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Matthew Roe Oct 2018
DNA and genetics strummed,
Note by Note,
with memories of how you
Danced them, the chosen ones,
through childhood,
on their own
stages
of grief and joy.
In a cinematic style,
for the soundtrack was intended to heighten the
emotion,
but ended up framing it as well as any photograph.

They are now stuck on the stage
of so-called postmodernism,
despite the dreams being the same as yesteryears.
A free festival of colours:
Psychedelic, Acidic, Neon and
Corporate non-prolific,
NEVERLAND, TAKE US!
they beg.

The courts' reading of this DNA,
will grind chords to cash.
Are you the parent that hits their child
For dancing the steps they themselves had laid out?

I' AM INNOCENT
The thief proclaims.
For notes belong to no one,
or the birds would be plucked feather by feather
and the whales carved in an Eastern market.
A child will copy it's parent.
As do the pub stage hopefuls reach for your hands.
About how artists and musicians will sue each other over supposedly stealing from each others songs. This is ridiculous, every artist has sounds that are similar to the artist which had inspired them, in the way a child looks like its parent.
Psychedelic/acid/neon/non-prolific refers to various stages and scenes from music history (60s psychedelic rock, 90s Acid House, 2007 New Rave and the commercialised pop of the 2010s).
This also reflects on music and it's impact on people, for instance, how a song can bring back memories.
Amanda Sep 2018
Riding the wave
Of life’s tidal flow
Inhaling the breath of ghosts
Infusing the inheritance
At your birth, they bestow
A map with life travelled signposts
veritas Jul 2018
i hail from heat, heat
in the heart and in the home, in the head and in the heel of the
sword that swings for both justice and action.
i inherit this love, this life and these virtues like heirlooms.
i inherit this boldness from you
i inherit the air of a highborn lady, while not without the humility of a low born daughter from you
i inherit gentle hands of craft into fists of rage and fire that melt away sorrows from you
i rise and fall, for from you
i breathe.
unspoken it was passed down, and yet it stirs and whispers to me in my bones of
ancient thought and force,
passed down from kin to kin, from one blood to another of
temperance and will
that flow like tradition—
a book written on age-old sandstone pressed eons below the earth,
text mapped in bloodlines over a body, not alone. never fading.
you bid me to rise from dust and ashes into the woman of your forging,
and so with a kiss between my brow for
farewell and fortune
i may live with your light tucked into my heart,
because my inheritance lives within me.
a belated mother's day gift, because i never really know what to give.
Anthony Mayfield Jun 2018
At the crossroads, I panicked.
I lost my mind.
Torn between fruitful and guile.
The desert before me,
Oasis behind me...

How can awake feel so tired?

Then the man came to me,
Said he’s been here before,
Now he just helps the lost souls.

The desert,
The oasis,
They’re both just a status of mind,
And must be let go.

I told the man he’s mistaken,
I’m not lost at all.
A way home is all I desire.
The desert’s my penance,
Oasis inheritance,
After my time on the pyre.

The man laughed at me.
Said this brings him back,
Reminds him of younger days.
The desert,
The oasis,
They’re both just creations,
Distractions from true-hearted stakes.

I know it’s hard.
And I know...

I know it’s not as it could be,
Living prerequisite destiny.
So shake your chains down,
And dust them off.

On your own sacred ground, be found,
And be lost no more.
Let it go and let it out.

Let it out.
Don't take the path of punishment just because it's easier.
Dean Russell May 2018
Look at you, wearing

My father's shirt
My mother's broach
My sister's skirt
My brother's boots
My grandfather's watch
My grandmother's kerchief

I can see you
Bringing forth a siege from your palace -
Robbing my family,
Relentless! while they offer
No fight.

I don't know where my voice came from.
Whose bones did I inherit and let rot?
Whose muscles bring strength then shrivel?
Whose heart beats and will beat the end?
Whose eyes carved from marble and dirt?

I can't find these answers
But I can see you,

Wealth

Stealing from me.
Steve Page May 2018
Neither Gentile nor Jew
neither captive nor free,
neither female nor male,
you're all Abram's seed,

all one in Jesus
to him you belong,
all promised heirs
equal parts of the song,

singing out, "Abba,"
childishly closer,
his Spirit within you
crying out, "Father".
Reading Galatians.  Powerful words.
Elicia Hurst Apr 2018
Know that,
in afterlife,
it is not a crime to be born
out of time,
waiting for
the end of an era
that never came—
soon enough for you.  

Are you seeing the immortal roots of the trees
you’ve planted springs ago,
in the garden that has outlived you?
Because I hear you in
the leaves’ rustling whispers:

All life returns to the ground,
but this is how you inherit the earth.
To Sylvia Plath, Vincent Van Gogh, Alexander Hamilton, Anne Frank, Martin Luther King Jr., and countless others that are not lost but gone before.

Feb 2018
DaSH the Hopeful Oct 2017
Tempestuous pestilence of manic depressive tendencies invested in a message cocked and loaded as a centerpiece

           Unfold it, if you will,

   The beast lives in these pages
  While the people all went home to their own separate cages
Locks become phones that never ring
  No bars but still encasing, these cells are in our genes
  
Its a prison of DNA strands unlocked with a paper key*
    Held firm by *words written within
the world awaits to see
You aren't what you are born into. You can sculpt yourself to become whatever you want and achieve artistic freedom.
fairyenby Jul 2017
I wonder who silenced you.

Who placed your soul in one hand and your voice in the other
and asked you to applaud. I wonder who made you feel small.
As if not yet conceived, your expression made redundant before
it had the chance to reach your lips- those barbed wire worms,  
a sealed suicide note, a tired mother’s eyes in the morning.
“Children should be seen and not heard”. Was it your father?
Did his gaze lock you in the corner and make you screech like the
boiled kettle on the hob? Did the water spill from your spout and
burn, was this the moment you learnt how to un-love yourself?  
To force a grin that buried tears when he said, “C’mon, give me
a smile”. To wrap your arms around his neck and envision  
tightening them until he lays limp in yours. I wonder if later, you
prayed for forgiveness for wanting to do so.  

I wonder who silenced you. And I can feel the shame on my skin
when I imagine it to be him. One who died in his chair and sat slumped
in saturation for days before they found him. One whose name may not be  
soaked in blame, one whose face, I have forgotten.  

I don’t remember Grandad. I wonder if you look like him.
January 2017
pH7 Apr 2017
(Is not a wealthy trust fund
it will be my bloods’ fund)

What must i do, this very moment
to set up my entire lineage
from feeling anger, empty,
incomplete.

the work i put into these Veins, today,
will flow through its course
for all generations
that precede and follow me
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