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Eric Babsy Oct 2
The end of days is near.
Because it is the death of you I fear.
The sun has blown away all.
The moon encroaches all.

If it is not a lie in the first place!
Is it not viewed this way from space?
You took my life from me.
So others could be.

This is what heroes do.
In that I hope I find you.
Give me a chance.
Because I have been given a last dance.

We as people need to join together.
Before it is any system we can weather.
Please hear me out.
Because I am not just here to spout.

I am telling no lie.
Maybe it will be done long after I die.
Could you just apply.
All my lessons and reverb a reply.

I know the secrets behind their lies.
In the end must we all give this more than just three tries.
You know I can hate no one.
In the end I hope we can all become one.
A  lady  stares  blankly  ahead:
Ignoring  everything  in  her  stead,
Inhaling  the  adulterated  room  air,
Taciturn,  stiff,  certain,  or  maybe  scared.

Still  as  a  rock  –
Calm  as  a  lake  –
Strong  as  a  dock  –
But  those  are  all  fake.

Inside  her,  a  war  is  waging.
Beasts,  monsters,  and  heroes  –
all  fighting.

For  the  longest  time,
Her  mind  has  been  running  wild.
Her clock  is  ticking
Yet  no  one  is  winning.

Not  one  bloc  is  determined  to  fall
Because  all  she  does  is  feed  them  all.

Some days, I'll just sit in my room and listen to one song on repeat.

I'll slowly make my way to my poetry, and find myself feeling more empty than poetry needs me to be.

Poetry is the letter someone spilt water on but you can still read whatever was written on it because for whatever reason the world decided to be nice for a minute.

My sister is nice too. I think you can say I've only really known her for 7 or 8 years. We were too far apart in age for me to even care she existed for the beginning of my life. And just as I get comfortable with her being here, being home...

She moves to another country.

I guess one way or another, your heroes do fly away.

My best friend is a girl named Baer. Although, I cannot tell you if I'm her best friend, she is mine.
I always seem to latch on to people who seemingly don't show a lot about how they think of me.

Maybe I just don't look hard enough, but isn't that what all self-deprecating people do? Avoid mirrors and self-image until they come to scourge it? Punching out mirrors either cuts you up or picks apart your reflection, and hey, whatever.....

It's just you.

Baer's sister is a whole other story, funny and open, far away from time to time, but wanting a hug when the time comes.

I've always been the type of person to idolize others who treat me well. Perhaps it's because I think so much of them compared to myself. But it's okay.

I would do anything for them.

I'm so full of everything for the people who are everything to me.

And for myself... I'm no hero.
Capes just aren't my style.
No capes.
On sandy land and muddy plains it appears
A mark left for succeeding generations
Carved with hands, sweat and blood
Indelible a mark that cannot be erased
You can find them on the various paths of life
For very few have been careful to leave them behind
And many careless if they mark their path
They are heroes and heroines of songs
They line the pages of books and poems
They grace the walls of museums and temples
Some are men and others are gods
And all of them have walked the earth

They discovered the heights of the sky
And the depths of the seas
They found the distances of lands
And lengths of deserts
They carved their names on stones and monuments of rocks
With their blood, sweat and hands
Marks the walls of earth with their names
Heroes of wars
Lords of science
Kings of nations
Queens of kingdoms
Loved and hate, doubted and scorned but none was a fool
Lords of art
Kings of songs
Telling their stories in pages with age
Prose, Drama and Poems
Today we sing memories of them

And we have heard
How they made war
How they caused war to cease
And we have heard
How they shed blood
How they saved lives
And we have heard
How they fought death
And overcame reproach
Great and small but none was a fool

Some and have been found and their stories told
Others are lost and the search is on
But diligent as we may be
Forever they may be lost
In the heights of the sky
In the depth of the sea
In the dark alleys of the cave
In the heavy sands of the desert
In the deep belly of the Bermuda triangle
And in the racist and hateful heart of men
But still abide their footprint on the rock
And the sands of time may tell it all
Or never will their footprints reveal.
veritas Jul 27
gods and goddesses stilled mid-flight,
immortalized in a glory fast fading.
distilled sunlight filtering through, unheeded,
as a devastating dawn for redemption awakens.

     dust scattering over marble hands, forever supple,
as angels fall from grace,
wings clipped and torn asunder.

the sigh of a thousand lost souls, searching;
the thunder of a thousand chariots, unbridled.

     a wing outstretched, a bow pulled taught;
drawn, not fired.

frozen heroes lifting voices unheard;
     the calm before a storm, a fight unforeseen,
silver linings beckoning victories
of heaven's epics left unsung.

look up into the clouds and you'll see a history unwritten,
for they speak to you in murals
of smeared colors and pure light.

