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Amidst the storm, I saw a shed,
A place of warmth where someone laid.
Inside, a boy with eyes of gloom,
He wished to get out of this room,
He wished to go to his home.

As he walked through the snow,
The eternal paradisiacal purgator.
His hands were numb, his feet grew sore,
Yet on he marched, through heaven’s door,
He walked and walked towards his home.

He traced the footprints, marked the way,
Where others walked, where hope held sway.
With steady heart, his spirit bright,
His resolve firm, through every fright,
As he followed others, to the home.

But soon the paths disappeared,
The footprints marked have all smeared.
He searched ahead with silent plea,
Still hoping onward he would see
The others—the home.

Among the drifts, he saw the carts,
Half-buried now, they stole his heart.
No sign of life, no trace of sound,
Hope lay frozen, nowhere to be found,
The others were gone, along the home.

Through fiendish winds, he still pressed on,
The path so strange, the light long gone.
He wished for warmth, he yearned to meet
A friendly face, a fire, a seat
Among the others, inside his home.

At last, his legs began to fail,
His body weak, his face now pale.
As he was too… he was going,
As snow embraced his fragile body,
He whispered; he was going home.

Amidst the justice, I saw a jail,
A cold, bleak space where hope grew frail.
Inside, a woman, fierce and bold,
With passion burning, uncontrolled,
She wished to flee, to reach her home.

She’d been condemned by just law,
She’s a person with much gnaw,
Her family waited, full of fear,
Her mind set sharp; her goal so clear—
To break away, and reach her home.

With clever tricks, she played her part,
Disguised in guard’s attire, smart.
She found her sister, trapped in cell,
Together, they’d run and prevail,
Their will united, seeking home.

She unlocked the cell with stolen key,
And pulled her sister, wild and free.
But soon the guards had seen their flight,
Their happiness turned into fright—
Yet still they ran toward their home.

The guards pursued with swords in hand,
The sisters raced across the land.
In desperation, they rode a cart,
With hope still beating in their hearts,
Dreaming they’d make it to their home.

But an arrow flew, sharp as their pain,
It shattered joy, a loss so plain.
Her sister fell into her arms,
Her only family, a lifeless infirm—
She’d never see their willed home.

What is home, if love is lost?
She held her close, at fatal cost.
One more arrow struck her side,
She clutched her sister, teary-eyed—
Take me with you, to our home.

Amidst the war, I found a place,
A ruin worn by war’s embrace.
Inside, a boy sat on a stone,
Beside his sister, he’s not alone,
For he believed this was his home.

His sister cared with love so deep,
They lived in joy, though none to keep,
As war drew near, the sky grew grey,
And though they fled, they could not stay—
But as he ran, came with him— his home.

One day the boy, too weak to stand,
Collapsed in hunger on the sand.
His sister left to find a meal,
He waited long, with hope so real,
Still trusting the return of his home.

He waited for her, but in vain,
His sister, so long, didn’t return.
His hunger long died, his fears now wild,
Determined now, though still a child,
To find her and return to home.

Through endless steps and dying sun,
He wandered till his strength was done.
It was hours, it was day.
Until, the blood led him ahead—
The blood… of his home.

He knelt beside her, full of grief,
His mind refused to find relief.
Though by her side, he would groan,
He sat beside his home,
But he wanted to go home.

The war still flowed, the bomb still fell,
His senses deafened, his presence pale,
A bomb fell on him, not that he cared,
Their body burnt, the pain they shared,
Their ashen bodies flew to their home.

“So, they all died?” my therapist pried,
Though I hesitated, I couldn’t lie.
He scoffed at humans, at their will,
Mocked their emotions, their fragile skill,
Their endless desire to return to home.

I once believed that very same thing,
That humans fell for every fling.
Yet as I watched their final breath,
I saw the beauty in their death—
The quiet grace that led them home.

A boy, entombed beneath the frost,
A woman pierced, her sister lost,
A brother, burnt with sister by side,
Each wore a smile, a smile of pride—
A silent joy to find their home.

My therapist sneered, dismissing the thought,
Called it senseless, for what was sought?
Didn’t argue, for even we can’t get it—
Though we’re higher, we still can’t get it,
To that strange yearning to return to home.

So, everything is ok if we smile?
If we just smile, is it okay to die?
He mocked my belief, but I stayed still,
For deep in their hearts, against their will,
They craved the peace of going home.

They don’t know how will they live,
They don’t know, when will they perish.
But they still smile, even if they are goner,
For when you die, die with grace and honour,
With no guilt and remorse, in simply, a home.
Stephen Knox Sep 8
In America, people believe that they’re free.
Unable to cope with their reality.

I’m not saying that things, always were right.
But people with sense, used to put up a fight.

