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Poetic T Sep 2019
You were  bright-eyed like a flouriest
                     angel lighting up the streets.

But they can be dimming.

            Night has away of draining

into void less shadows.

I once saw stars in your eyes,
          now all I see is the space


Flowers blossoming,
            spring breezes
            were your words to me.

I found you clipped,
           dead eclipses vacant within you.

It doesn't matter how bright you shine,
                               the city may outshine


And what was always able to rise,
               set with the demise of light.

They found you extinguished,
       in a shallow grave of regret.

Cities have a way of collecting
             the wishes upon stars,

and dousing them out in to
            but silence.

I wish upon a star, but all stars die...
Poetic T Jun 2018
I sat on decaying desks of reflection.
       My homework, write a moment
                                of life that meant the most.

But this is a theory of retrospective
       collections, tattered and loosely fitting.
Writing in faded inks of yesterday.

Everything I'd wrote was a failure,
                    never amassing a page of meaning.
I knew I wasn't a graduate of life.

Mostly a D minus in the accomplishments of what
I could have wrote. But instead I just
                   dodged classes and ended up a failure.
Danish Wahi Jul 2017
Dreamy sequel ceased and
From thin air came a blow,
Misery slithered silently
Wrenched my heart it though

Tremors were deepfelt
Not a frown did I show
Ma mère accused divinity
I knew I did me wrong.

Thud fall shook me bad
Things were rosy a while ago,
Night came down like silk
An atonement started to grow

When posed an interrogation
How come happened so?
My eyes averted sheepishly
And conscience plummeted low

My head accepted verity
Mais heart refused to follow,
Like a squab shutting eyes
To overlook a felis shadow

With broken heart, a lost face
And failure laden torso
Shackled in remorse did I
Go sinking down the hydro.
My mère - My mother
Mais - But
Squab - Baby pigeon
Felis - Cat
Poetic T Apr 2015
Checkmate was the moves that followed me,
Each was noted as if known before I had stepped,
Frustration gained pace upon my fragile self.
Motion seemed stagnant and still,
My life was a dismal stalemate of defeat.
When all life feels like is a failure that builds upon each fall
Jodie-Elaine Mar 2014
I am not the sophisticated underdog,
I trip and fall through door frames
Always unannounced.

I am the wavering circle,
I give myself away too early in the game
Always a red herring.

— The End —