but hush! sweet child,
off you drift into an insincere sleep,
until these stories buried beneath your lips,
     singed, searing, burning away memories of the battles that
   linger ,over your tongue  ,
are no more than a shadow of a flame.

   and as his lashes flutter closed over blue eyes
   and his heavy golden curls fall on white sheets
   she whispers,
        the renaissance was not painted for you.
look up. and then higher than that.
Nuno Fatela Jun 17
My heroes became the tenants of my mind
even the villains, especially the villains,
they use my skin as canvas for the scars
that cover my wounds as hollow curtains

I cannot pave a way into a kinder future
so I retreat to perfect gardens shielded by the past
false idols who rest on tall cathedrals
steal the sun with tales in colored glass

there is no deity until the icons are created
at night I sculpt them from recollected memories
an artifact of a time long before gone
when flawed gods envisioned faulty legacies

the rope that binds my soul to hope
belongs to the hangman of unfinished tasks
who reminded me that all our monsters feel the same pain
although they emerge with different masks
Aa Harvey Jun 8
Jack and Jill: Enter the Matrix

Jack and Jill, took the blue pill.
The truth they cared not for, the truth they ignored.
Their minds couldn't handle, what their brains didn't believe.
The truth stood in front of them, but they knew nothing is free.

They thought if they learned,
What wasn't meant to be known.
They would become slaves and never see home.

Stood on top of a hill, Jack turned to Jill.

Did we make the right choice?
Should we have had our eyes opened?
Just think of all the things, that we could have learned.
But what was the cost, a life time of slavery?
In life nothing’s given; foolishness is bravery.

Think of all of those heroes, you read about at school.
They died for a cause, surely that makes them fools.
Sure they found their fame, but only in their deaths;
I'd rather be unknown, than take my last breath.

But forever more we must know something is missing.
Our lives are a lie, our entire existence.
Scared of learning, or scared of the consequences?
Regrets all we have now, the truth could have been splendid!

Our chance has now passed, through fear of being slaves,
But we're trapped in this matrix, a ***** to the wage.
Money and possessions, that’s all that we crave.
The heroes may be foolish, but at least they were brave,
Enough to at least try; I think we’re the slaves.

A glimmer of hope, shines right there in front of us
And we turn our backs, through fear and mistrust.
We could have been Gods!  Better than our fellow man.
Now were just numbers, working for 'Uncle Sam'.

We could have flown, like birds in the sky,
Slowed down time, dodge bullets and not die.
We could have lived forever!  We could have been just like Neo!
Now we’re just worms, to be eaten by the eagles.

I hate you Jack! You made me choose wrong.
I hate you Jill! I ignored it for a home
And a life with my wife.

We climb each day for a bucket of water;
We can hardly even feed our baby daughter.
Jenny's her name, her brother Joe's on the way.
What would they choose?  Would they choose the same?

But our families ok, they won't know that they’re slaves.
They'll love life at home and they'll visit our graves.
We must teach them, nothing of what we know,
For they would grow to hate us and then they would go.

Our house is just fine, with the orchards of wine.
A family business for a hundred years,
Their lives will be the same.
Never wanting for anything, they will have all they want;
But they can never leave, for this is our spot,
Where my mother gave birth, like her mother before;
As will Jenny, as did I and as will many more.

For life is a circle, what goes around comes around.
Repeating history, is what we have found,
To work for generations, our family has survived.
We’re born here.
We live here.
And it's here that we die.

(C)2005 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Persephone Jun 2
They flash across the screen in red, blue, and white suits
Moving like spiders, robots, gods, and soldiers
Wielding destruction charged hammers, capes, shields, and swords

A lifestyle filled with dreams and living
One with the power of winning
And a spec of losing
Until the day they turned to dust
Ashes to ashes they all fall down
Aa Harvey May 31
Zero heroes

Whatever happened to the heroes?
Those that we used to adore.
I need somebody to tell me,
Where do they go when they’re about to fall?

Whatever happened to the heroes?
Where are they now?  Nobody knows.
Where did they all choose to go?
I guess I lost all my heroes.
They all seem to fade away in the end.
Whatever happens to the ego’s?
When we decide they have let us down.
I guess things will never be the same again; oh no.

We were surrounded by infamy,
But now they’re all so sweet; no-one is angry.
They’re all so nice it makes me want to scream!
Get back on your star and let us once more dream.
Why does this happen to our heroes?
We want to love them like we did all those years ago.
But something happens to our heroes;
No more shouting loud, they’re all so mellow.
Whatever happened to our heroes?
They change with time; they all fall or die.
Our heroes change in our life time;
I wish I could go back and see them in their prime…
I want to go back in time.

(C)2017 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
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