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Danielle Jun 2018
Streaks of gray blot out my nothing.
Piano strokes key into the sound,
Key into my mind. Strings me along
With fevered pitches and staggering lows.
Till passed out in color I lie, drowning.
Vener Jun 2018
Ask first
before putting
your key
in my
backdoor





No trespassing.



thanks.
Welp. imsorry
Linus Stevenson Jun 2018
Let me tell you a story
Listen and learn
There was a Shepherd, a good Shepherd
Kind and loving, courageous and strong
He had 100 sheep
and the sheep loved the Shepherd
And so when one sheep wandered
The good Shepherd left the 99
And went after the one

And you might think you know this story
But I'm afraid it's not what you think
Because I am not the one...

I am one of the 99 left behind
Waiting for the Sheppard to return
Trapped by the walls of this fence
The posts and wooden planks
That contain us
Being lead by the very sheep that are
We walk in circles around the pen
Around and around... circles
Eating up the food we have
We begin to eat each other
And as demented as that sounds
It's true
Biting and gnawing
Bleeding and bruising
We turn to other sheep for nourishment
For truth... for guidance
But we are sheep all the same
Another one of the 99 left behind

Sheep is what we are
Be careful not to tater your fur
Careful not to tear or cut
To show the underneath
The skin that doesn't flatter but
Burns with the red of your hate
Your pride... Your sin

When will the Sheppard return
And open the fence
Lead to new grass
and water

There are sheep I've never seen before
Black sheep.
have you seen black sheep?
Yes sheep with spots but these sheep
They are black from head to toe
Their snouts are long and
they have sharp teeth
Strange that they have not hooves but paws
Appearing as wolves wearing sheeps clothing
They are mending the fence
The fence! It's broken!
Suddenly we realize we are not safe
Quickly, grab your hammer and nails!
Let us work with these black sheep...
to mend... the fence... around... us

Who built this fence?
Was it the Sheppard?
Cloudy as my memories be of the man
with the scars in his hands and side
This does not resemble his work
Who... built... these... walls?
These bars... This cell
With no key and a steeple?
Oh God, who built these walls?
No it wasn't the sheppard.
The walls he built had doors
And windows to let the light in
No... We have built these walls
The 99 left behind were not left...
We left.

We left the fence! The pasture!
The place of love and safety.

We are not the 99 left behind but the one
We are the one who wandered and strayed
And seeing that we were in territory unsafe
We built walls without doors
that trapped us inside... in darkness

Sheppard,
Search
Find us
Break down
These walls
Rebuild them
With windows
To let the Light in
Isabel Jun 2018
Far off in the corner,
I’m trapped,
Waiting for someone to free me of my unrelenting imagination,
Someone to free me of the cage I’ve built,
To free me of those glooming clouds darkening my days.

So long,
I’ve waited. 
Day after day,
Night after night.  

I pray,
I hope,
Someone has the key,
To free me from this cage.

People pass,
Keys dangling from their hands,
Sparing not one glance at me.

I scream,
I shout,
I bang on the walls,
Trying to bring them down.

Can they not hear me?
Can they not see,
this girl that’s left there in a corner,
Locked in a cage,
Waiting for the key?
Özcan Sh May 2018
Her heart was always closed
It was never opened
The lock in her heart was still closed
She waited for the right key owner
Many key owners tried to unlock the lock
Some tried to unlock the lock by force
But the lock was still locked
She is very patient and waiting for the right key
Because she knows that the key owner
Will forever protect the treasure in her heart.
George Krokos May 2018
You’re the light in the darkness that all creatures seek
and the light shinning in our hearts if therein we peek.
The key to that door though is of love, truth and grace
which only You can bestow allowing us into that place.
______
You = God. or a Perfect Master   From "The Quatrains" ongoing writings since the early '90's.
Gray Apr 2018
I hold a key in my pocket
My friends have a spare
And my family are the lock makers
I don't give it to people often
In fear of what they can do with access
To my brain
To my heart
To all the thoughts I bury deep inside
They gain my trust slow
Because I know what a boy
With an imperfect smile
And a spark in his eyes
Could do to a girl like me
A girl who's had to change the locks too many time to count.
BetTer PeoPLe
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