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Mateus Apr 2018
Staying home all night.
It's fright-
               ning
                      [to think
that i'm just myself

my shelf
is not so hard,
so, my soul
                 escapes,
it fades
away
from me.

It goes to places
that I don't even
                         [know
that exists.
it goes to space,
             to mars,
             to skies,
                          [far away,
             to Narnia.

And, then
the karma:
it comes back to me;
and, what I see (I saw),
it doesn't comes to my
                      [memory.
it's a shame.
but, at least
(and I don't know if
                                 [this is
good
or bad -
              happy,
              or sad)
I  have
      all of this places
to visit - again -
,but, this time
        I hope
      that they]
come to my mind.
A Poem about memory, big adventures and how it all fades away.
z Apr 2018
have you ever wondered
about the creatures that live above us
with cherry lips and wings as soft as the clouds in heaven
the ones made to serve God and only God

have you ever wondered what happened to the ones sent to earth?

not the ones who have fallen deep under
to the depths of hell and perhaps even farther
rather, the ones who have watched us for centuries
wondering what it was like to have the ability to love one other than the Almighty
i'd like to think angels reach a point where they are allowed the freedom of choice
to continue serving God
or to fall into the earth

and the angels who decided they would rather be with us
would they
live like us
cry like us
love like us?

do you think that they, too
experience the terrible feeling of heartbreak
as if a piece of paper being ripped to shreds
like their wings being torn apart
like their newly found heart being burned to ashes

wouldn't they regret it
leaving the hands of the Almighty
only to learn the disappointing reality of us humans  

do you think angels can die

you had cherry lips
pale skin
and a back that felt like it was made for wings

you were an angel
and oh, did i love you
as you did, me

until one day
perhaps the devil whispered to me
and i realised
i loved you no longer

do you think angels can die

for the look in your eyes was like the beginning of the end
like the chaos we imagine in hell
and your lips, they opened and did not make a sound
like you gave up your voice when you'd forsaken heaven for me

and your heart,
i could almost swear i heard it

do you think angels can die of heartbreak
do you think angels can die

do you think angels can
i think you might've been an angel and i killed you
ashley lingy Apr 2018
On the far away island of Sala-ma-sond,
Mira the Koala was head of the pond.

A nice little pool,
it was quaint, it was cool.
The shore side was warm
with eucalyptus galore.

But all was not well in Sala-ma-sond.
For the subjects of Mira were really not fond
of the company Queen Mira kept in her pond.

See, over the years, Mira had gotten to know
a few polar bears, their fur white as snow.

These bears got lost some long time ago,
whilst traveling up to the great northern pole.
On the part of the trip, along the Nile,
the bears lost their map at the 27th mile.

They moaned and groaned, yelled and cried.
They longed for the cold, the north's crisp blue skies.
As the polar bears sniveled, squinting through tears,
Mira heard their loud cries with her big koala ears.
Confused for a moment, unsure of the noise,
she paused and reflected, still keeping her poise.

But the cries of the bears continued to grow.
Queen Mira was left with no choice but to go.

Traveling fast on the path resisting the least,
she made her way quickly to the great sobbing beasts.
She arrived and asked what was the matter.
The polar bears explained, or more accurately, blathered.

"STOP!", pleaded Mira, her heart growing weak,
"I can save you! I can help you! I just need a bird's beak!"

At this the bears paused, for her meaning was unclear.
But then the toucan swooped in, beak sharp as a spear.

He followed Mira’s orders, and poked around in the deep rushing river.
He poked and prodded, but in the end, he had nothing to bring her.

Despite the toucan’s efforts, the map was still MIA,
Impossible to find, a needle amongst hay.

And the bears AGAIN let out big bear cries,
and water also began to fill Mira's eyes.
"Stop bears, stop! I beg of you please!
There is no need to cry, you can come stay with me!
Please come stay in my home,you don’t have to go roam!
Come stay, come stay, at least for a week."

And for a few moments, the bears did not speak.
They looked at each other, nodding their heads,
then roared loud enough to be heard through thick lead.

Every one of the animals heard this great sound,
and every one of the animals turned around,
swiveling their heads 180 degrees.
Every animal turned, from the lions to the bees.
And when the racket stopped, every animal knew
that something was different, something was new.

The bears came to stay just for a little bit.
Then a bit became a while, and soon, that was it.
Suddenly, it was three years later,
and the polar bear's presence had become much greater.

