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feh Mar 2021
i hold a little rectangular prism
i tap a few little boxes. each is insignificant
on it’s own
abcdefghijk
swirling lines and choppy symbols
intermix and interact and interchange
gaps reside between them. why?
a b c d e f g h i j k
doesn’t it appear a little clearer,
a little easier,
a little more elegant?
why are we so afraid of spaces?
why are we so afraid of solitude?
we place such value on human connection, and yet we often fail to see the value of human separation when we read between the lines.
Zywa Mar 2021
A polease is boss

of cycle and motocarr –


holding them with halt.
“Verkeersagent” (“Traffic policeman”, 1973, Cor Vaandrager)

Collection "Passage Passion"
Silence—the galactic language—
Enunciating exploding Stars,
A background to the dialect of Humans.
annh Mar 2021
I am not my words,
Nor am I the letters from which they are formed;
I am a beating drum,
A cacophony,
A riot keeping pace with mortal time;
Spinning order thriftily,
So as not to cheapen the divinely proclaimed language of the soul.

‘Wait without thought, for you are not ready for thought: So the darkness shall be the light, and the stillness the dancing.’
- T. S. Eliot
Raven Blue Mar 2021
Red Rose;
Blue Salvia;
Red Camellia;
Pink Carnation;
Red Chrysanthemum.
stephanie Mar 2021
we are all open books written in an old language
waiting for someone to come and translate
our story
our words.
be patient
the translator is coming.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

i was always an open book
just written in a dead language.
all the translators were wrong,
time and time again
until you came along.
i liked this theme so i wrote two
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