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Maja Sep 26
.
See that flash of light,
white, hot rage
.
Hear the roaring thunder,
the rattle of a cage
.
Feel the wind
blow up a storm
.
Then know the sun,
embrace so warm
.
Alex Sep 13
He glisten then i'm blind,
Illuminates me by his lies,
I took a picture from a wrong glance,
And then called him mine,

This love flashes before my eyes,
They warned me about him,
But he took a sweet spot in my heart,
And I let him in,

And i thought he's a Superstar,
Riveting in the middle of a ball,
And I am a wide-eyed girl,
Opened my doors,

But he is no a Superstar,
His darkness were masked,
By his riveting looks,
And i  let myself be deceived.
It’s been six years but when I look back I feel like the emotions I felt are blurred into what I feel right now. Like watercolors on wet paper, they blend and blur and merge to create something else. People replaced him and feelings changed. I grew up. But before that I had to let myself be set on fire. I had to burn until there was nothing left of me. Until I was a pile of ashes and I was in a pit so deep and dark that I was sure I was going blind. I had an image in my head and it took over my thoughts and body and senses, so much so that when I was rejected I found that he was the one who’d set me on fire and walked away. I screamed and screamed and cried until I was dead.



And then I rose from the ashes and realized that all those days had passed, and I’d been telling myself that I could change someone I didn’t even really know. I thought that if you love someone it was enough to just tell them. I told myself that I was allowed to pretend like I could relate to all those sappy love songs and quotes and Facebook statuses. I thought I saw the signs and that was enough to fulfill the emotions that I believed I was feeling. But to him, the only real feelings were lust and infatuation. He’d decided that at the beginning, and maybe that was the problem. Because I saw the good and saw the good and then I was left in the cold with no light to help me home. There was no one to tell me how to understand that not everyone is going to like you as much as you like them. It’s never a good idea to agree to everything someone says, and it’s never a good idea to constantly be available. When you do that, people think they can come and go, and you’ll be fine with it. You don’t have the right to get angry or cause a fight because you just got what you asked for. And I don’t know what I expected-my imagination ran wild, I guess. 


I believed that he’d be there to meet me halfway, like Marina and Ulay, except in that walk, they just realized how their differences meant that they couldn’t be together. And in my story, we weren’t lovers. Friends? Maybe. Best friends? I don’t know. Can you become best friends with someone in a span of two or three months? What if you’ve never spent time with them in person? What if all you have is your imagination? Imagination of what he looked like as he typed responses to me, as he recorded little voice messages, as he chose what photos of his dog to send me and what information about himself to share with me. But your imagination can be wrong, and your imagination can merge with fantasy so much so that you forget the reality of it all. 


And there was so much reality I’d scooped out of this relationship, so many flaws and facts that I threw into the trash the way you’d throw ground coffee after hours brewing in the fridge-cold brew, deep and rich and bitter as ever. Wet and darker than they originally were, the coffee grounds are not reusable, and when I fell in love with him I decided that I would take the whole bag of reality and facts and throw it straight into the trash. I refused to even use them. They weren’t a part of the concoction that was our relationship. But then something happened. Something I had hoped wouldn’t happen. It made sense to blindly support him at the time. Pity and the need to understand pushed me to be ever so accepting of the one thing I hadn’t wanted him to say. Scarred by the past, and clearly unwilling to let it go, he wasn’t ready for a relationship. But I was. I wanted to grab his hands and dive headfirst into the water, and I didn’t care if we drowned. We’d hold each other while we drowned and that would be enough, and that thought alone made me fall even more. 


I could have been his anchor. 

I could’ve been his destiny. 

But we all know that’s not how the story ended.
A piece of prose poetry about a friendship that ended up being unrequited love for me. Doesn't help that it was more of what you'd call a parasocial relationship.
Better a small spark of flame
From hot coals and ash
Than a great bolt of light
That goes out with a flash

.
"Want to stop the world,
This moment" she whispered
In to my ear, mantra like.
And it did, before I could even
Get astonished  on  what happend.

A sonorous hum, kept ringing
Deep in my being, then in a flash
Was revealed our sublime bonding
With the  eternal;  we are one
And the music of eternity plays in us all.
Dante Rocío Jun 15
‘Like a graceful
yet mighty arrow
I saw you
shooting through the town
with the name “Adventure”
upon you.
I saw your coat fluttering
with wind’s madness,
irises of deeper colour
than the darkest tree’s bark,
nose drugged with the scent
of Poetry transcripted
and bare feet carrying with themselves
the heraldry of freedom
and a better world.
With books from faraway lands,
of wonders,
as a shield on your chest
from all that’s choked,
ideas unattainable to the Black Pit, thoughts
and dreams piercing
the surroundings’ façade
and the Village whirling into blur
from the speed of yours,
every time you’re the most beautiful feature
among the trash bins we live in.
Couldn’t take my eyes
and thoughts of you…’
Pero nadie se da cuenta,
nadie lo escupe por los dientes.
Ahogados por el tiempo
no me ven/sienten fluyendo entre ellos,
no ven la Esperanza
por debajo de sus parpados.
Como magia o viento vuelo,
espero hasta que alguien
me capture
con esta atención
en un jarrón
y me susurre
un amor así
como arriba.
Till someone sees and experiences me in that short shot of an arrow.
Till someone captures.
Maybe soon I’ll flash through your life too
Life is beautiful
Life is loveable
Time is short .
But without God
It is meaningless.
It's a shadow of loss.
Amer Pelides May 19
Lost in the rabble and drunk in the street,
Drowning in beer and gnawing fresh meat,
This is the way all men should live,
Leaving nothing behind like flour through a sieve,
Give me one reason why I should care?
Watch me dance and show off my flare,
The world burns and leaves everything in ash,
I don't give a hoot and to prove it I'll give you a flash,
I'm having fun and don't you dare judge me.
Dancer
by Michael R. Burch

You will never change;
you range,
investing passion in the night,
waltzing through
a blinding blue,
immaculate and fabled light.

Do not despair
or wonder where
the others of your race have fled.
They left you here
to gin and beer
and won't return till you are bled

of fantasy
and piety,
of brewing passion like champagne,
of storming through
without a clue,
but finding answers fall like rain.

They left.
You laughed,
but now you sigh
for ages,
stages
slipping by.

You pause;
applause
is all you hear.
You dance,
askance,
as drunkards cheer.

Keywords/Tags: dancer, waltz, waltzing, applause, drink, drunkards, neon light, strobe, flash, flashing, crystal ball, chandelier, lap dancer, exotic dancer, stripper, peeler, strip, striptease artist, burlesque, Moulin Rogue, dance, passion, champagne, gin, beer
Our English Rose
by Michael R. Burch

for Christine Ena Burch

The rose is—
the ornament of the earth,
the glory of nature,
the archetype of the flowers,
the blush of the meadows,
a lightning flash of beauty.

NOTE: This is my translation of a Sappho epigram. It was originally titled "Sappho's Rose" before I chose to dedicate it to my mother, Christine Ena Burch, who was born and raised in England. Keywords/Tags: Rose, ornament, glory, nature, archetype, flowers, blush, meadows, flash, beauty, lightning
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