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Safana 7d
We are safe.
Despite that,
The insurgency visited us.
Under our suckaway are *****.
Let us take what belongs to us, not you

Stay underneath your trees.
Fall asleep on its fallen leaves.

Let our rivers flow
Make our throat moist
Please

Over 200 million people are starving.
Enough is enough!
Indirect slavery is enough.

France in Nigeria's North
Xiola Nov 14
Infamy
An attempt to cheat mortality
And live forever

an effigy
Uranus, his jester privilege
The worm that turns

Infinite streams
An inner world
Which is?

Formless, Limitless
aurelian thread;
Immortality’s proxy.
Francie Lynch Jul 15
Words won't die,
But worders do;
The turned phrase stays
Young as you.

Where do these pangs go?
Dying elephants don't know.
Old Hollywood shows,
Brigadoon and El Dorado.
At the bottom of a *** of gold,
Beneath double rainbows.

I read Chaucer
When he was young,
And Emily too,
And Rev. John Donne.
Batter my heart...
Yet feeds
Mine
As I read it once again.
Batter My Heart reference to poem by John Donne.
Anais Vionet Jun 12
Across the years, 400 plus, my stories endlessly play out their parts.
I played not on painted stage, but I knew the human heart - 
I captured, with quill and scratch, the passions of laughter and tears.
I held up a mirror, in doublet and verse, to things unbound by years,
like the weight of grief, the lightness of love and the serpents of ambition.
The music of verse, the lilt and fall of words, hold a strange enchantment,
brief spells where fools, princes, witches and kings shared a selfsame planet.
Though my bones lay in hallowed ground, the stories I spun linger yet.
They've played out, in age after age, on a thousand, thousand stages.
It’s well done, if I say so myself, to live on, in millions of minds and bookshelves.
.
.
A song for this:
Just Like Romeo and Juliet by The Reflections
This is for the 'Lost Poetry from History Challenge'
https://hellopoetry.com/collection/132874/lost-poetry-from-history-challenge/
Lawrence Hall Apr 11
Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

                             In Perfection But a Little Moment

                                   Cf. Shakespeare, Sonnet 15

Apparently the stars are talking about us
Pondering the transitoriness of our lives
And how we, though in the beauty of our youth
Must eventually decline, decay, and die

But we are promised an immortality
Possibly not granted even to the stars
The promise is in the springtime of our lives
The promise itself is an open tomb far away

Apparently the stars are talking about us
(You would think they have other things to do)
Meme-ing from Shakespeare Sonnet 15
PERTINAX Mar 23
Time may stop
But it is those moments of life
Where beauty best sees fit to rest its head
Upon shoulders of iron will that refuse to bow
A strength beholden to one shared amongst the many
A light in the dark soul of a world gone mad
That shatters the sad heart born of a passing
Into a better state
One that knows no fear lest time resume
Its ever marching trek down the flowery gardens
To which experience paves a road of gold
Not diminished by its steady crossing
But improved for having been graced with such resolve
In that every stone demarcates a moment
Where time has slowed and reflections
Shine bright those calm moments of quiet serenity
Whose mother is peace omnipresent
Born from the passion of each step
Where every recollection recalls a story
Best told by those who shared in times gambit
Knowing that even at the end of one path
Time will stop and give birth to a highway of love
Lined with memories of you.

This is immortality
George Krokos Oct 2023
The phoenix is a bird said to rise from its own ashes
being a symbol of immortality and spiritual rebirth.
So life in this world undergoes many similar flashes
which determine the degree and quality of our mirth.
_______
From 'The Quatrains' ongoing writings since the early 90's.
Hands full of ichor
Wrap around my neck
And my eyes
And my mouth
And my nose
And my skin drenched
In gold and in silver tones.

The fissures scatter around my burned skin.

I ponder and I stare into the nothingness
The chasm that I find.
Staring back at me and all my shortcomings.
She begs
She screams
She cries
She wishes for everything
And nothing all at once.

The metal sinks into my fragile fingers.

If I break all of me and tear my limbs apart
Will I escape from my own regrets?
Finally forgiving.
My faults
My shadows
My blood
My ash covered fingers.
Itching at all my gaps and lack in judgement.

But when will I find that you have let go of my throat?
Of my eyes
My ears
My hands
My heart.

When will my ichor stop flowing?
When will my fissures be patched?
When you are here.
I am unbound.

And I know everything will cure
in its own time.
I will find that my fissures will seal
and the ichor will stop running through my veins.

One day I will feel human again.

Someday I will be me.
-Persephone
in an e mood
Greyisntwell Oct 2022
The Funeral Portrait

This portrait stares back
I feel the guilt burn behind those eyes
Once full of life
Now is the avatar of strife

Sunken cheeks
What reeks of failure and shame
Just another pawn in Life's cruel game

In this portrait
The birds of prey circle
The haunting call of the grave
She beckons, do I give in?

In this portrait
I do not recognize
Pins, needles poking and prodding
It's starting to crumble to ashes.

The moonlight shines through shattered windows.
The room is glowing with brilliant rays

This portrait now burning
Is this what it's like to feel finally alive?
It's loosely inspired by the Portrait of Dorian Grey
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