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Heyaless May 1
There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.
I have given myself a mean role and cannot now stop enacting it.
Oh if only I could get out! 
Trapped in a game inside my own skin. 
shackles of my isolation holding me back to conquer a living life .
Every day i woke up among a innocent world leaving my mask on the other side of a locked door .
This poem is actually referring to one person with multiple personality . He have to smile even though he doesn't want to , his responsibilities are getting havier day by day . He plays characters he's not
Ylzm Apr 25
You feel you are the only
But there are many, socially distanced:
Unseen and unknown, gifted but imprisoned;
For the time is not yet, but it tarries not:
In half a time and not the fullness thereof.
Today is not a strange day;
That day will be when two are agreed,
And heaven, the sun, moon and stars
Fall down and bow low to Man.
Poetic T Apr 21
It was my birthday, the year
   of a curse I never asked for..

         ****** from the temple
of solitude.

Now I just breath
that every 365 days I'm meant
                to celebrate the
incarceration of life..

Its overrated..

Blowing out memories,
       smouldering resentment
Inhaled when I've lived another
                   moment to the finish line..

Why is it taking so long..

Happy Birthday Day to me,
          I'm another year older
                       of my lame existence ...

I'm the candle burning out,
my breath smouldering as I
                   hold my chest..

Oh' well least I don't have to wait
another year..

My only regret...
                          I didn't get a slice of cake..
Amanda Apr 17
If we are a free country why does everything cost so much?

Society will not help those stuck in a cycle of poverty

The many cannot help themselves

So poor stay poor and the rich keep getting better

Cannot save the hungry or the homeless so we might as well save face

Mistaken for freedom is decision

We are given few choices to make us feel like we are in control but that power is just an illusion

It is a free country to the privileged and an imprisoned country to the impoverished
Just a few thoughts on America
TTodd Nov 2019
The squares define my view.
At the top, through spidery
    twisted lines and feathery layers
    is a blue meant for wings.

Midway is the boundary wall,
    slits of light, cracking,
    hot splintered knotholes.

The last is most worrisome.
I search, always, for a verdant spot,
    a softness, something beckoning,
    but all is parched bleak-brown.

And once again I ask --
    why do I keep looking down
    when up is the way out?

~ ~ ~
14 lines
All birds fly towards the north
When the weather goes to be hot
And fly towards the south
When the cold spreads the wings
And destroys all nests

Except my birds
They fly towards your heart
Asking, screaming and shouting
You are the worst spy
When they meet your birds
They sing a deathless song
Making every poor land converted to be kind
And the loosing mind returning his mind
The old trunk gets strong
Branches covering with colored and smart

The bees put their honey
Making me taste it as your honey
Love, that makes me in happy
All the world gets funny
And the birds dance with harmony
The fishes swim in circles
Making the water spreads atoms
All over the world, that makes the flies tends
Once the left and the right at once

The important my birds get wide
Not distance, but from my sight
And I will whisper at your beauty ear
I hate my birds as they go to yours
That is obvious for all viewers
But I wish to be with them by yours
the love changes every look and make one forgives all worst from his love. if the love governs the world the beauty will spread
Ian Jan 2019
A cold and shackled figure,
Hardly a husk of what once would be,
In the mirror it reflects a creature,
No human would ever care to see.

So distant from all other life,
The isolation has become a defense,
From the twisted world of the living,
So filled with overwhelming strife.

Standing solemn, eyes cast to the dirt,
Shackles secured firmly to the rock,
The birds surround his prison to mock,
The exiled being, and his surrender to suffering.

Alas, with frantic flapping they depart,
A gentle hand presses to the imprisoned heart,
The chains turn to sand and drop him free,
Eyes gazing up to his savior to be.

With stars for eyes, and the cosmos for hair,
How did his troubles turn her to care,
As she came down from her heavenly realm,
To bless such a meager, humble life?

He rose to his feet and without thought, mirrored her,
His hand, to her heart,
"This heart is yours, and yours to keep,
Hold it ever close and find love, limitless and deep."
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