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Run. Run. Run
Here they come
The rampant dogs
Ready to rip off
People's skin.

Another ****** forgotten
Another person in their coffin
For just living in their skin
There's no way to win
Against supremacy.

What's next? Another Holocaust?
Another mass-genocide lost
In the media? In history books?
Because if this is how my future looks,
I don't want to live through it.

This is why we must stand up now
Before the dogs and sirens get too loud
We can't travel back in time, not like this
For there is so much good we'll miss
Unless we protest the injustices

Plaguing our society.
I just felt like writing a poem about all the things happening in our society today. Dealing with racism and supremacy.
If things were normal
We'd still be in the trees
That truth is remarkable
If only society would see
Though they are ignorant, sometimes filled with judgment
I'm sure there will come a spark
For them to open their hearts
Darkness replaced by unconditional love
Happiness for all that be, a higher consciousness for all to see
What a wonderful existence
That would be

Normality, the downfall
Of humanity.
I pity the fool
who envies angel's
because to become holy
means
losing
your
humanity
Marla 7d
What an addiction to life one must have
To endure
This endless Now
And demand more
-
Raise a voice even
And shout for one more hit
to the teeth
to the groin
to the senses and then

to crawl on even brighter
with a smile illuminating
the abyss
Jay M May 20
People cautiously walking the sidewalks
Masks of all sorts over their faces
Cover the mouth, cover the nose
Keep away, far away
Heed the warnings, as they say;

Stay 6 feet away,
Cover your mouth,
Cover your face
This is no way to live
But to survive
Or before you know it
You're already dead...


People shuffling past
Lift up their head
Groan as they stand in last
Hoping not to rot in their place

Once inside, they took what they could
Doesn't mean that they should
Only to leave others with scraps
Like kids playing with bottle caps

Finally, signs saying to take less
Ease a bit of that good ol' stress
Save it for the lines of insanity
And all that is left of humanity

Walk the streets, get outside
For the time you can, no longer hide
Return soon to thy shelters
Keep busy, maybe become painters

Walk along the ocean shore
Then return home, what a bore
Paint the barren sands,
Once with so many people, holding hands
Now with little to none
Go home and be done

Scarcely utter a word
To those on the street
But over the phone, loud as a bird
In conversation, the shuffling of feet

Open slow, the lesser things
Whilst still some folks are getting wings
Soon enough, renew the world
Let it all come unfurled
Only to consume us all once more
Just like before.

- Jay M
May 20th, 2020
The purpose of this poem is to display the current state of the world, and leaders attempt to slowly bring things back to some semblance of normalcy.
I am sorry
I was born as a human,
Humans are supposed to possess great vigor.
I am ashamed of myself
I induced chaos in the harmonious system,
Humans are supposed to yield balance.
I apologize
I disguised myself with a strata of untrue commotions,
Humans are supposed to show the originality.
I am guilty of my past deeds
I didn't do anything to amend those actions,
Humans are supposed to owe to their mistakes.
Yet another question arises,
Am I a disgrace to humanity?
Norbert Tasev May 20
They all stood in order: False witnesses, lying judges; and that was the greater pride he had - if the scientific Balek stuck on their backs - could be ridiculed and persecuted as a bookworm column. But the real Truth did not bother anyone - it was not the pure Humanity and Morality that was the important reason, based on sympathy, to explain!

At the same time, from the consecrated citadels of science, in addition to the deceptive burden of sympathy, he also displaces those who read all obligatory work with honesty: What follows: That is already a classic requirement of Shame! On the humanities track, the road is steeply icy, and anyone who is careful will soon climb to his seat! - There can't and can't be

individual defense, not context! - I keep crying and laughing at myself: Gentlemen and ladies, at least don't lie to yourself! "If you can, and the gallant stumbling may begin again — so that Uncle Samu would be more willing to pay you the budget head quota — what a clear favor!"

And he who has failed many times has deliberately ruined and humiliated the marks on the merits of linguistic history: They are silently still tolerating and resisting! - Choice None! The only trouble is that there never will be if you are whining and vain monkeys

exchange peculiar alpine messages: We are, at most, mere cowards and cowards, as far as those who soon rejected the rules of the Code of Morality: Conscience, Humanity, and Responsibility -

Not-so-respected exam-jury: On their boards, the One-Truth is proclaimed: Everyone is a lying accomplice who feasts in a hedonistic way, thinking from the lights of knowledge! Haughty ignorance, like the secret worm, devours the tyrants of the intellect if they are not careful!
Love can come in four different forms, almost akin to the seasons. It is fluid, and can intertwine with the other seasons, but never truly sits still. Love is never constant, and it fades as quickly as the cooling kiss of a summer breeze.

Springtime love is electric, a bitter hour in which it seems that this love is all that matters. It is all encompassing, and galvanises you into action. To feel Springtime love is to feel alive, after days and weeks and months of quiet. It is the cheer of a crowd, the press of bodies and the pounding in your ears. Springtime love is exciting and new, no matter how many springs you've seen before.

Summertime love is a lazy creek, trickling slowly across the sun scorched rocks of a small waterfall. It is the curling vapour drifting up from the surface of the water, and the sweet lemon in a glass of lemonade. Summertime love is warmth and honey, and its cloying grip is both calming water and slow-burning flame.

Autumnal love is passionate, sour and fast, a blink-and-you'll-miss-it flash of clarity among the Indian summers and oncoming storms. It is the rain bearing down on a windowpane, morose and ferocious, and it is breathtaking. Autumnal love seems like the truest of the four, the kind of pain that one who is in love craves like nothing else. Autumnal love is hopeless, beautiful fury.

Wintering love is not kind, or violent, or sweet. It is the salt on the foam of a crashing wave, a lukewarm coffee abandoned overnight, the eye of the storm you can never escape. Wintering love is acceptance, and sorrow, and blessed silence, and only in winter do the other seasons of love look like a lie. Wintering love is regret, and terrified of when spring arrives once more.

Every time you fall in love, you live the days from spring to winter. Some love-years last days, and others last centuries, ages, eons, until even the sands of time forget that snow or rain ever fell there. The beautiful thing about humans, I find, is that even after a thousand winters, a human can be willing to sacrifice everything for one more spring.
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