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I rarely look at the night sky
Because one glance
And I would give you another chance
basically ur the night sky and im the bud of a follower tilting towards u
I am certain now and will write myself to death
After too many years perched upon that fence
Our time can only grow shorter
And I am ever more
Aware of that which comes for me

This then a dedication
Marking the end of so many things played at
And now finally and for all thrown on the altar

I am so terribly excited and yet still reluctant
Having long boyed with life noncommittal
What works will focus bring forth
A final buckling down
A last manning up

This then a declaration
A poet's life for me
I am learning from all of you.  Great thanks!
Bryce 6h
Is a breath,
Stuffed with coffee grind
Thirsting for milk
And never to suckle.

Is a thought,
A dream quickly awoken from;
And lost in the tenor of real,
Sighs from life

Is a light,
A shaft of gold
worth all the stars
And yet empty

Is a place,
With silent waves and screaming winds--
The ears, pierced with calculated air

Is a God,
Is a moment,
Is a place,
Is a thought,
Is a breath,

Is a time to give thanks to winter
And dance in the snow.

Is a time to kiss the trees and hug their leaves
And laugh
When their cackled, dehydrated ossicles
Ground to dust in our arms

Is a time to worship the sun between the planes of stone
And calculate the equinox online
With electrons and info

With a careful rasp
The next turn of the marble
Grates against the curve
And the Mancala track keeps what it has sown.
Come,
Wintre's blaze.
Burn my inferno dear,

Sweet, Sweet release,
From Summer's peace.

Firestorm follow my tendency,
To recluse, unwholly,
And leave myself behind.

Wither, wintre's faces beckon,
My heartfelt sorrow's near.

Tis' the season,
To hold my sanity,
Dear.
Death...
***** why are you so cruel
Why are you so cruel to the ones we love
If Only the good die young
I would rather be a Judas to life

Funny how the good die young
And the bad are destroyed
In the lake that beams with furnace
Funny how death made us think
There's no reward for being kind hearted

Instead we'll became
A victim to our fears and pains
A thousand died yesterday,
And more are yet to go
You don't know who's next
Why hid in a nest?

The poets pen is full of dark edges and thought
I was left to write the mystery of live alone,
But then i heard death interrupted
But ***** why???
I'm dedicating this poetry to a late friend, Adaku, She might not be a legend to be remembered but i will forever remember her for being a happy girl and for d smile she puts in everyone's face...
Minimalism is discipline, the aesthetic is often pure and sensual;
‘a simple joy’.
It strips the superfluous down to its essentials; it enables the viewer to contemplate the gaps and see the magic through simple repetition and gradual variation.

There is more room in our future when there’s less in it.

It’s the perfect setting for conversations to take place, a place for communication, a setting for subtle syncopation, a place to break free from convention, a place for abstract thought, a place where aesthetic simplicity and abstract complexity; in combination have the power to change the mood and physiology of both the creator and the viewer.
A space where human beings can change something with simple things, magical things.

By Pig-Man
Simplicity & complexity - A powerful combination.
Less is more, the space to create so much more
There’s a universe inside of you,
But I’m just a little star.
Once my light is out,
There'll be none of me.
You gaze, admired it, then you close your eyes to sleep. Only to wake for the Sun.
mc ish Oct 11
love is driving so fast, stopping feels going backwards
down the interstate up the other side of a town our parents warned us about
love is counting days and losing track of nights because this is all i know
love is cutting up your favorite t shirt because sometimes the extra weight on your shoulders is just too much
love is the song on the album you never gave a chance because it just rubbed you the wrong way
love is saying that this time will be better
love is watching a receipt get stepped on and over but not putting it out of its misery because it is not your job
love is why
not how or when or who
love is why
AvengingPoet Oct 10
Promise me this,
My breath is shaking,
An unwillingness to grieve,
One, two, three times,
Won’t get em’
No they won’t

Spirit of fairness
No we don’t have that
Cutthroat attitudes for a Pretty Penny
Morbid Grand Displays

Material world is unsanitary
My breath is shaking
An unwillingness to grieve
One, two, three times
Won’t get em’
No they won’t
Promise me this.
v Mar 28
closed be thy heart
and heaven's gate be closed in synchrony
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