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Yanamari Nov 2019
Static
------
A mixture of
Coloured pixels
Combining to make
Grey
--Uncertainty--
Vibrating from ear
To ear
Pulsing through
My mind and heart
        -- why--
A colourful mess
That I both comprehend
Yet
Yet....
It's still a mess to
--Compreh  -end--
Each pixel seemingly
Jagged
-- No -
.
.

Stillness
Just the usual static
Except
In the wrong place
At the wrong time...
sunday Nov 2019
Measure me.

Can you quantify the gradients of emotions
I spin through daily?

If I awake from years of passivity,
will you still know how to walk through years of
conversation and growth?

I hate when
I call upon the gods of anxious hearts,
The ones who have troubled
every decision you have made.

They make your commute from genuine emotions
to a grey, murky house full of
players pretending to be teams,
blue's pretending to be rainbows,
and persons pretending to be people.

Come here and hold my hands.
Mine have been missing their fingerprints
for countless lifetimes.
Touch my incomplete, hungry dreams.
You alone can.
I alone can.

Can I?
A poem I think?
sparklysnowflake Nov 2019
nothing is so
            small that it is
            inconsequential

and yet everyone is
            blind

sickeningly bright
            cities
                        with their glittering thousands
            flicker and burn
                        glimmer in the sun
                        and crumble to ashes in the yellow-grey
                                    belly of night
            and all resurrect at dawn to
                        die
                        again
    ­                                and again
                        without a moment of awe or any consideration

the sidewalks pulse
with
deep blue rhythms

a steady
           dull
                        drumbeat
                        lur­es immortal souls like a magnet
            with each
            metered throb
                                    pounds
                                    illusions into their malleable minds
                                    of meaningless mortality
                                    and empty entropy

their eyes glow with infinities but they
walk according to ephemeral rhythm
            marching through their cyclical days
with strings
            tied to their shoes
convinced they are free and
            that their grey and blue dreams
are the only colors
in the universe
Sean Thienpont Oct 2019
Cold sneering leaves stick through frightful roots
Green shatters droplets of desire looking to ensnare views
A crescent wind sticks through circular layers ripping with bitter apathy
Yet paying to days of grey
Chris Sep 2019
I hold back the tears that want to spill over,
My light slowly grows dimmer as my heart grows colder.
The world all around me, just dark shades of grey;
I cannot escape it, not even a day.
katherine Sep 2019
"I hear a song like lullaby
a flick that slips a butterfly
dust and small branches in her hair
sorrowful dream of Autumn Fae"
Katherine KSB
A poem for a painting
William de klerk Sep 2019
Call it a necklace, noose, lead or leash
that we willfully wear
as under the poke and ****
of societies brand we still let it steer.

Living for Friday Saturday and *Sinday
throwing rain at the clouds
while we let time trickle away wastefully
out the hour Glass.

But when going against the grain
is like running into a sand storm,
we would rather let the days die
like they weren't worth remembering

Like a vapour, memories fade away
In a clumping mass of evaporating
                                                     ­      grey

                                  Then

call me a fool for standing in a sand storm
traping trickling time
in the hour glass
faster than it falls as I make
Many more colorful memories.

Gaze as I turn the dam ocean upside down
Repouring the rain I caught into the clouds
As I burn the tie
fray the noose
   loosen the lead
leave the leash round societies neck
And I burn it with my own brand.
Time is valuable, so don't let others and their ideas or expectations steal your time, don't live a nine to five life, each day is a colorful memory to be made.
Nylee Sep 2019
A clear sky
No grey sight
With fist full of desires
green dreamy eyes
I fly away
.
Last monsoons the Champak tree
Was all abloom
The breeze lightly swayed the branches
The heady fragrance wafted through the air

The monsoon showers
this year
Wilted away the flowers
too soon

Less is more, I do believe
As the blooms wilted away too soon
Now the tree laden with fruits, ripe and red
Inviting birds of many species
Mornings are especially beautiful
Waking up to chirps and tweets
Of many a mynahs, bulbuls and
purple-yellow sunbirds

This morning as I watched them feast
To my surprise
There was, Indian grey hornbill
Beautiful and majestic as it can be
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