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Bryce 2d
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.
Bummer Apr 21
I've been running, I've been hiding, I've been praying to stay alive,
I've been losing sleep and frost covered ground to the Ghosts of January

And they come knocking, they come crawling, they come hunting for my blood, They make the summer nights feel cold and drive fear straight through my bones.

I've been singing, I've been wishing, for you to pull my pain out with your teeth, but my frost-bitten fear goes deep, and the light of smile wont cause a thaw.

So I sit behind locked doors and scream a question with hopes of a response, pleading to a God I don't have faith in, and a mother who's lost her son.

"Is heaven still an option if I drown in my own blood,
if the crimson pouring from my wrists was a result of what I've done.
Is heaven still an option if I take away my sorrow,
will the ghosts of January haunt me if I take away tomorrow?"
i'm fine   :)
I can see it in mine, and yours too - the corners
of eyes and mouth sag, weighted by our slushy urban slog.
Unurbane, we melt into the night like Dali's clocks,
Counting, counting the minutes of loss.

Soon I'll look into the sun that cleans
every corner and highlights the dust,
and diamonds the snow, and delivers
from darkness my laden soul.

I bargain, beguile, beg for ten degrees
to turn disconsolate rain into sanguine snow.
So snow now,
               so we may play in the light of the darkest day.
annh Feb 27
At the edges of tomorrow,
At the margins of today,

At the dwindling of the light,
At the coming of the grey,

With the ebbing of the tide,
With the flowing of the stream,

On the border-line of sleep,
On the outskirts of my dreams,

On the brink of a departure,
On the cusp of a return,

At the extremities of Heaven,
At the limits of the earth,

That is where I find myself,
That is where I make my home.

'The greatest forces lie in the region of the uncomprehended.'
- George MacDonald
julianna Feb 4
January was the weirdest month
My life changed a little
It’s been good and better and great,
and bad in the middle.
Goodbye, January. It’s been so long since I’ve sat down to write. I guess I’ve been so preoccupied and not particularly inspired lately.
As brutal as a desert drought!
Baren lands, hungry crops and starving mouths.
31 days seems like 62.
A neverending nightmare.
It is a marauding scavenger.
Devouring all that cross its path.

It starts off good with a lot of hope.
Before reality dawns and the struggle begins.
Each new day we limp forward.
MissPine Jan 28
by: MissPine

Just as I thought in this time of year,
Astonished by the new day, I fear.
Nothing I could do, smile nor cry.
Unusual it is, seems that smile I'll try.
An endless vast scenery is where I am at.
Rigidly I calm as I cover my face with a hat.
Yearn for joy, I desire, for one day, I will be.
M Jan 24
as the rain keeps pouring,
she's still there thinking.
"will it be okay,
if i'll be gone everyday?".

she wipes her tears,
forming in her eyes.
as the rain keeps whishering,
"maybe, you're right".
Ritz Writes Jan 22
She enjoys her state of liberty like the moon enjoys when it shines at night.
Just like the wise owl, she observes and listens.
The voice that remains shut
The eyes that saw blood and tears;
And the heart; a storehouse of suppressed emotion ragging in pain
Bottling up for decade.
When Shiuli blooms as Autumn arrives, she finds her solace in hidden words, etched on her skin.
The embodiment of imperfections stitched together that makes her a human.
Midnight Story
a o karenin Jan 21
ten days into january
but my soul already
ache for the
softness and warmth of
december; to be cradled
again in his arms
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