Dakota 4d

i am disconnected from
my body, my life,
the shattered pieces
bearing my once loved
i exist on autopilot
after the sun goes down.
my bones ache with
lack of purpose,
desire, compassion
towards myself.
i’m lying when i say
i hate everyone i’ve been
and everything i shall be.
in truth, i am just a hollow
unfeeling mass that one day
illusioned flowers will spring from.

Oh time, our defining measure,
How you precede history itself,

Oh time, your objectivity,
How you govern all current's of that gushing river of our lives,

Upstream to new horizons, downstream to the forgotten,
Our moments lie inescapable of your perpetual conscious,

Oh time, your rampant tests,
Your ability to flourish mere illusions of aspirations,
To build bridges, of solid foundation,
To establish homes, of kindly salvation,

Why must these dreams be a breath of reality all so brief,
To dismantle this world, leaving man only in grief,

Oh time, beneath the murky surface of that river I await,
Whatever is it you are to instil as my impending fate.

Data Apr 18

I have girdled myself with illusions
and carved in stone
I have painted statues faux-colour
—colours called equity and justice,
and I have knelt before these in prayer
and imagined that my delusions serve purpose
in an existence of pure circumstance.

I have raised myself up from forest floor
I have set stairs in stone that I may climb higher
and look down upon a subjugated land
bereft of impediment or confrontation.
I find you in the corner shivering, naked on the floor
whispering as a disquiet ghost…
I examine your desire
to drag me down…

I have heard gestapo on the stairs
and listened to their interrogation,
And it is true, after the second shot
we capitulated
and joined the throng who jostled
in the crowd below

( they dragged us down from our first-floor view )

Out on the plaza
where Socrates lectured Plato,
they have set the gallows high
and we, far too willingly,
walk forward, still protesting innocence
and proclaiming liberty
in foreign lands.


by Data © 2017

the thin skin of democracy
harlon rivers Apr 20

The colour comes and goes
there’s no rhyme nor reason
       in black and white

       Forever changing
    kaleidoscope seasons
     sunny skies do sweeten
Unlike the sunrise foretelling
  nor the dimming of the day
the ever-changing moonrise
  shapes the night to come
     the way the moonlight
      reflects upon another
             passing day
      knowing  it is coming
I see it said with eyes closed
          and hear it say:

           the soul speaks
    in tenable wavelengths
         yet silence speaks
         louder than words
  in so many unheard ways

  the colour comes and goes
  many moons come to pass
     polar hot or polar cold
      slate gray and sullen
      the storm gales lapse

         the poetic sorrow
      thought of darkness

        the sleight of hand
          thought of light

         each codependent
             on the other

   even in an ordinary life's
            ebb and flow

April  2017 © harlon rivers ...
          all rights reserved

shåi Apr 12

the moon is pink
a hallucination 
of spring-time beauties-
forever serenade my soul

the moon
with its lovely
lavender & white hues
adored like a bouquet of roses

it was my illusion,
a dreamer's fantasy
my lamb in the

it served as a guide
in a world
without much beauty-
enveloped in madness

the stars
gather around
like angels on a
distant heaven on earth

my dream
had only been
an accidentally
fatal glance

the moon could
never be pink
just a myth
i tried desperately

to believe


this poem was written from inspiration of the 'pink moon'that occurred on april 11th
Dhaara T Apr 1

It is all pretense
That we are intelligent
Today is our day!

Happy All Fool's Day, fellow fools! :) <3
Bongani Moyo Mar 31

In all of us trying to be different we all ended being the same.
Now what?

Delilah Saw Mar 5

filled up with enmity coiling up inside
The chest billows up
Thy want to heave it out
Then destined to tranquility

The claws scratch the flesh
Death gnaws on the remnants of longevity
Unless visions have a chest
To burst out into effervescence

Spontaneous sigh is kicked out of your breath
The clavicles sharpen, the eyes ogle ahead
The nothingness dilates
The flicker has no entrance for itself to adumbrate

For utopia has its own gore
To marvel over inside,
The plasters of bliss
Have guffawed over the gullible dusk

The gloom has left with a whisper
A muttering not to be heard
The relief has sewed on flesh
With the clouds coming out of thy outburst

The relief rebirths the serenity
Has been meandered, halted
For thou shed leaves
Making agony to clouds of no return

Utopic defiance,
the idiosyncratic anectodes
Stains of externalized innundation
For the literal existance of hope.

Cry as loud as clouds rain
Shine as moon stars
Blow as monsoon winds
Paint colours in the night sky as fireworks
Word artistry like black ink on white

Everything was destined to be
But what's the story behind our broken destiny
Sky falling the reasoning
Cutting loose ends leaving me
Ohhh its so sad to see

I knew the point of growing together
Now ours is pointless 'cause we've grown to never

Not heartbroken and lost
Heart stolen and cut in smaller parts
Trying to shed light in my heart
Trapped in the sea with white sharks
You were too emotional
I never understood the motion of your emotions
Where's thou heart... in the ocean

2015-11-27 (draft)
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