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Mark Sep 10
Singing high to Fernando and dancing down low in Orlando  
When ecstasy suddenly turned to tragedy  
They were just out bopping, then he came out just popping  
The pulse was beating, while he was out cheating  
His wife new about his scouting  
But she never thought 'bout the victims  
That the families would be counting  
Forty nine were just out to dine and wine  
Fifty or so, still lying so low, feeling not so fine  
He tried to crawl out, just after his last shot  
Popo's saw him on the floor and said no more  
Put a bullet in his ***, the same place he liked it, that's for sure.
B D Caissie Aug 29
A tale lies hidden etched in stone, buried beyond a vanquished throne.

Its king and queen could not have known, the cost of a legend is paid for in bones.

Doomed as he may be
For he is a baby
Lost unto the stars
He crashes onto a farm

Life does it's thing
For he has no king
Eighteen years pass by
The last son takes to the sky

He flies to the city
And he saves a little kitty
He takes to the sky
And he hears a mild cry
He flies to her cry
It's too late for she has died

He slumps at his work
For he is such a dork
Unbeknownst to everyone
The last son tries to save everyone
madameber Jul 14
under the red moon
we walked the same
dreamscapes, you
and i shared our
thoughts beneath its
light, our words whispered
red into the air, it
kissed your lips and
told you stories of
the heroes in the stars
while they crept
closer to the moon,
seeking out its warmth.
the stories hadn’t
mentioned how cold
it was up there,
but their lips quivered
and their words whispered
white into the air.

under the red moon
we lived the same
dreamscapes, we
knew it was only
temporary, a state
of mind, but there
we were at one
with each other,
here i could speak
to the stars
and i didn’t want
to leave them all
alone, i knew the
biting cold of the
black night sky,
knew what the trick
of time sought to hide
with its skirts, what
the heroes sought to hide
behind its masks but
you pulled at my arm
and told me it was
time to go.  

under the red moon
i offered my sun
to the stars,
there was a hole in
the sky and i thought
i might fit, i held
my hand out to you,
told you to come with
me, that they were
so cold, their fires
long gone out,
their light decaying,
bodies fragmented
from a time long ago
when heroes walked
outside of dreams,
but you weren’t
interested in dreams
when you had somewhere
else to be.

under the red moon,
i watch you
walk the dreamscapes,
the stars cling to me
seeking my warmth,
and i look down
from the evening sky,
whispering red into
the air, telling you
stories from the sky,
they listen, and
sometimes i think
you do too.
maria Jun 24



imagine that there are no gods.
imagine that we can greet the sun as it rises
       over the horizon without the shadow of Fate
       looming over us.
imagine that there are no heroes,
just the vast expanse of the sky above and
       the two of us singing songs that have
       nothing to do with War.
I know the songs.
I know the price that heroes pay to be remembered and
I know your Destiny.
I know that it has no space in it for me
       and my simple dreams, but now
we are so close to the heavens
       and yet so protected by the trees and cliffs and
it is so beautiful here,
so beautiful I can almost believe that
       just this once, the Fates have chosen to avert their
       eyes in blessing, and that
History could never steal you away
as I weave my fantasies in the dead of night.
I remember the first time I saw you, how vivid you were,
       the only light in a dark, unfeeling world.
I did not know your name then as I do now,
       but I did know some things:
I saw the way your eyes crinkled when you laughed.
I knew that the soles of your feet were pink against the dirt.
I was a boy then and I did not yet know what longing was
       yet I clung to those scraps of knowledge and as the ribbons of
       Fate wound tighter around us and you became to me
       more than a shining figure in the distance,
I clung even tighter to them because I feared that if I let go
I would not have anything left but a darkness in the shape of you.
       and I do not want to leave you to the shadows.
still, I am not the foolish boy that I was.
I know that one day you will join the ranks of heroes claimed by
       History, and I will remain by your side
       until I become so immaterial that not even the songs can touch
but for now we are still young and History is just a word that our
       teacher used to warn us against wandering off.
so, my love, while I still have time—
I will draw you into my lap and let my fingers weave
   the stories of our seasons into your hair, in the hopes that one day
you might remember that your hands had the chance
       to know gentler things than the sword and the lance,
and that for a while they had never known blood.
       not even once.
remember that I knew you before you marched to meet Fate in
     battle, and that I loved you long before your people called out
     your name and wrote songs about your glory.
I had you before History came, and as long as you don't forget that
       then I do not care about being remembered by anyone else.



