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Nathalie May 28
Love is the way
But sometimes we
Choose fear;
And there is where
We find ourselves
At the impasse

astraea Feb 8
a girl sits on the pavement,
lunch in hand
wondering what kind of times they were
-neither the best nor the worst of times,
but times spent at a coffee shop
watching the cars go by.

as the rain falls
-as it always falls at 2 am,
steady and calming
a world in limbo
despite all of the chaos that i so lovingly
call mine.

the birds aren’t out yet,
but the cars softly flash their lights
i shouldn’t be here
this desolate city,
this desolate life,

the plants sway softly,
ever their vibrant green and your cat meows
-the only thing along with your short hair
and scrolling habits
and off-feelings
you’ve been able to keep alive this winter.

lone figures in the winter,
at your desks -alone in class
smiling at a laptop,
the papers on your bedroom floor flutter around you
wind in my rooms,
slashes on the push floor.

slashes -also on the peaches
fingertips (from falls)
coffee cups in empty cafes
and unthinkably

all of our photographs,
a poet said they would happen,
waiting to happen,
i think they’re right and
they’ll never happen
-it’s the kind of beauty arranged and taken down,
never enjoyed.
inspired by lofi music
Elizabeth Zenk Dec 2018
my family is an impasse,
captivity for self-growth.
like a chick without a nest,
i refuse to catch flight,
and leave our inevitable

my home is deadlocked
a battalion of misguidance
and an army of adversaries.
i refuse to fight
and flee from our explorable

my brain is a stalemate
a seemingly premeditated homicide
with terrific envisions of the future.
i refuse to reunite
and save my mind from its inescapable
_ impasse _
Elena Dec 2018
The hole is deep enough for the two of us
And yet we keep on digging!
To haul each day a heavy load
Is this the life worth living?

I hear the wailing in the distance
I feel the heavy hooves beating down
The stubborn mule never listened
And the steed chased but never found

The gift of life can give or take
Like corn in a drought mid harvest
Corn stalks can grow in numbers
Or growing hunger serves to starve us

So when the wind no longer howls
We will see the trees stop flailing
And when the eyes can see the road
We can trust the sailor sailing.

— The End —