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Zane Gorham Mar 1
The chalky Cliffs of Dover crumble in my fist.
Tucked away neatly in my pocket.
I have the power to become a person completely in control.
The tension seething in my chest no longer.
All I need is the key.
A simple motion not readily accepted by the masses.
'Tis not we who wait for the dust to settle but for the dust to settle we.
The reuptake of life hidden but always near.
We care not for the hands that pass the life from person to person.
For they could be from the grimiest of grim and still our hands are cupped for their foul crooked benevolence.
We are gods and what is purity without the soot and **** and **** to define it.
Synthetic courage and emotional restraint what more could the people want.
Only a few care for the real me, the anxiety, the truth.
Why pander the rest when I have complete control within a plastic seal, tucked neatly in my pocket.
What's the point if I have to explain it... ZG
The man delves in the grim settings of rooms,
Tickling bones of the dark,
Perusing silences so beautiful and monstrous,
Gazing at oddities so dead and alive.

These settings communicate a bunch of languages,
Sometimes, even gibberish.
Wrapped in a trance, the man becomes a tune in the song.
He becomes the friend of the loner.
He becomes the itch of the room.
Pouring out his reality, he becomes the air of the room.
MisfitOfSociety Aug 2020
Where does it end?
Where does it begin?
Is there a start at all?
Or has it just always been?

The cycle starts again.

Feels like I’ve been in this place before,
On the ground crawling on all fours.
Another lap around this body,
Swallowing the serpents tail.
It hisses just behind me,
Covering every track I make,
When my eyes turn to see the trail,
It’ll be consumed by the snake.

My own ouroboros.

Muscles expand and contract,
Pulling me further in.
I feel myself dissolving,
The future is the past again.

**** the lights,
Take my eyes,
I don’t want to see,
The repeat of me.

My own ouroboros.
Himanaya Bajaj Jul 2020
Everything seemed to be going against him
Everything seemed grim
Even the brightest of lights looked dim
The burden on his mind had reached the brim

But then he found a silver lining in this horror
It resulted in the birth of a poet and author

Now there was no time he considered a bad time.
All it was was more content to write about and rhyme!
Michelle Cronin Jul 2020
It’s true you live you die,
And in-betweens there is life.

Some happy some sad,
Some good some bad.
Sometimes uplifting and glorious in your life
Sometimes dark and soul destroying.

Time does not go on,
when I am abroad.
Collecting souls of the listed names.

Name, title, wealth nor education matter,
when the strings of life are cut.
When your time is up its up.

No bargains to be struck or deals to be done,
Life just stops dead.
The end.

What you say, so short a life I need more time
To amass more wealth or power.
Alas it is not so for all you do
Is grab and take.

You seldom care or look or listen.
To the world you hurt, you miss her dying,
in your haste you do not see her cries of pain.
So few see what most are missing.

Take care of her for I may reap your soul,
but as I walk through out your land,
you must by now know that you're the ones,
who **** your land, sea the air you breath.

Through greed and power, into the mire of wanton destruction.
Most will not know what they had until it’s gone.
A few good men and women try.
Try while your world cries out for help.

Still I walk through this land, collecting the souls
of a few good men and women for as I have said
when your time is up its up and my book grows
thinner by the hour.
How the reaper see the care we take of our life and planet.
I start to ponder the grim
On particularly slow days
That if I can't be here to stay

Just thinking with a simple whim
That the sun will still shine it's rays
Life would go on If I were to die today
Kairosclere May 2020
Pages hanging on
By a breadth of
A mere molecule
Paper hearts
And discarded minds
Holding on to life
By a brief tether
By auspicious grim.
Connect to me
Via Instagram @_kairosclere_
Via email
On Pinterest  @_kairosclere_
On hello poetry at
And my blog

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Thank you for reading <3
Totti Night Apr 2020
The moist air and bright green grass joined the stone and mold and tears to make the saddest smell of time.

No bird was singing, no insect buzzing, all silent, stood still as Sky wore the darkest clouds, beautiful and compassionate.

The gloomy dome reached the earth to kiss her cheeks. The cold breeze tenderly brushed her hair, in this garden of stone flowers.
Death its gardener.

And as the mother kneeled before a rose, the most painful of them all, a cry tore the silence and cracked the ground.
So heavy the burden of love.
My first attempt
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