see, you are wrong about one thing: I have never
     known a life outside of History.
I knew History before I knew my name which then belongs to
     History and I knew that my life belonged to the singers before it
     could ever be mine.
tell me then, do you remember the moment you discovered
what longing was?
I do—it was in my chambers that first night when I chose you as
     my Companion, when I fell asleep feeling your eyes bore holes
     into my back, right where I knew my heart would be.
I hadn't realized until then how much I have been wanting
     to hear the sounds of another person's breathing,
how lonely life had been to be a weapon of Destiny but not of love.
in the days after I would steal glances at your fragile hands and
     look away feeling like I was the keeper of some ***** secret,
but it was not shame I felt,
     for how could anyone be ashamed of wanting someone like you?
no, it was guilt I felt—I wanted to take your hands in mine but I
     was afraid that I would break them.
I did not think I deserved tenderness because
     I wanted it too much, and heroes do not want.
we are not supposed to have a life outside of our songs,
but for the first time, I wondered. I dreamt. I imagined things I did
     not have the right to imagine.
resigning to a life of being invisible did not seem that unbearable if
     it would mean a lifetime of knowing you, even if it would have
     meant knowing you in darkness: your big eyes and the ***** of
     your shoulders, your hands.
so light, like birds in flight.
how could I forget you? could a person forget how to breathe?
know that when I pass on and my soul goes untethered,
it would not be the stars in the sky that I would trust to
     guide me back home, but the
constellations that dapple your skin, the ones I named with my lips
     only a few nights before.
know that there might come a time when my body rejects all
     warmth, but for my soul it would be this, always:
our bodies bathed in honeyed light in these blissful years in the mountains, the stories of which
belong to us, and to us only.
so I say—History can stake its claim on my name as much as it
     wants, so long as I get to keep the three syllables of your name to
only then.
only then would I be truly happy.

Zywa May 31
High in the mountains
the giants sleep on the roofs
no one sees them
we dream them

when we are young
and folded in ourselves
making great plans
for the world we know

we are already on our way
just landed here
for a while, to grow
on our sky canopy bed

until we wake up
as heroes who put right
what has been made amiss
by the little people
“Les Colosses” (“The giants”) by Ella & Pitr (Saint-Etienne), roof paintings since 2013

Collection “Half The Work”
Peter B May 30
One day,
one day you'll see
a smile on dead man's face.

One day
they will come after you,
but you won't be there,
you'll be far away.

One day,
one day the sun will shine
for those, who have never seen
the light.

One day,
one day you'll say:
'So all this pain wasn't in vain'.

One day
the unsung heroes
will sing themselves.

One day.
Dream Fisher Apr 30
I know why no one wants to be the hero,
A hero's story doesn't end well.
He doesn't get to see a golden gate,
He leads you there then walks away.
Heroes can inspire all but themselves
Placed on shelves waiting to fall
And that downfall is the story they'll tell.
Watch and see for yourself.

I wish more people wanted to be heroes,
Tie their capes in broad day and save
Because look, I mean really look,
The villains aren't stopping,
You hear the newscasters jaws dropping
Every night that another kid won't be alright.
So we wave white flags as victims,
And I don't know about you
But I'm ready to fight
For something so much bigger than me.
Come and be one for yourself

I know why no one wants to be the hero,
They let the bad guys have all the fun.
The vigilantes can't work a system
With zero liability who's to blame
I don't believe I can stop it one on one
But extend a hand to you all the same.
Why can't we all be heroes,
And stop all the distress, you and I.
No one wants to be a hero
Because evil will never die.
Nazareth R Apr 12
No more need
to think but
The suffering
that my hero felt
The hero with no mask
The one who asked nothing

Yet spoke envy

Envy of the light
that never stayed
As it swayed upside down
Matching the steps of pain
Emerging with the cries of help
Dissolving with the masses
Awaiting the new mask
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