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anna macleod Mar 2016
as i breathe in the wicked cold air
it caresses my forsaken lungs
and makes me realize how truly mortal we are

its enough to make me sick
the air we breathe
the things we see
and its so hard
to just sit here
and not have the ability
to do anything

and its such a paradox
because its so beautiful

the air rushes through my body
sending a shiver down my spine
and i freeze
just like the bitter snow
on the ground

but i see
as the seasons change
and the wicked cold goes away
splendor and joy replace the bitterness
and pain

and it is in my mind
that the same will happen for the world

when this time of tragedy and darkness
come to pass
we will have pleasure and joy
that will come to last
Cave Man Dec 2015
Im just a liar and a theif
I steal **** and lie about being free
Im not a hippie like i once was
When the world kills your dream
Maybe this isnt just all that it seems
Everything seems to be dead
Like the future generations ahead
I shouldnt give up they say
But thats all they have to say
No point
No lesson learned here
Were all broken
These words are being mispoken
Into a fake world
That seems not to care if i was dead
I could **** myself now
And no one would even dare to make a sound
This is the 21rst century
The place where we truly lost the way
Leila Valencia Sep 2015
My words are the keys off beat
In choir, the one off key
The bird who flies in the opposite direction

The ecentric. They call us the liberals. The freedom fighters. They say were are the hippies, the weirdos.
What makes me different........................
My hat is so tall you can't see the theatre performance
My eyes are so curious I see a light on every ceiling
My hands are so wound they jump like bunnies on every desk
My feet as so tired they twist in the soil

I paint a picture that shows shadow and dark
I feel I am both
I Feel like the wind of the opposite direction
I feel like I am not in tune with everyone else.
Joe Cottonwood Aug 2015
Terry and I climb a different hill today,
a narrow trail
weaving among wildflowers
where we search for an old water intake,
finding rusty pipe but no collection box.
Mountain plumbing is constant crisis
as storms re-engineer the landscape
while three hundred houses wait to wash.
Terry, you should know, operated
the water system for years and years
in our old hippie town.

Moving on,
we walk around the former reservoir
that collapsed in the winter of ’82.
Now that was a crisis.
I say I used to come to this hilltop
every day at sunset with my dog
to meet a woman and her dog.
Terry says thirty or forty years ago
he used to come to this hilltop
every solstice to drop acid with his buddies.
“When was the last time you took LSD?” I ask.
“Last week,” Terry says.

Terry, you should know, is seventy-two
with cardiac plumbing that has
weathered a few storms.
He says the trips are milder now, sweeter,
like spring-water from the little glen
on the hill above his cabin,
gurgles out slowly
but worth the wait,
at the end of that trail
only you and I know.
KarmaRich Shima Jun 2015
"It never stops hurting, does it?"
"Giving someone the best of you and watching them choose someone else. I deserve someone who actually cares about me because I've spent my life making other people happy when all they did was leave. I'm always comforting people with the words I want to hear. I'm always getting attached to temporary people. If I'm with you, I want to grow with me, and not treat me like some temporary thing, I see potential in everybody, giving them the best of my abilities. All I want is somebody to stay, someone to stay and be there, always"
******* Andrea
KarmaRich Shima Jun 2015
Life, so great and captivating of a journey
Expect for it's inhabitants, for they are so phony
They idolize and emulate fake lips and fake butts
Not knowing that true beauty is within us
The bowl might as well have been packed
with my hypocampus, every lighter spark
brought only memories of you.

I blew smoke signals to the wind,
begging the universe to mend
our broken fate line.
I might add more to this someday, but for now it is simple and short.
Kate Lion Jan 2015
it is an honor
to love
and be loved
by you (only you)

i wanted a hippie van
and you wanted to make me happy
so you took off your Vans and grabbed a marker

we wrote "don't worry, be hippie" on the fabric until our fingers cramped
True story.
I thought I saw him,
Standing so elegant,
No single expressed whim,
His skin and body vents

Can't smell what he sees,
Only the breeze through the leaves,
A forest fire blazed,
But the tree always stayed

Yeah, I've felt the wind,
And I've heard the birds,
Through the flowers I grinned,
I tasted the words
A walk through the water, man.
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