Every time the subway lights go off I close my eyes and listen to my cart speeding over the rails What was it that you said, about the velocity of life ? The one that carries the immigrant, the bible belt strapped and the intermittent traveler through the woven passage of a history they can see in the molding of the land. 2. I can’t quite remember why I live life so fast, but I feel (it) the hill and the turning of the tracks 3. The trains are quite quiet here, and few people talk. It’s as though the lights were still off .
Ezis 2d
Why does this constantly happen to me?
History repeats over and over

I would think I would be used to this
by now,
but yet every time it happens
I feel the same shit feeling.

When will it stop?
When will I learn?

I cry for belonging.

I cry for love.
How I long for someone to come home to,
For a man to care for me
For a lover to comfort me in my distress
For a cover of sleep to encapsulate me
Yet I have none of these things,
I cry for love.

I cry to be held in the arms of my mother.
I am so far from home,
I can see myself sitting with her in my bed
She looks at me the way only a mother could
She makes my heart slow at the sound of her voice
Though I am not home, I am so far
I cry to be held in the arms of my mother.

I cry to feel something.
I go through my scheduled day
With tunnel vision, the world moves on around me
but all I see is a haze of people who say they hate me
I cry to feel something.

I call myself,
The Melancholy Child.
Elementary school kid
In an area I was new to
Home life freckled with abuse
Silence was the key
To get back to you
Older sibling responsibility
That I couldn't match up to
Once there was a girl
She came into view
Sent my brother to tell her she's cute
He came back and let me know she said
"you too"
Time was short
That dry kiss was bliss
Teacher said you were a good student
If there was trouble,it was never you
I bit my tongue,cuz the thought in my head
Was it would have been hard to sleep with a bruise.
I was in foster care for a year. A very bad year.
I opened my eyes to see; celeste sky,
stretching over the cyan sea,
as the golden sun kissed
the aurelian sands of the shore,
I heard a giggle of a lavender blush bride,
blinked and was awestruck, as the emerald sweat
of hard work reflected in chartreuse fields.
The glow of amber in faiths they lit,
with a touch of mahogany of rust.
Then I spoke to the history of past and
twilight caged scarlet- folly darklings to groovy beats.

I experienced a realm of colors & the dawn of life
peak of history & paradise like a craving knife.
Forever more I breathe Goa.
Such faded tracks that tell of all our special needy things
These ever needed-ever traded blanket things
They gave us this under cloaked shawl
And disappear into the wilderness. Why?
Because you feel warm? Your giving light beckons all...?
The drab dulls and grays that welcome you into home square,
The spider web in the loft of the ever white inn house,
This is how we are in for living now.
Give me a shovel "I would" dig to Hell's Inferno well,
OK, now you're there, but gold you see is not in there, yea,
It's like they say in the early retirement way day to day,
Your only too old when you can't come out and play!
These questions, unveiling,  appearing from the balcony,
She is in the well made protection for one of small size.
This is all in pure need, we are all in need,
The whole world is in need. Let us need
Until at our enemy necks, with knife and pistol,
Let us need until we must be bitter for the water glass
Is never half full. Let us be in need until we find
That this is how real life was already best destined to be,
Still with empty pockets ever in need of more,
Just keep digging deeper for more anyhow.
All bought with a few million lives.

In God WE trust...
Two people so different.
We're lacking respect.
Both American yet so distant.
There's a disconnect.

I wanna trade eyes.
I'm blinding by pain.
I wanna trade minds.
Cause really I'm insane.

Then they tell me it's my culture.
As if I could never be something important.
Like if I started talking right, I'm labeled.
Black kid talking white, most blacks aren't able.

Black violence is a by product of slavery being invented.  
Now don't get all defensive.
Not being able to read or white was apart of the system.
Please read. The following frustrations linger heavy on my heart. Black violence, yes it is a horrible reality to face. However most  only talk down on it without trying to find the cause or solutions to correct it. If you study history you'll find correlations between the past and present. The southern states Jim Crow laws is a good place to start. I won't lecture you on the origins of black crime. However I will say, only talking negative about a group of people at a disadvantage will never fix anything.
As long as he fought for the Greeks,
he was invincible

Once he had fallen for Briseis,
he had something to lose

To, protect...
...to lose, cherish, a distraction

So was the healing of Achilles' heart,
and thus became, -his heel
Achilles was killed by his love for another. Driven by his love of self. Immortalized for his love of others.
Peter Balkus Mar 12
I'm sure that you too,
at some point in your life,
had to give up on something
against your will,
and become the part of something
you never wanted to be.
I bet you too
were too beautiful, too fragile
to win and not to bend your knees
under the weight of coersion.

I'm pretty certain,
that wherever and whoever you are,
you too happened to be
a victim of smaller or bigger Anschluss,
when your life suddenly ended,
you woke up in the country,
which wasn't longer yours,
in the stranger's skin,
and when everything what was beautiful and frail in you
was killed.

But don't be sad,
for when the moment of the truth comes,
it won't be you
hurriedly swallowing
a cyanide pill.
The poem written for the anniversary of Anschluss. Eighty years ago, on the 12th of March 1938 Germany annected Austria. Anschluss - germ. annection.
Benjamin Mar 12
The whip lands
on labyrinth of lines.

The shout, filled
with a hopeless prayer -

The scream,
prelude of the charm
that death whispers.

Pharaoh takes
a bite
sweet grapes
as much as
the queen's fellatio.
lostboy Mar 12
Why is there a story
In my head
And not a story instead?
Light travels through our eyes
And into the moving pictures that are
Our memories.
We tell each other things
That we heard from something else;
If nothing is written in stone,
Then it is for sure on paper.
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