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maria Jun 2019
You ask me what are my goals.
What I'm I supposed to tell you?
That I don't have any goals?
That I have no idea what I'm going to do with my life?
That I'm so confused?
Why is that?
Maybe I'm just focused on survival.
Maybe because the dreams I once had, proved to be fake, proved to be silly.
written on August 31, 2017
RVani Kalyani Jun 2019
It keeps giving me the chills,
Is it a battle of uphills?
How can I guess the outcome,
When I'm still not clear of what I'll become,
Can I make the perfect choice?
And will I be able to rejoice?
Still in confusion. The unclearness of goals and the ways up ahead of me.
Anastasia Jun 2019
beans in my shoes
beans in my pockets
she put beans
even inside my locket
i don't know why
she likes beans so much
she says they're good to eat
and nice to touch
she's kinda strange

beans in my bed
beans on my head
she really likes beans
i guess i'll have to deal with it
but only coz i love her
u will have to deal with it
F A Pacelli Jun 2019
worry not on
reaching your destination
you will not be satisfied
when you arrive there
a new destination is
always on the horizon
be happy with the journey
that is all there is
F A Pacelli Jun 2019
seek what makes you hungry
if you are not compelled
to act with obsessive vigor
if your curiosity does not
taunt you with madness
then keep on searching
for that elusive hunger
it is what rips open our chest
so our soul may shine
F A Pacelli Jun 2019
and my world
began to bloom
the way rain clouds
slowly part ways
revealing a pale blue hue
while rays of light
smile down
soulpledgee Jun 2019
Cynthia,
It's shine and bright outside
Cynthia,
hold this glass for a while
Cynthia,
make rainbow of white light

Cynthia,
let's go out for a while
Cynthia,
let's go where asphalt meets the sky

Oh Cynthia,
It turns hot as the sun rise
Cynthia,
don't burn your hands with fire inside

Oh Cynthia,
that's it for the times
oh Cynthia,
you already had 3 bottles of wine

Oh Cynthia,
Hold my shoulder,
don't trip while standing
don't fall with your face down

Cynthia,
I know glass gets heavy with time
drop it or hold it is your choice

Oh Cynthia,
you dropped it to stay on your own 2 feets
that's for the best I believe

Oh Cynthia,
let the shards stay where they fell
you'll get blood hands
if you try to.pick

Oh Cynthia
Brace yourself
we haven't reached where we meant

Cynthia,
we will take different route next day

Oh Cynthia,
don't pick those shards now
you'll get blood in your hands

Oh Cynthia,
I will find different pieces of broken
I will make mosaic,
as beautiful as the old

Oh Cynthia
don't cry
we have a long ahead
Though you'll take right
I'll take left

Oh Cynthia,
that's enough of crying
you already had 3 bottles of wine
let's get you to bed

Dear Cynthia ,
have a good night
Everything is a glass in its own way
Ylzm Jun 2019
Disciplined with life’s goals, but lauding the journey the more important.

Goals, focused and carefully chosen: the way rigidly planned and marked: milestoned and measured.

Socially supported, to soothe wounded hands and lift weary feet; justified pleasures in righteous social schadenfreude, as goads to keep and help deviants in their Chosen Ways.

So much fear in the whims of the seductive winds: shunning strange shores, sallying strong and bold, with sendoffs and fanfare, into the wilderness, just beyond your garden’s walls.

We cannot see what we cannot see. As truths are inaccessible to reasons, so wisdom, unsearchable. And who knows if the unknowable fickle winds is for or against us.

When the wind blows, persistent, strong and consistent, even to the Moon is without doubt. Then the winds died.

Your boat absolutely still, your sail limp and lifeless; not a ripple from horizon to horizon, not a sympathetic cloud in the brazen blue sky. The food’s out, the water’s low, a day or two, at most.

Sun shines impartial with no fear nor favor, as blindfolded Justice dispensing justice. Nights, frigidly cold, and time ceased.

The journey will always be: goal or no goals, socially supported or as a lone nomad: the wind blows, always and irresistibly, never futile. Walking in fear and trembling the only wise, for all else, futility.
F A Pacelli May 2019
our scars
badges of character 
proof of risks 
signs of failures 
tattoos of pain 
symbols of how we embraced life 
our scars are who we are
F A Pacelli Jun 2019
the pain we choose
yields the reward we desire

the process we embrace
yields the lives we dream

the journey we walk
yields the destination we seek

what are you willing
to struggle for?
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