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Kaylee Craig Feb 2019
The queue grows longer behind me
Few people ahead of me now
Closer and closer I come to fate
Closer now, any second
My eyes meet the officer
Will my dreams be fulfilled
Or will I live and die stuck in a nightmare?

Any second now
The clock ticks in the background
Louder and louder
Buzzing in my ear, louder and louder
The grey stone room seems to close in
My vision starts to shake
As my eyes zero-in on the officer
It is my turn now
What is my fate good officer?

Never did I imagine that it would come to this
I was always a nonconformist
But I wasn’t given a choice this time around
A land that once promised freedom
Now thrives in chains
And now so do I
What can I possibly do now
When survival rests on my conformity

My mother once told me
Before the very same officer determined her fate
To never stop fighting
There is hope in struggle
Because when you stop fighting
Your hope dies
And you’re nothing without hope.

I stand before this very officer today
With the chance to claim my freedom back
What am I to do?
Mother, what am I to do?

The clock ticks even louder
The room is vibrating with anticipation
What am I to do?
I can’t...think...

“Nakkiran, you will be a...literary control officer.”
All the books left in the world
Stories and poems of hope
Struggle, sacrifice,
Love, peace,
Happiness
Now mine to destroy
What a fate

Not mine.
I refuse.
“I REFUSE!”
Muhammad Usama Feb 2019
Gentle winter sun,
Peeking through the hazy window,
Fiddling with your hair as your head rested on my shoulder,
While, to Florence we journeyed,
Away from the Sicilian soil,
Whose Olives kept us captives for so long.

Oh! And remember how-
The Florentine pavements answered our footsteps,
And picturesque italian figures smiled at our liberty,
And how-
The sound of mandolin, and of accordion;
The carefree ramblings,the mindless tangos in the Italian streets,
And the sheer aura of it all,
Moved me-
And how it moved you!

But it was later in Vatican,
Ah! it was then,
When God became Michelangelo for me,
And you,the ceiling of Sistine Chapel.
Remember well, O breathless kiss
While melting oneness in your skin
Soulful eyes of passion’s abyss
Hold me close to the dream I'm in.

Trembling hard within our embrace
Fearlessness settled on your hips
Tenderness spread across your face
The Heaven found upon your lips.

The whispered comfort in your ear
So satisfied in binding trust
Broken down walls that brought us near
Two souls beyond two bodies' lust.

Ne’er more perfect did two unite
Released from tortured fallacy
Compassion roused to star the night
A night surpassing fantasy.
Instagram @insightshurt
Blogging at www.insightshurt.com
Buy “Insights Hurt: Bringing Healing Thoughts To Life” at store.bookbaby.com/book/insights-hurt
lover Feb 2019
satin shades of ribbon
tie the knot around my heart
more than I wanted to you I've given
it was only half past twelve
but the mice stayed quiet and the pumpkins had all died
**** like Rihanna's fragrance
I feel shocked at our current status
like does he love me?
or was that really fantasy like my mind is playing tricks on me
suspicious minds like Elvis
drunken lies might shelter this
if you fail to turn up sober again I'm done with this
like you were my 'first kiss' it was so pure and selfless
so why am I so selfish when it comes to you?
but hey I guess the sky is still blue
we remain under the same atmosphere
tell me please if you feel this over here
Larry Kotch Feb 2019
The dark night shrouds your mind in hair,
A chest of of chestnut eyes suggests I dare,
And timid skins on moon bellies keep,
An unsure heart that flickers in the heat,
It's locked in our embrace this ordinary night,
And yet I tell my own to stay its flight,
Up the rising column diving on a perfect star,
...
...
...
...
This bed, and nothing yet but that is ours!
Short poem about a sensation I've experienced a few times now. When I'm lying on a bed with a woman I've slept with the first time and I start fantasizing about them. The reality however is that it's just that...a fantasy in my head I'm cooking up in the euphoria of the moment, in the still of the night when the action of the evening and rencontre is over I realise I'm letting my romantic aspirations project all over the room and the evening and the future, diving on a perfect star star in what really is most lkely an ordinary night for the other party.

I imagine this to be something that both sexes go through. it's something that happens maybe only a handful of times in a lifetime and is almost never reciprocated since if it were the parties may just be in a relationship. In reality these flickering flames and burts of romantic energy fly out of control or succumb to the timid realities of our own imperfect personalities.

