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PoserPersona May 2020
What you wish can never be
For wicked hearts will alway beat
Find the gold between us all
or you too shall one day fall
Tenant Mar 2020
6
Placating that rage
Spirting the way of sage

Object permanence makes the mental sour
Idealists, the opposite dour

Listening to musical notes as they are sang
Battlefields of yin and yang

Yang's lost its credibility
That seas lost its crossability

The middle Way's middle point
The yin is to anoint.
Hunter Green Mar 2019
Maybe I didn’t do it right.
Maybe I didn’t wait long enough.
Time let’s things fall into place,
And I wonder sometimes if they could have if I just insisted against the race.
I let your eagerness fill me with fear,
But I could’ve let my heart be more clear.

It hurts everytime I see you.
It hurts knowing I am uncertain.
Interest is rare these days,
And I often fear the lack of my
Judgment due to my idealistic ways.
I just hope you know you’re more than enough,
I can’t bear the weight of your heart in haze.
easy access and proliferation of firearms,
     now begs a serious hard question
     presenting daunting task,
quite aware that passionate
     stalwart supporters of the NRA,

     embrace weaponry likened
     to garnering an Aboriginal trophy mask
(particularly in light of violent mass killings)
     immediately forces people

     of all stripes comprising this nation ask
quite aware of diametrically,
     jarringly, and politically
     doggedly entrenched fierce position
     each polarized stance challenges,

     especially when pitted
     against die hard proponents
     of the Second Amendment,
     who would sooner burn to ash,

and/or adopt a siege mentality
     glowering akin to red hot metal
     regaling opportunity asper Liberal heads to bash,
than relinquish (lock, stock and barrel)

     prized, coveted, and cherished cache
amassed collection of firearms
     permissible in accordance
     with (literal interpretation
     of Second Amendment

     of the United States Constitution)
     to mean no deterrent preclude
     (birth right to equip bare arms),
     deprivation against amassing a stockpile,

     would trigger an immediate saber flash
and instantaneously, another Civil War, would
     (with gnash of clenched jaws violently
     opposing manumission

     to release obedient snap, crackle
     pop in je nais sais quois *****), the provocation
     rendering revision, sans sacred covenant
     would sting whip lash

snuffing out any first and last hope to reconcile
divisive national issue
     with cool collected talking heads,
     cuz shoot at the hip diplomacy
     be loved American style,
that indomitable fighting
     esprit de corps tis fire in belly trial

though this skeptical and devout atheist,
     would welcome being proved wrong
generating the better angels to render obsolete strong
arm of the law as plucked harps evoke swan song

witnessing unbelievable savoir faire
     (forcing me to retract pessimism
     and willingly swallow my pride), minus long
time overdue, and negotiation
celebrated with tolling from a gong.
Sky Jan 2018
Outstretched is her palm,
forget-me-not pink,
gaily contrasting with her whitish silhouette and
honeyed lips,
so taciturn by nature

Perhaps it is that gently pursed habit that so draws me in,
the scent of promise and the
taste of paradise

She fascinates me
Dancing with men after most men have gone to sleep,
she later waltzes with the moon
until mortar and pestle have been
reduced to
skipping-stones

Her dress celebration,
Her laughter champagne,
Her manner a Sistine rendition,
“Joy Of Man’s Desiring”

When her lips do part,
not a single sweet sound emerges,
but the muted C sharp of a thousand golden sirens,
inspiring mutiny in men everywhere

And if blood is thicker than water,
honey is thicker than blood, so it is honey
which runs through her trickle veins!

Ludicrous? Perhaps. yet, O Lady
the corners of your sweet lips and fair face to me
betray promises of music,
of moondust, of honey, and

of romance, most devastating
about a boy
Tina RSH Nov 2017
My throat clears out a path 
To leak a stream of infidelity 
I cannot seem to swallow
 
But Someone might have put
A ten ton catastrophe in my chest
Or blown a black balloon, big and hollow 

With no catalyst can I digest blind eyes 
To the truth I gorge with my heart 
To the secret pain in which I wallow 

Be it a poetic nest, or a loser's hole
I escape the demons who run the head
And let my nightmares run shallow
In accordance with those whom I mistakenly labelled as "friends "
Virginie Jun 2017
À nos âmes vagabondes et au temps perdu

À nos pensées refoulées

À nos rêves utopiques

À notre espoir enivrant

À nos convictions idéalistes

À la liberté  !
To our ideals

To our roaming souls and in the lost time

To our repulsed  thoughts

To our utopian dreams

To our intoxicating hope

To our idealistic convictions

To the freedom!
Sydney Marie Apr 2017
"They're not attacking you, they're attacking your idea because you were louder then anyone else."
Àŧùl Apr 2016
No regret,
But a realization,
That life is bigger than success.

That life means to share smiles,
Farther & wider,
No pains.

Share just happiness,
Ignore the sadness and laugh,
Nobody else cares about your tears.

In my dreamworld,
I had ignored my happiness,
Searched happiness in others' smiles.

This is a real world,
Survival of just the fit ones,
Traumatized live the idealist fools.
My HP Poem #1064
©Atul Kaushal
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