Now very few good people, work at the top.
So close comes the time, that we have to say stop.

Strange occurrences now, do not go unseen.
Sensing that most of you, know what I mean.

With conscience harmony, now on the rise.
Nearing the time, we hear subsurface cries.

From having on blinders, and running in place.
To a vast understanding, of time and of space.

Living the way, things really should be.
It’s the happening of this, that you’re starting to see.
David Hilburn Mar 20
Tasteless...
Jokes, I'd died for...
So whetted an appetite, for bests
And a single worst, shapes to form

Adage, with no history
Accept a joy, has you in mind
Sorry, but *** is no epistolary
When two is more, one is only kind...

Faces that ace the test
Marks and redoubt, to tell the tale
Sorry, but *** is for lessons
That eat rhymes, that know when to fail

Future misery:
What has a cough, fit for a king
But ate the queen's pie? luridity
Is a child with a thumb *******, a playing's aching?

*******...
Red is our forte, similar finger's
With a reach, asking only doles
Is **** a friend, when reality linger's?
Just something I drug in...
AE Jan 18
from your name
I have built a world
It's made of memories
And all the things you loved
I stole pieces of the moon
from the nights we could not sleep
where you told me stories of your past
and ways for me to be
and now they illuminate
all the city streets
of houses and homes
that you have grieved
and I paint this world
onto the walls of this place
that whisper your name
every day to me
so that I can walk past
and remember
all the ways you taught me to breathe
Amanda Kay Burke Sep 2023
You can't craft honor
Character a clear birthmark
Darkness a defect
I think you can pretend but ultimately we are either born with it and are naturally inclined to do the right thing or without it and are forever doomed to replicate those who are. Sometimes they are successful but most of them fail miserably.
David Hilburn Aug 2023
Did, a heart of sincerity...?
Made pure, made true...
With the soon, a vestigial anarchy
Came to these, the rue of what we fate, to irony due...

Life and a laugh
The instilled today, the tone of a voice
Given the wishes of the frank, and endearing more we hath...
The compliment of sorry eyes and sudden why's, a unity's choice?

Cope, tomorrow in league with such, a service
To fragile ideals, and the carnal low...
Seemingly mine, the inclined shrewdness of austere sigh's
Is a head at pride, a lover's lie to compel a friend to owe...?

Me, a hardier since, seclusion in a waiting worth...
Can a heightened sense of curiosity, begin here?
With the claimed sake, and kindness of silenced gain, by earn
And turn of chaste into a needy repast, is my ought's notion clear?

Waiting on the words to divine a character's politics?
Sate and uniformity in mind, for another go round
With such a treatise to sympathize with truth, that a gesture meant
Is a gesture in the fate, we knew as a careless whisper, to allow...?

A hat of composure make the day for neglect, isn't a worlds eyes drawn
Meant and imagination, to a seemly rise and flow; was distance to form the words?
Which brings us to the shade, of conscience's seldom, as if a waiting song
That has a notion to become, hungrier than me, that sees the problem of seasons early...
In retrospect, to a crying's elect; the tow we provide for kindness is as simple as that ... who the hell just gave a heck for me?
LA CA,Baja, New York,Greece:
It might be easy thinking
by the ****** for hire
brain dead childless type,
the covert narcissistic enemies
working the various
Invasive medical fields that
eagerly plot the demise
of a precious heroic human being
Amazing intelligent talented
surviving witness Mom.

Such stupid enemies
Don't you know the fact
that no one can **** an idea much less what an exemplary
Mother
stands for; Loving
Raising saving protecting
her legitimate offspring
full custody awarded children
Against deadly jealous medea
habitual drug users sterile
thieving **** of Earth!
~~
Unless evildoers succeed breaking
a righteous human being spirit first.
~~
B.B.A's spirit soul Mom is safe
UNBREAKABLE..
Guided guarded by
Living among the very best
of bestest from ancient times.
~~~~
By: Mr and Mrs Andrews
With Karijinbba.
https://youtu.be/8TODih3yqng
Kris Fireheart Apr 2023
Tired...
My eyes burn,
My lungs ache...
The sun wakes me
Through the
Windows.

Dress myself
Wash my face,
It's time to endure
Another day...

Another rush
At the restaurant,
Put on a smile,
And pretend it's
Okay...

But I can't do this
For much longer,
My longest day
Is Sunday...
I work weekends at my grandmother's restaurant in Houston. She's 71, and puts on a brave face at work, but when she gets home, she needs her cane to walk... so I put on my best smile, help the customers, wash the dishes and say "Can I get that for you, sir?" "Is there anything I can do to help?" But when I get home, all I want to do is collapse onto my couch with my 14 year old Labrador...
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