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Man 1d
Our chariot soared through the tunnel
And from out of the dark, light.
The sight of the city erupting
With fires' glare burning bright,
Venom like a snake's bite.
Vast buildings careening down,
As we maneuvered around them
The air was thick with smoke
And the smell of lead & sulfur,
The ground shook in violence.
We landed in a clearing,
The end was close at hand
The limits to see it, subjective;
For many laid dead in our stead,
Many enemies & siblings come to head,
And long did we have to tread before rest.
I unfurled the flag
And hoisted it up overhead,
Flying high on the mast.
I said my prayers
And made my peace,
Before the rain began.
All around me was storming,
Shutters battered marble
Amid crys for no quarter-
Blood was to be our recompense
I loved you
as a thief
loves his secrets

buried you deep
where surface-level
lies
could hide you

I
wanted you
needed you
lost you
wanted you more
wanted you deeper
felt you
wanted you sorely
needy
I craved you
felt your lips
down my back
'tween my legs
on my soul
breathing into me
your spirit
your charm
your wit
your laughter

I'll never forget
your voice
the soothing grace
of how you felt
beneath me
in our dreams
in our living nightmare
of being alone
wanting
lying
falling asleep
in the arms of the ghosts
we've made
of each other...
I wrote this, thinking of someone who I am unsure whether I drove her off, let her go, or missed her coming toward me.

It hurts, thinking of the possibilities.
By how this poem came ready to speak its truth, I know she was special.
I just don't know if she was real...
Jeremy Betts May 1
Am I guilty?
Probably
We all are aren't we?
Literally everybody?
A rarely talked about reality
But a reality none the less surely
Find it in every living things history
Trying to hide it is silly
It's no mystery
It's humanity
A flawed design set free
It comes with the territory
But the what for,
Now that's a bit beyond me,
Maybe
If I'm forced to go by what I see,
It's exactly
What y'all do too actually
But how can that be?
If you would please,
Explain it to me
And do it slowly

©2024
Jon Sawyer Apr 10
History,
    is more about the time it was written,
    than the time it was written abart.
10 April 2024 - I had a fellow freshman in college, who nicknamed himself as "Sgt. *******", whose father was a history professor at my university, Dr. Cole.

I paid over 400 dollars in tuition for this History 101 class. And I learned the two most important lessons from that class: "History is more about the time it was written than the time it was written about." and "Always carry a pencil."

And now, 20 years later, I think I understand why.
Jeremy Betts Mar 29
Laying motionless on a riverbed,
Drowning at rock bottom constantly
I hate to admit it but
That's where you'll most commonly find me
No landmarks, no marked miles,
Got lost on the back roads to recovery
I finally pulled out of this nosedive of false certainty
Just to expectedly fall back into the same trajectory
Distractions follow closely,
Waiting to complicate the wrong actions I already make consistently
That's a disastrous recipe
That's what has made my present day a fraction of what I think it oughta be
This has to be far more than what I have coming to me
Like what I've repaid triggers karma's selective memory

©2024
Svetoslav Mar 24
O Macedoniо, sister of Mysia and Thrace, why do you curse,
why do you so cruelly trample your children, to whom do you condemn them?
You are chasing your original Bulgarian blood, which way are you going?
Weep for the suffering of generations, don't deny it.
Don't hide your sorry past, don't hide it.

Deny your will to purify your consciousness.
Put out the fire of discord, shelter the spirits of our common history.
The past is the fuel of the future, the air of your breath.
Honor your heroes, don't divide the people and don't sow agony.
We know of your age-old torments, we hear your present sobs.

Macedonio, dear sister, you burn the memory of your children.
You drive your Bulgarian children out of the oven of your father's fire, you pour out duplicity. Why do you **** your history, why do you pour out wrong anger?
Your ancestors, the forgotten heroes, have left a memory of greatness.
Do you remember the ages bathed in masculine power and eternal glory?

Your children, an integral part of a long-suffering family, seek protection.
Have you forgotten that blood does not mix with water, and that the old Bulgarian thrones, with which fate has gifted you, rise near Vardar.
Know that a tree without its roots under the firmament perishes, and you yourself are too proud, without turning to your sisters you depress.

Macedonia, didn't your rebels lay down their bones for freedom?
Do not bury your Bulgarian memory, do not abuse your dear children with malice.
Don't forget your real enemy, and he is self-serving and conquers you.
Let your children grow in your springs, and when they grow up to rise up, with heroic strength to protect you from your evil ones.

People, do not stop seeking and asserting your true nature.
Remember the work of your ancestors, fight for their souls to rest.
Where songs are sung, where poems are read, life burns.
Voivodes are born to wash away the common shame and unite the people.
Heroes who will revive the fatherland from the ashes of the rout.

Where it has flowed, it will flow again..
Atuo-translated from Bulgarian
Man Mar 6
I walk alone
For the sake of everyone I love and know
For the blush of unspoiled fruit
So we can walk out into the sun
Freemen and not slaves
So we can get out from under the thumb
Of oppressors who seek to keep us down,
For the Americas
My Americans
For her siblings, allies of dear note to
Fair Lady Columbia
For all that share in the rays of the cosmos
My friends, nature is so beautiful
And once was so full, in this world
Of all the things gone extinct
It is less they do not control
Remember, you too are an animal
Our hands are tied, and most don't know
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