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Shaking
Taking in breaths
Through the bottom of my feet
Aching
In all the places that I landed
Mind overtaken
By all the possibilities
Of things that could've come
Live life in the moment, kids.
awknight Mar 2019
The dreams roll through my
mind as it hovers over the edge
of rest. A constant feeling of feeling
everything at once.
I cry as the clouds cover my eyes
and I fall into a land where I am
revealed.
Dripping down my cheeks comes
the blood of reopened scars
slashed wide in fear of existence.
I walk through tunnels into green
fields of hope and sun and reflection.
Fences unbury themselves; capturing
my thoughts again.
As they ascend the small child grabs my hand
and vomits on my face.

I wake up.
nova Jan 2019
i have spent far too much of my life
building towering walls with no arches, without windows
without any view to the outside world.
i would much rather have liked it if i would have built fences instead.
fences are moveable.
you can push the rows and rows of wire or wood a foot to the north
or a foot to the south
or make a curve in the line.
fences don't block everything out,
they don't keep everything in,
and they don't hurt as much when they fall.
walls, on the other hand,
crash
and burn
and take months and months to rebuild.
fences?
fences can be put up in a day or two
depending on how difficult you want it to be to get in/get out;
fences can be taken down in a day or two
depending on how easy you want it to be to get out/get in.
ethan gaskill Apr 2018
can't you see
that all we make
we build walls
out of color
it's a system
treat me as your brother

close your eyes
and you'll realize
we're all just
talking nonsense
take off your glasses
we use color to build fences
inspired by frost's quote about fences, a little bit.
East Wind Mar 2018
He said I had the curliest hair
                        the sweetest smile
                        the warmest eyes and
                        the kindest soul
All was good and well until he said:
No matter how much he tried,
he couldn’t jump the fence around my heart.
Dakota J Dawson Feb 2018
He is bald
Plain to my eyes
Sublime in local geniality

The garden he claims
Taimed in distress
Of the coming winter

I fear the tears
Sudden regret
For his' long forgotten trials

Forced to steep so low
Forward but below
Entrenched in sweet tasting anguish

His' body hard and unmotivated
The Sculpture of obsession
Must be completed with stubborn muscle

I seem to torment him
My love becoming
A betrayal of our lust

Battles commence
Volcanic eruptions
Shake the house of ruin

He never seems to trust me
My compassionate actions
Bring forth pork chops

The meal
Is shared
Beside each other

Without Sight
We fight against
White picket fences
Rachel Ace Apr 2017
[You can hear the air moving the 
 l e a v e s  of the    
p     a  l    m          t      r  e  e     s.
Last rays of sun and it’s June 3]

    
We walk on a  white-washed street and
Forget Me Not flowers on the fences screaming this is your new world.
You are that world, your eyes are Portofino in the middle of a neighborhood of coins.

We are walking and you stop because you look at a window of someone, while I was (I was) fixing the shouts of light on your temple, living the new world.

[All my cracks filled with water]

It’s warm pleasant, we walk, seeing life taking and not just wishing,

-^^^-
   we have excelled    
in the plastic world.

I stood by the **^use with the most beautiful garden, I touched bird in paradise and you say that it’s [our garden]
- Codelandandmore // 9:00 PM ©

The structure is like white-picket-fences
Woody Apr 2017
Doe
I still wonder
about that doe I found
in the barbed wire

I walked a long ways
until the sun rose
and sat like a Catholic

two racks of antlers
and a mantle full of bones
I found on the flat place
in the mountains of home

and the real buck had a stand
off with the dream one
locking horns over the genre
of their death songs

and the pure beautiful
stink of the doe

songs that went down in history
oh, kind of like a river
unwritten by itself

like the good soil your boots steal
when it rains and paradise
sleeps in like a bitter star

we wash from our hands
traveling past the wet
and forbidden lands
of our youth, dark
and amazed in those days

when fences and boundaries
were strange and meant
to be taken down and not fixed
for the free to be found in.
Partly true, probably still so. I still wonder about that doe.
Augustine Peters Mar 2017
The barbed wire in my chest
Pokes and prods with each halting breath

Nothing is easy anymore
With it sitting there
Unwinding slowly

It rakes its claws against my insides
Around my bones
Into my lungs

Any sudden movement
Any risk
Any chance
Digs it only deeper

There is no room for error in this body of mine
I am a walking keep out fence
To me this is what anxiety feels like.
Not heavy like depression but cutting like wire.
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