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Broken Arpeggio Jul 2017
Color is eluding
Never been a fan of things bright
Gray tones are consistent
Giving way to comforting night

A voice that's muted
By all things loud
Will never be heard
While controlled by the crowd

Opaque is appealing
A means of not standing out
Creating an impenetrable fortress
Of walls to hideout

Time can cause a slight iridescence
A glimpse of what was once there
Though blending in, is the name of the
game
Opportunities for the illumination of color
are very brief and rare
Does one continue to live in the gray...Or break free?
Jord Jul 2017
I'll dye my hair gray
And paint myself in rage
To match our wonderful race.

I'll fight for our rights
And look to my left then
Turn my cheek as
My allies like right.

I'll stand in a crowd and
Yell real loud while the
Rest of them sit,
And then I'll sit down.

I'll dye my hair gray
And paint myself in rain
As my body decays and
I wither away.
pH7 Jun 2017
You are somewhere in the space between the- fearless
and beyond the infinite of what reality- seems
you do not fight, who is the king
(In growth) You are the reigning queens,
the power has always been in what you’ve seen and
how to be divine and supreme. You were born in the middle of,
and do not see the black from the white
the blur of the earth is the beauty you distinguish in our solar scene
your soul pulls gravitational extremes-  like tidal forces
moon and sun light beams'
influences the beat in our beings

-Universal Echoes
Gabriel burnS Jun 2017
A pack of wolves is
Sometimes preferable
To a pack of cigarettes
Makes for a coup de grâce
A merciful death
And I’m fresh out of wolves
sarah s Jun 2017
there is only melting
melting from one day to the next
melting into each moment, to the point where
i don’t realize i’m doing something until i’m almost done with it and asking myself
“how did i even get here, to the kitchen sink to wash these dishes i was going to wash five hours ago?”
and then i remember
i actually got out of bed and walked downstairs
i am losing my mind
it’s a sickness like a tumor on the side of my soul
this came from a small essay i wrote myself a few months ago when i was in a deep depression. it was its own paragraph but i chopped it up a bit and took some things out to form it into a poem
Love was black,
and love was white.
I though I knew -
or was I told? -
the meaning.

Told.
Told, with a rigidness.
Told, with a consequence.
Because if it's not black,
and it's not white,
it's worthless.

But then that pure white,
darkened.
But then that pious black,
lightened.
Until it was the perfect
shade of gray.

And now I forget,
The deepness of that black
And the gleam of that white,
For gray is all I know.
Martin Narrod May 2017
Snake Bite

And let me down easy but do break my heart
Otherwise I'll never know if I should chase after y'all. And the longing comes nightly, the bourbon rings twice, every time I'm out living, y'all stop me from dying. But a man is worth pennies when his work is the dirt, and I've never known forgiveness I've only ever known hurt.

With my skin on the desert, my hands cut from the piste. If a man's responsible for fire, does woman make the stream. Everything is an eyesore when plague cuts at your flock, and the shepherd is aching to be rid of his cloth, the end of evil corrupts it, the sheriff he breaks his own laws. They take all that they want, leave you to look up to the crop, you can't sustain the pains of heartache, your words shorter while you talk. So please take it away, the flat and the plains. And only fires concern them, water drowns for them and cries. I don't need no one to listen, no one to soften my eyes. I've been bit by the river, it's taken my breaths. Filled my chest full of water, brought my time to new depths. I saw the valley, and I saw the moors. I saw the valley, just tell me, will she be here tomorrow? I've seen the valley, and I've seen the moors, just please won't you tell me, will she be here tomorrow?
Molly Byrne May 2017
When I am told that mistakes are beautiful, I laugh
Because they are not.
By definition mistakes are ugly.
Beauty’s name should not be corrupted by that which we regret.
I did not want to kiss him
I did not want to break his heart
I did not want that to be the last time I saw her
I did not want to leave her there.
Mistakes do not give color to life,
They add gray, and dirt, and darkness.
But though they are not beautiful they should not be discarded.
There is a difference between beauty
And that which is worth appreciating.
Without the ugliness we wouldn’t notice
What is gorgeous.
We wouldn’t be able to tell
When we did the exact perfect thing.
And though they are often small, hidden
Amid the endless gray catastrophe of our mistakes
Our perfect moments do come
And they stay with us.
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