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I fell to my knees
while I had" danced in the dark."

I asked for "the light"

The sunlight beams warmed my back  
as I took a rest in their "park"

While I "took time" to "mend" all of my broken pieces"
I "stood tall..."
I kept in the "message" while I was at "my weakness"

I put my "pride asside" and asked for "simple peacefulness"
Even while I was rushed through this "simple task"

I "accepted what I had been guided through"
I refused to "see life" through a "watered down flask."

I "mended" my "mirrored visions"
as I did begin
I walked this  "new path to walk"
even though it felt as if  I was "still running through this process..."
"in place" to move "much more, "still, "forward."

As I took the" smiles of those who sent them to me"

Now this "ship has set sail"
and you shall not see it
"set afloat ," next to such, "parked"
at this "warn out" and "out dated" "Dock."

Ambers neatly sparked....with hope's electric energies...
as I faced the "truth......"

A "snapshot of a brighter future"
as seen through a "lense" of a more "temporary"
and a much "foregiving" "future Picture's"
"Photo Booth."
The night sets in
I met my match
I lit the tension
I caught the flame
Now here is another self game
I battled this sin.
I write down fluid emotions
As I have timeless times with the world
As such out forth came my talents
To entertain my world
As I have kept struck devotion
In sweet and honest motions
A man , his world, and a great new new movie
Of his life never left to the ruins
Of neglectful ashes
He never strays
He goes forward
To a brighter future
It’s “groovy”
He’s true to his game
Now they sing out his name
In his own words
The songs he writes
His Entertainment history is made
He is seen, smiling, walking to another
Great destination on future’s pavement.
Olga Valerevna Mar 2017
he lives for every future he could ever hope to have
except the one that matters, one to never hold him back
a path discretely paved for his own searching soul to find
unraveled in the questions buried somewhere in his mind
his tired feet have found another stone along the way
"tomorrow needs to come, there's nothing left of me today"
too in a rush to notice he had just to turn around
embrace the life behind him yielding patiently to sound
"I had to have a goal to live for."
Alana S Oct 2015
I’m never sure. it’s sad. I know.
I want to be honest.
sometimes I’m too honest, honestly,
and in the wrong way. the worst way.
I want to be good. good at something
anything, really. I don’t know what.
maybe I’d be a good barista
or a good waitress. I don’t know.
sushi chef maybe? is that even
something that I’d want to do?
I hate when people say they do
“computers”. That’s not even DOING
something. That’s just a noun.
Can I say I do “books”??
Is your job too complicated to
explain to simple old me?
I need to work on being logical
with my heart. I need to start
believing in chances. I have a
poet’s eye, so why can’t I have
her ever-breaking heart? her
softasskin soul? her longing for
cold winters and sunbright lemonaid
her love of love?
I have a bitter feel of love. it’s
twisted into a harsh hatred. It’s
eaten by doubt. It doesn’t smile,
it blushes, it hides. I need to
re-coax love into existence.
so that when it opens up, it
recreates the boundaries
of safety that I so crave.
I want to be the fearless poet
that Frost examines in his woods
I want the flawed ***-ful poet
that Bukowski loves to paint
I want the darkest raven-breasted poet
that Poe tearfully wrote
or I want to be my own poet,
lost in thick dusty second-hand
bookstores, full of soggy stories
too heavy sometimes
to re-tell.
Cassandra L Jan 2015
I think I need to fall in love
with a poet.
So that maybe all the words
and all the hurt won’t always be mine.
I need to fall in love with a poet
so that he will whisper words
that sound better than stories and
don’t need to last as long.
I want to be the one to fall in love
with a poet.
He can make me feel something
so that all the love and the futures
won’t always come from another. And I
will write stories about us
in another world with better lives
where poetry will be sung from
the love, which dies so poetically
and I will know that I loved
a poet.

— The End —