Under sober assessment it would appear that the only bedrock underlining such encounters is quite frankly the lump of bed onm which both are laying.
Pagan Paul Feb 2019
.
The future was heading its way very fast,
it pondered the alternatives.
It could gently levitate
and reveal its magickal powers.
But now was not the time.
Not quite yet.
It relaxed, in the way swords relax,
and waited for the drop,
a tune humming along its full length.
Tension just a distant memory.
Its point tipped over the edge.
It fell,
in the manner of magickal swords.
Gracefully.

The waterfall felt the ripple of enchantment
as the iron thing crested its … crest,
and failed to plummet.
That disappointed the waterfall.
It also felt the girl,
in the swirling flow on the edge,
fail to catch it before it fell.
It 'heard' the naughty words
and the scream …

… she had screamed
as she lunged for the sword
and missed,
the Poet had been unceremoniously
ejected from her pocket
and disappeared over the edge.
So Jerrica screamed.
She didn't know what else to do.

Kelm was stalking fish.
They hadn't been hiding in the river
so they must be in the trees.
He had his catapult ready
and maggots to fire at the fish.
Then he heard a scream
so he started off towards it.
He saw the girl staring in horror
and then she bolted off.
Down the side of the waterfall.
“What the hell are girls for?”
he wondered as he wandered off.
He decided to go and hector Bruce.

They had abandoned ship.
Well, jumped barrel.
And now they had gone awol.
But the author didn't care
about a couple of slap dash bit parts.
He hoped the Troll had got them.

The sword floated serenely.
Mattering not in the slightest
that the water was vertical
and flowed quicker in that direction.
Then it felt a jolt,
a ripple in its pond of calm.
It was slightly amused
as something grabbed its hilt.
And held on.
It felt the panic, it felt the relief.
Then it felt … a connection.
Something tingled along its length.

As his tiny arms clutched the sword
a wave of dread passed by,
waving at him with a sharp smile.
A wave waving in waves.
The Poet considered the images
and clutched harder
as nausea also comes in waves.
Instead he thought about physics.
How could it be he fell faster than
an iron sword?
And how was it possible
to slow descent to a mere saunter?
Most of all he asked
“What does this all over tingling feeling mean?”
A barrel plummeted by
too fast and too **** close.

Kelm was exploring
and had found the tiny bridge
upstream from the excitement
and was poking about,
as is the want of curious little boys.
Thats when he found the clay doll.
Ugly in a crude kind of way.
He wondered if dolls could swim
and attached it to his fishing rod.
He dunked it.
Like a biscuit in tea.
The result was a sticky mess
so he threw it in the river.
He made a decision and wandered off,
he was going to look for fish nests.

The Troll was confused.
He had accidentally discovered Hide and Seek.
But didn't understand the rules.
Morfine and Choklut were hiding
and he was out of ideas.
A fairly normal state of mind for a Troll.
And now his body was dissolving.
He remembered his doll familiar.
It must have got wet.
And he was fading out of the story.
“Goodbye reader. Thankyou for knowing me”
he says with a regretful voice.

The astonishing thing about light
is it stops you bumping into things.
And the sword was very light,
as the tingling pulsed through it.
It did not bump into the boulder
at the bottom of the waterfall.
Rather, it slid gently
into the middle of the large stone.



© Pagan Paul (10/02/19)
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Part 3 of 4
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Mitch Prax Feb 2019
I'd rather be certain
of the saddest reality
than uncertain about
a hopeful fantasy.
Penne Feb 2019
I know
I know what is right from wrong
But I do not know why I keep doing it for so long
For the millionth time
I know

Why do you do it too
If you know that it is wrong
'Cause it is what everybody does?
I have eyes too
I can imitate that
I can reciprocate all that
Future generations can

We are fine not changing this rotten world
We are fine following the crowd
We are fine living in these dying cerebrums

Blame me
For my cowardice
For I am an absolutist
Love the subtlety
If I am fighting for something
I should not be hiding behind my screens

I know
I am illogical
Out of my head
But re-check yourself if you had one too

I know
We are all humans
And I honestly hate that philosophy
Since all we do is escape that futility
And choose social mutiny
Desenthesize us, realists and freaks' mentality
Instead of unity
Please, more fatalities

But it feels good, right?
To let yourself in irrationality
Since this is not pretty
So is reality
Especially when they desire change
But on the inside, they are afraid
I know
Art cannot be political

To fight against the atmosphere
I know
You have all the time in your life
To sin, then regret
Mistakes flow me!
And may regret do the same thing

I know
I know

But before you point your finger
Why not point yourself too

It feels good to be wrong (but not right)
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