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Trey 14h
Sad songs bring me to a special place within my soul.
Every haunted note sung shatters my outlook on what the future holds.
A stream of moody chords could cause salt and liquid to blend, tears flowing onto my pillow and bed.
Melodies cursed to possess my very core.
My heart aches with every lonely lullaby that echoes into my fragile ears.
Brain signals fire left and right, confused at what tragedy has caused me to feel so low.
Has he lost someone dear?
Is he coping with some unknown fear?
Does he wonder if his own death is near?
Maybe some of those ring true, but sometimes it is for no sane reason at all.
Some days I long for the love I once had, so I play a song that once brought joy to a world not yet sad.
Those cheesy pop songs, folk tunes, and haunting notes are now played for one reason; I miss the heartache I had from someone I loved.
Because even if they chose to leave me, at least the songs we had can remind me of the pain that came.
I would rather feel the pain of their betrayal over and over again than feel nothing at all.
They left me with nothing, so what could remain?
Rowan May 10
Blackbird, blackbird, whither 'way
Don't come down this way in
Sleek sails of five and six

Hither here, two and three
Come forth and fly in
Through the broken glass

Onyx separations carve
In six wings lost to starve
May the host slight the royalty

Blackbird, blackbird, whither 'way
Don't come down this way with
Sacrificial dust from seven circling

Hither here, two and three
Come forth and fly in
Through shattered self

Onyx separations carve
In six wings to starve
May the way be paved

Blackbird, blackbird, will I?
In the serene sloughs, call
Out from the dusk, ten sails high?

Blackbird, blackbird
Come around, see my gift
And sing your song
Papa sat
on his porch
smoking cigarettes.
Papa sat
on his porch
drinking black coffee.
Papa sat
on his porch
watching history
repeat itself.

Would he have lied
about this life?
What did he do?
Do I care?
He's dead. He's done.
He's my black bread.

Would he have lied
about this life?
What did he do?
Do I care? Do I care?

Papa said,
Don't lie.
Don't ever cut your ties
on accident, with some
accidental psychosis.
Kid, know your mind.
Kid, live your life.

Papa said,
Don't break.
Don't snap yourself in half
folding for other eyes,
Please,
Keep living, Kid.
Learn to bend.
Pulse Apr 27
listen, my love, but don't follow.
question, but don't answer.
watch, but don't become enraptured.

for there is beauty and there is grace,
but danger follows closely.
for the folk most fair are crafty
and death comes swiftly after.

from the lilting call from the valleys green,
and the roaring whisper of the winds most proud—
to the steady murmur of the waters deep,
and the swaying song of forest fair.

spring has beckoned you my darling,
and it calls your name,
it beckons you forth—
into the woods with a softly glowing sun,
and curls it's vines and plants its roots behind you.

and forward now is warmth and light,
a cheery little tune.
a dance, a game, a riddle, a rhyme.
and the fair folk come for you.

so sight has cursed you my precious one,
and i've gifted you with knowledge.
should you choose to close your mind,
but keep your ears wide open.
then may your mind be steady and your feet be quick.

for the fair folk hate you leaving.
Ronnie Mar 24
Over Silesian mountains
Somewhere beyond black seas
There is a forgotten dream
Conjuring visions of peace

Go your own way, go now, go
You are meant to lead, not follow
Walk on, fly by, sail ashore
To the land that you adore
Go your own way, go now, go
You are meant to lead, not follow
Walk on, fly by, sail ashore
Go your own way, go now, go

Many lives faced the dream
More of them fade to black
But in the eyes of the eagle
There is no turning back

Go your own way, go now, go
You are meant to lead, not follow
Walk on, fly by, sail ashore
To the land that you adore
Go your own way, go now, go
You are meant to lead, not follow
Walk on, fly by, sail ashore
Go your own way, go now, go

Their hearts are worn on sleeves
Determination so earnest
Merely calm before the storm
Quiet before the Tempest

