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Rosarlei May 2019
Hold on to your ideas
Hold on to your thoughts
It's not the time yet
For them to deavor or become

The gatekeepers are gone
No one left to man the doors

Hold on to your ideas
Hold on to your thoughts
It's not the time yet
For them to kneel or bestow

In the ritual lies the secret
For endearment to impel

Hold on to your ideas
Hold on to your thoughts
It's not the time yet
For them to flesh out and be burned.
Check out the original multimedia piece here: https://commaful.com/play/rosarlei/untitled-3/
arian May 2019
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where'd they go?
épanoui May 2019
it was an afternoon in december when i found you in my favorite coffee shop.
while sitting on the corner and drinking your favorite iced caramel macchiato,
you were observing every people passing by like you're being amazed because of their business.
but your eyes says other than as supposed,
you look so tired and hopeless.
in front of you was the journal you used when there are lots of ideas coming into your mind.
it's as if waving at you, and calling you to write again.
but you cannot find any words to evince the emotional sensation you were feeling,
you never felt so paralysed before, so unable to write.
normally, words flowed out of your fingers like water but everything you wrote seemed stilted and wrong.
all of a sudden, you do not know how to write anymore.
i know you were trying your best,
but i realized that no words are enough to express the pain you're feeling.
Umi May 2019
A clear trail left in trance is how I shall form words,
Elegantly, majestically casting them onto a blank paper, focused on creating poetry, a time recording friend has gone missing,
Now the lonely sound of my scratching against the thin paper, lead by transience of its decay is the only sound we can hear.
What once was a world to create fantasy has drowned, black as ink into the darkness of a never ending tale, time and time again,
As if to hold on to embers, scared to lose all light when the last one goes out, for a cold, uninspired, spiriling dark of ones mind,
With the mission to accompany her throughout each and every writing as it unfurls, comes to life and simply blossoms in pride,
As I see a smile cast on her face, the determination to keep going alightens a flame, but unceartenty overcomes my weakened body,
When the trace of my mark begins to fade, I wonder how long it will be, until there is nothing more to say, do or think about,
Even if this dreamlike tale of endless, ongoing poetry were never to end or falter, never to be distorted nor interrupted;
Even if you don't have to die in a dream,
one is bound to wake up sooner or later,
As a tired hand carelessly, roughly, lays me down,
I wonder how many poems one can write,
Before running out of the ink of the mind.

~ Umi
Written from the perspective of my pen.
mhm May 2019
Suttle mark upon the window
Landscape dazed
The arrival of spring
Sunlight swept to cause the haze

Among the scholarship
It is me
Aspiration to days of kinship
Troubles face this lack of breeze

The fear of the short term wait
Rummy beyond my fragile day
A mind that has always gone away
Depictions of these irrational sways      

In the distance
I watch the branches
The flutter of their fragile lances
Visions obtained with prying glances

Ideas flooding the mind
Is this a hint?

A new glory I must find
Leave the words in my print

Writers block now released
Joy from this new found breeze
An idea offered by my disease
The phenomenon is complete

I am pleased
Ammar Apr 2019
Capture the world by pictures and you have perspectives
Capture the world by words and you have a story
Jason Comeaux Apr 2019
Calliope
has spied in me
a hollow dark and cold.

She gives it free,
that panoply
of new ideas bold.

But as of late
that dinner plate
of musings has been bare.

Could it be
Calliope
Has little left to spare?

© Jason Comeaux 4/12/2019
Tyler Matthew Apr 2019
By now I know you're hungry
for your god,
and not the painted porcelain face
hanging on the cross
above your doorframe.

You want more now that you're
struggling,
a voice that you have conjured
in the mind you know
he gave you,

an image blended from
your idols,
arms you once learned love in,
eyes you never from which
could part.

But that's the best you'll get,
and a shame
no one told you sooner.
An idea of faith or
more like
a dream of salvation.

Starved.
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