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jonni inferno Mar 2018
storm winds howl
in fury rage
lash dark clouds
in thunder running
lightning laced
they storm across
her cool
impassive face

she answers
in silence
serene
immortal grace
her face
softly knowing
her smile
sometimes showing
in silence
radiant

.
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http://oi58.tinypic.com/kbyo1l.jpg
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added link to pic/poem
b Feb 2018
my head
is too big
to fit the helmet
thats supposed to protect me.  

i found out today that i am not immortal.

i still dont know
how to deal with
learning something
you thought you already knew.

i found out today that i am not immortal.

if i could
wear a mask
every day
i know that i would.

i found out today that i am not immortal.

if i could
do it my way
every time
i know that i would.

because i am always right
until someone points out
that im not.

my head is a beach where hope comes to flourish,
where the water is warm.
until someone reminds me
that they hate the beach
and i cant help but agree.
Sandman Feb 2018
Us
We are the stars.
The dust of the cosmos.
Our thoughts are the immortal children of a never ending time.
While we burn out like strands of christmas lights our light travels on for infinity reaching (but never touching) the outskirts of the universe.
Martin Mikelberg Feb 2018
immortal, almost - stardust
we, all living things, are nothing but stardust
YB Feb 2018
I have yet to finish searching
For ways to preserve my being.
I’m afraid to lose my thoughts,
my words, my ideas, my emotions -
My life.
I desperately attempt to revive what is gone
While I seek things I know I won’t find.
My thoughts wander through time
As I sit here and reminisce about
Being lost in an in-between place
Neither the past, present or future
But a combination of all three.
Don't we all desperately attempt to be remembered after death?
Valerie Feb 2018
we are young gods,

daughters and sons of a generation

who gave up on love a universe ago,

but we do our best to experience it-

we sell it in bottles of pop culture and rabid obsessions;

turn it into a conglomeration that profiteers on excess,

a chaos of depression, anxiety, dark self-depreciating wit-

and become artists who lament on first-world tragedies.

we are young gods,

we scoff at religion and we bathe in unholiness,

sin is the new in, black is your best act, and we love it;

we wear our indifference like an armour,

because we fear what we'll see if we're allowed

to understand our emotions and display our vulnerability.

we are young gods,

happy ever after is a joke and true love even more so,

we inhale criticism and exhale cynicism,

because the titans before us acknowledge that the world is cruel

but we embrace it- we drape ourselves in abject and misery,

stitch and mould uncaring faces onto our flesh that gaze upon

the heartbroken jagged shards of ourselves, bleeding guts and glory

embedded all over the cement patch wood floors, amongst the whisky and wine.

we are the young gods;

a mass of degenerates with our entitlement and liberals,

a numbing, sweet hollow feeling that we substitute

for the lack of love and care that we've grown used to;

a realism that carves like a knife at tender ages and

we wear our sadness like a charm- aesthetics to be envied;

we're self-destructive, faithless, pointless,

burning in our question for the meaning of existence

and the only religion we'll ever bow down to

is ourselves.
oh well?
Lyn-Purcell Jan 2018
Through transient lives, a cause
stands immortal.
This is based of one of my earlier poems that I wrote but it is true.
Thank you all for the people who loved Lesson Learned #57!
I was in shock when I logged in and got over 50 notifications for one poem!
First time it's happened to me.
I'm super grateful!
^-^
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