The bus to Heaven
is
on diversion.
What is this ?
Another week gone by ?
Through every low
and every high ?

Can I have a week,
just normal ?
Not start off in heaven
and end in hell ?
Or is this eternal ?

The rollercoaster of life,
never stopping.
Through joy and strife,
always rolling.

I've seen heaven
and I've seen hell.
Sadly, I'm stuck in this seat,
so finely tucked in..

I'll see it again,
week after week.
Always moving,
but stuck in one place.
All my life
I spend time,
to build the heaven

With
a pure form of,
trust,
loyalty,
hope,
faith,
sensibility, and
love.

Then,
a time came
searched everywhere
knew, there is no divinity.
Later,
I started to worship
A Mask.
Gave life to it.
People termed it,
God.

That’s why
At the time of dire need,
God neither,
Speaks
Nor listens.
Genre: Alternate Spiritual
Theme: Then, nothing matters.
Mike D 1d
Everyone has secrets
We keep them to ourselves


It's the magnitude that dictates
who among us goes to Hell
With the mindset of course of strictly secrets deemed negative/evil/bad and the scale they would be on.

Written: February 22, 2018

All rights reserved
Lana 1d
In a steady pace,
Your silhouette draws closer,
I can't help but wonder,
How can one figure hold so much grace?
Then it presses against the vapid darkness,
Intertwined and set aglow,
Always buried within the whimsical afterglow.

Living everyday,
Like it's my last today.
Nothing else I'd rather feel,
The only thing I want to breed;
The kinetics of the rush,
The lyrical harmony of our love thrush.

I reside in paradise,
Shot down by the bullets of your glistening opals,
You call your eyes.

Compelled to submerge in this guise,
One day we shall witness our prize,
The one event more beautiful than our sunrise.
Thrown and tossed back and forth in space.
Lost in a black hole I thought I could escape.
Many years went by,
Endless time,
Floating through and wasting my life.
Trying to climb this forever going hill,
Each time it hurts me,
Sending me chills.

I have escaped.
I see your face.
With one smile,
I know,
I'm in a better place.
This poem is about a sad lost life dying and being in a better place.
i pleaded
i wanna go home
i cried
please take me back home
but my father-
he said no
he said it's too early
i need to do my homework
i have to pass the test
he wants me to learn more
he hopes to see me finish it
finish it well


i pleaded
take me home
he said no
finish it well
do the homework ive given you on earth
pass the tests, the trials so you'll learn
learn more about me, about them, about life
it's too early, you aren't ready
you can't force or choose
your own graduation date
you can't decide when it's time to go home

i pleaded
take me home
father said no
finish it well and
wait for the ring of the bell
and i'll welcome you
here in heaven,
in my arms,
your home.
February 21, 2018

idea credit to Sir Charles Hanson Towne. a poem inserted in Mitch Albom's For One More Day.
lily 3d
I can't breathe anymore
darling you were the air
my air
and you left me
my lungs
my everything
and now I'm dying
I'm fucking dying.
So leave and don't you dare return.
Let me die
so when I fall and hit the ground
I can scream out your name as the pain disintegrates the last piece of my broken heart.

I will collapse.


My soul will escape and my flesh will die.

I shall let my spirit mend
and be born again.
But this time I will breathe
through the grace of God.
leaving hell
Blinding light with hands outstretched
A silhouette dances on the horizon.
It beckons me, with hinting grin etched lips,
To follow, so I grip her hand and on we fly.

Soft warmth caresses my skin as the light surrounds,
Harp song flows as smoothly as river sound.
Eyes turn and smiles break
Carving the faces of paint I've seen
In my visions of the Sistine.  

Those high walls stagger above me,
But the gates stand ajar.
The moat forded and oak doors entered
But no harp song drifts within these walls.

Cold stone meets feet as my
Hand bearer retreats.
A gaze cast back, met with doleful eyes
And a nod to enter on.

So on I cast my senses,
Until upon an ornate throne they rest.
Crafted in shimmer, white with golden hues,
Hand rests embedded with artisan jewels.

A throne worthy of Zeus,
Yet skies of lightning do not greet.
The seat sits vacant,
Webbed stones of an owner long gone.

In a fit I turn,
The light fading from those arching windows.
I reach out for the hand,
A clawing search for reassurance
But solitary I stand,
In this abandoned Palace of eternity
With a vacant throne so grand.
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