The bears were crude, they were rude, and they were loud.
To their every demand, Queen Mira had bowed,
and the bears felt entitled to every leaf, tree, and stump.
To every single hole, to every single bump.

It soon became clear that in Sala-ma-sond,
the big polar bears now ruled over the pond.
And all of the animals were utterly miserable,
especially Mira, who felt gullible and responsible.

Let this be a lesson to the more hospitable of you.
It's good to be generous, yes, that much is true.
But beware of the guests who take advantage,
for those guests can become difficult to manage.

Don’t be like Mira, letting others walk all over you.
Know when it’s time to bid a guest ‘adieu’.
Aa Harvey Apr 2018
Tortured soul


Only in the darkest hours can I find my soul.
Only when I am falling can I see the rope, but I cannot take a hold.
When I hit rock bottom, I kneel alone;
I am scared to death of failing to live, but I have no desire to go.


When all is dark and I am without hope,
I find myself, the tortured soul.
When all is gone and the silence becomes deafening;
Only then can I believe I have done what I need to do and so…


With the lights turned out and no light to be found,
I am able to find the way inside my soul and write it all down.
When all is lost and apathy is my only friend;
I find a way to drown.


I sink to the bottom and I can find the peace I seek;
No noise to be heard, no vision to be seen.
Only beneath the surface am I truly free;
No feeling a necessity, no compulsion to breathe.


Inside I am able to escape reality;
Outside I am forced to hear and to see.
Within my dreams I am immortal, super human and unique.
Without foolish needs, I can make myself happy.


If only I was able to live a life of fantasy;
Maybe I would be able to erase this nightmare
And pretend this life is just a dream.


Somehow worth it;
Picture perfect.


(C)2016 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Jesse stillwater Apr 2018
Nightbird perches high
beneath the shooting stars
that dapple the bouquet
    of sleepless peace
... his soft downy breast      
    has lent breath
to the sweet April afterglow
     heaving with song

The mystical feathered troubadour's
     swooning echo
A melodic twilight serenade
conjures a moonstruck metamorphosis,
sprouting magical wings of flight;

rousing a lonely heart's esprit
     to fly away unfettered
     in constellations of song

How dare imaginings spilled from the big dipper
enchant such an enrapturing magic spell?
It's so far to fall from swinging on a star!
It's so far beyond nearing crescent moon
     when you wish upon a star  

Thereupon struck by a bewitching bolt of starlight;
Dropping asudden as a shooting-star!

    Rolling like trailing thunder;
        tucked and tumbling ―
             somersaulting,

           celestial rumbling
blossoming with an unearthly joy

A nascent winged heart splayed bare,
soars upon cresting wind waves;
    dreaming of that shapeless  
          w h o  o  o  o  s h ―
         gathering beneath
        ~ uplifting wings ~

  Suddenly ― gliding freely,
       winging gracefully
  upon wafting star drift glitter;
lilting lightly upon the arising cadence
of nightingale's melodious fluted song

Nightingale sings sweet April perfume
beneath the star shed lamplight twinkle

... and it makes no difference if it's only a dream
    if my heart had wings



imagined by:   Jesse Stillwater
22nd  April  2018

Imagination set free ... perhaps rooted in the branches of a tree
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/2397540/a-lost-angels-wings/

Luscinia, nightingale -  songbird noted for its melodious nocturnal song
.
Diána Bósa Apr 2018
I am in love with your reflection,
the one you refuse to see,
I am yearning to hear your song,
the one your voice deny singing.
My well-known stranger,
my learned unbeknown;
dying to accept - living in denial.
A dream
which is fated to remain
a fantasy.
Amanda Kay Burke Apr 2018
I used pure imagination
To picture a future with us together
Closed my eyes and visualized
Brighter times ahead; sunny weather.

I knew I was daydreaming
I might not one day be your wife
But I do not want to live without you
I hope fantasy comes to life.
They say I'm a dreamer, but I'm not the only one.
ms reluctance Apr 2018
Imagine –
going to bed;
falling asleep
instantly.

You wake,
fresh,
from a dreamless night.
NaPoWriMo #18
Poetry form: Septolet
Amanda Kay Burke Apr 2018
You cannot change the way you are
You will always be the same
It does not matter what happens
You will never stop playing your game

I won't be strung along anymore
By false promises and foolish lies
After all your past deceptions
This betrayal shouldn't come as a surprise

I was naive to believe the fantasy
You spun could ever be real
Or to think you could possibly share
The same enormous love I feel
A small rhyme I came across while looking through an old notebo
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