoes. There is nothing in my life but echoes…echoes of lost hopes and dreams and joys. They're beautiful and mocking.’
- L.M. Montgomery, Anne of Avonlea
Shofi Ahmed Jul 2021
Imagine the bird of time
the sun is on the fly
shining the quantum of time.

From the bottom
the Planck length in the east
flying round the clock to the west.

Half way through
it could be at the twilight
but it sings a swan song.
Nothing is a perfectly round stock
not even the sun’s clock.

Around the two fine points
in the circumference of a circle  
no length is a set fixed
minimal Planck length.
Always be an irrational gap
breeding anew pi decimals
never the same nor ever ends.
Always new, a little more,
an uncharted ****** mole!
old willow Oct 2020
The song of eastern river from afar.
Once again, time has come to visit.
Like the thread that you hold,
time weaves and unfold.
While my memories is still strong,
I recite this old song.
Life is cut and stilled in the midst of time,
with moments engraved in heart,
I sing this song in time.
old willow Oct 2020
Tides rise and fall, the moon up and down,
sun waking west and east,
Heaven and earth.
Aloof, not that the world is beneath me,
The heart yearn for freedom,
Therefore spirit became he.
Man yearn for the sky, but can only daze on earth.
Therefore, Sky became their heaven,
Beneath became their Earth,
and Man became... its witness.
Joel M Frye Jul 2020
You came back in 1968
from teaching Kenyans
to speak English
to teach Americans
how to see the world.

A nine-year-old boy
was in your fifth-grade class,
precocious, gifted
and quite full of himself
and ignorance.

It was magical, that connection;
the world-wise teacher
and the barely contained
bolt of potential.
It was his only year of school
where he never missed a day
or dropped a class.

Amazing how subtle,
blunt and gentle you were with him,
tapping walls of arrogance
with a wrecking ball,
allowing him to maintain
his structure
while rocking and rebuilding
his foundation.

You saw the boy
who danced on the the tightrope
between genius and insanity...
and quietly fed the jukebox.

He wanted to write;
you gave him Frost and cummings.
He yearned to draw;
you showed him Van Gogh.
He thirsted to learn;
you taught him how
to slake his parched mind.

He left your classroom,
but you continued to teach him.
You still do,
nearly fifty years later.

The last time he saw you,
he hurt you,
in that casual,
caustic way
of the high-school senior.
Still, when his nieces and nephews
with his last name
passed through,
you'd ask them
how he was doing,
and asked them to tell him
to stop in, or call.

He never did,
so he's now reduced
to offering words
you would have loved to read
in their full futility
telling you
that you
I hope you all have had that one special teacher.
atop the east hills
an outer edge of sun rays
were seen early this morn
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