The wind swept across sheering dunes of white sand
the way certain kinds of dancers sway
like flames
The way young children often play
free of their father’s shame

It filled his lungs with the fire of his innocence
and the longer he inhaled the larger he grew
no sooner had he rivaled mountains
did he hear the cries of his former self
this being bound in chains spoke thus

Be wary Apricus,
many great men have had their heads over hills
and their fates delivered them to the stake.
Are you willing to burn, to crumble into ash
and return to the dirt of mother earth
for all that you believe?

Broken by doubt,
the mountain becomes a man again
but the heart of a giant still swelled inside of him
It raged against his fragile frame like a violent slave
until it grew weary of its own restless thunder
and there it sunk into the deep,
the deep frore of a wintry slumber

Sleep for now my lively child
for the hearts of giants reside inside of all men
but first they must learn to love themselves
before the giants can walk the earth again

Mouth Heavy.
Handwriting is really bland right now.
Why do I always alternate between print and cursive?
My right ear hurts again, at lobe, just like last night; feels warm & pulled.

Pressure on my right elbow. Being left handed is irksome at times. I wonder if all the sayings & studies about us are just complete & utter *******. Last morning, and every other spent with her; Sleeping outline.

I’m happy she doesn't snore.

What do I write???

My mother snores. I need to sit up
I hate my rushed handwriting. This is truly chicken scratch.
I haven’t written like this since my Biological Anthropology and Archaeology class. Back hurts.

Is something wrong with me? Probably multiple things.
Should I read this aloud? I always feel others worrying for me. Though, I suppose I shouldn’t assume they always will. Regardless, I fear weighing anyone down. Why does my girlfriend sleep so much?
Do I just sleep less?

turn the page, adjust yourself. I have three minutes to finish this this isn’t even poetry. I forgot my last thought. Oh! How am I supposed to write about anything besides my mind when writing like this?? Well, I’m probably not supposed to.

What does my mind- not my brain- look like? Probably cluttered and unorganized. Everything that comes out is made up of what is within. I could have said that so much more poetically.

Wrought from the hate from a world that's old.
Made with a heart of gold, a very unique mold.
Tempered with the heat of forgotten lore,
the creator saw his revenge's hope soar.

Brought from the depths of a mountain core,
where the rage was bold as the creator swore.
Awaken twilight titan with a mighty roar!
decorate hell's halls with endless gore.

Running in an endless chase
and into the dark of an empty space,
he whets his blade with earnest blood
and yet he thirsts for more and more.

Now run little man as your end unfolds.
A cursed giant follows your every step,
hidden in lies, corruption and hate,
await your justice as it was foretold.

Cold are the hands grasping at your soul,
he dwells in shadow behind your mind's door.
He lies patiently in wait for death bell's toll,
making terrifying sounds you cant just ignore.

Little Child
Written by Adam M. Snow

Little child, weary wanderer,
leaving home to go forth yonder.
Sat alone beneath oak tree,
to sleep away his misery.
A mile from his cottage home,
this little child left to roam,
in the woods so dark and damp;
this little child would make his camp.
While asleep, he heard asunder;
flash of lights -- arose of thunder.
Upon his face a dreadful frown,
pouring rain now crashing down.
He watched a tragic play unfold,
that left this child in the cold.
The tent he pitched -- swept away,
by the shifting mud and clay.
Now the child dripping wet,
sat alone the night and wept.

To all the promises we broken
To all the tears we shed
To all the screams that still echoes in my head

I drive you crazy
while you curse me 'till I'm numb
Spitting hatred from our mouths
We hurt each other while we're together
why won't we just fall apart?

Because we we weren't meant to be, not destiny
We were just another **epic tragedy

I went to buy a pizza.
She told her mother.
Our oldest one is called Nadav.
His youngest one - Shani.

I want to build
an epic blanket fort
so deep and tall
you'd think the
vietcong dug it
warm walls to sink into
until you can barely
Breathe
like drowning in comfort
I would never come out

Past rolling hills
green valleys and beautiful woods.
Over falls wondrous
and meadows gold.
Through towns and villages
snow covered and cold.

Over oceans vast
and jungles deep
Lies,
the mountain mammoth.

Great stones
mere bones
before its sprawling feet.

Standing in awe
at its Gothic magnificence.
All creations lying under the shadow
of this monstrous heap.

They dance in reverence
they bask in the terrible embrace,
of the mountain mammoth.

This far away mountain
oh fiery fountain.
Oh ginormous mongrel
oh hideous evil.



Enveloping all life
purging all love.
Decimating madness
the end of all things.

Fear erupts from it
like water from a spring.
Darkness covers the mountain
darkness blacker then pitch.

Darkness that no light ever can touch
not even the stars
those resilient lanterns.

All hope is dashed at the walls
of the mammoth mountain.
All hope is forsaken at the foot
of the great fiery fountain.

/
When you are growing as a poet
your pain is pining to born a poetry
where there are too many clouds of emotions gathering,
also a pensive mood longing
then the thunder of thoughts growing,
your paper is awaiting for the first word
as I was waiting for you, my love
when you were coming slowly
then words of rain raining,
automatically,
randomly

When the first raindrop pings on the pond
even you don't know when it will be stopped
how far it will be covered
which path it will be taken
even its density,
dignity,
or the diversity

Your first word inks on the paper
you don’t know when it will be finished
which way the words will be taken
even you don't know
its size or style,
its fashion or the scheme

Either it's a long or a short
or even a sonnet or a verse
even its rhyming
or the rhythm

You should not think about its length
of course words grow as long as
the metaphors can travel
through its thoughts of cohesion
and its feelings moving
naturally,
poetically

You should not count the words
or even you can't stop within a limit
it makes your thoughts imperfect
rather you can tell totally
about the life,
or can tell about
the love easily
or beyond the life spontaneously

The words can grow 3,5,7
lines for a haiku
or even it goes for a mile for an epitaph
or more for an epic  

Poetry executes through words
words come from thoughts
thoughts come from the emotions
and ends with the wisdom
/
@ Musfiq us shaleheen

Never have I seen death so beautiful until today..
He came into my dreams and we took a tour of the world.
I have never had such fun, I have never laughed so much.

It was painful to watch such a "live"  soul accused of such crimes.
I mean he is the sole reason why we keep photographs and portraits
In everyday life we appreciate what we have and cherish it because death inspires us to.

Never have i seen such beauty wrecked, but then again that humanity,
we wreck everything we touch and blame it all on evolution and development.

Death visited me today and never have I felt such warmth and love
Death visited me today and all that I saw is a misunderstood being.
Death visited me today and never have I been so content.