Go your own way, go now, go
You are meant to lead, not follow
Walk on, fly by, sail ashore
To the land that you adore
Go your own way, go now, go
You are meant to lead, not follow
Walk on, fly by, sail ashore
Go your own way, go now, go
Inside the city walls
The static is meant to frighten
Those who await the call
In the echoes of the siren

Go your own way, go now, go
You are meant to lead, not follow
Walk on, fly by, sail ashore
To the land that you adore
Go your own way, go now, go
You are meant to lead, not follow
Walk on, fly by, sail ashore
Go your own way, go now, go

There are many roads to follow
Some of them are painted red
Yet as long as we march on
No one can declare us dead.
Attempt at a Polish-style folk ballad for poetry class.
Tyler Mar 22
I have heard the war drums approach,
On the borders of angry states,
Where lesser men dare not encroach;
And strong men meet untimely fates.

"In what time and in which manner?"
They come in random intervals.
"For what cause and for who's banner?"
A dead issue to disposed souls.

I have seen blood wet two lands soil,
And dry to a patriot stain,
But when old blood is set to boil;
Young blood returns to spill again!
cat Mar 13
isolation and aroma
our tent was crowded and friendly
fires in the early morning
that never seemed to give out
phone died a week ago
and for once i am living
i jumped a cliff and got lost in the forest below it
i was bruised and cold but the music was loud
and their dancing brought me home
drunk singing and emphatic fiddling
i saw what the spirit meant
mine is still there
i haven't felt in a while
A Yorks Jan 20
Nu,
Sams pashtar hasa.
Hay pashtar tati swaswarga, aysh mari.
Na gwada na gwarshya pashtar yakaya.
Tu yakan pashtari shwada, yakabush hasa, ya sa yakay maga.
Ma yakan pa shwada, na yakabush nayminabi shawga.
War majish farhakrabi, parkun upar, jantu yakabush wayda.
Na dishman na shwadar na tam shawi faras ubi shwald dawsarsh.
War pashtars sushnu darsa, faras ubi shwald para.
Palhu sashwal sushnu gwasha ha yakabush sansh.
Nu sushnu faras-u agwama, nu tu parkun ubi shwalda.
Ubiubi shwalda, tu farhakrasu agwama.
Sushnu yakabush jasar-ha grabash para.
Ba ma gwashla!
Tu sipadi parkuns shanti aw pit nayka.
Mash chastas sushnus pashtari gwama.
Tu sushnu pashtarha tar sapala.
Tashla sushnus sapaltal tar daysha.
Nu-arsh palhu Winja Sushnus Tashla wayda.
"The Song of the Standing Stone

So,
Once there was a father.
This father was so very ill, that he might have died.
Not prayer nor ritual could heal the father.
Then the healer told the father, that there was a healing herb, that could heal him.
But the healer said also, that the healing herb could not grow in the valley.
Only on a great mountain peak, above a cliff, could one find the healing herb.
Not man, not animal, not even birds would dare to go up the mountain.
Only the son of the father dared to climb up the mountain.
Many days and nights the son walked in search of the healing herb.
Now the son arrived at the mountain, and began to climb.
Up and up he climbed, then came to the mountain top.
The son tried to reach the healing herb with his hand.
But he made a mistake!
Right then his foot began to slip from the cliff's face.
Much sadness came to the father of the son.
Then the son was buried there by his father.
A standing stone marks the grave of the son.
Now many Wenja know of the Stone of the Son."
Hg Dec 2018
rapunkzel, rapunkzel
shaved off her hair
goldie locks chopped off
long with her cares

rapunkzel, rapunkzel
takes every dare
hits on death
as if it’s a snare

rapunkzel, rapunkzel
black bra and sheer
self poked tatts
and new ****** pierce

rapunkzel, rapunkzel
immune to fear
once upon a crime
grew up with it near

they held her captive
kept up the stairs
with no parents
put in foster care

never had a youth
or someone to care
dragged down the hall
by her curly hair

rapunkzel, rapunkzel
got out of there
got her own flat
and full length mirror

rapunkzel, rapunkzel
smiled and stared
at her buzzcut
at last feeling fair
©Hg
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