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Dexter Jun 15
one day i’ll be gone
my throat in death as hollow as my chest was in life
all thats left of me is the glaring absence of me
i am nothing if not consistent
i am nothing
except dreams of becoming something
i do not know how i will die
i do not care when i will die
i don’t want your tears
and although i fear being forgotten i don’t want to be remembered
all i ask for is forgiveness
if i have done no wrong by you
then i ask the world forgiveness
i ask human kind to find it in her heart to forgive if only out of pity
i ask myself for forgiveness
i’m sorry for opportunities missed
i’m sorry for days lost laying in bed
i’m sorry for canceling plans so often because my chest lights on fire at the idea of crowds
i’m sorry we never reached our full potential
i’m sorry for fleeting thoughts i never wrote down
i’m sorry you didnt get to change the world
then again,
how lovely it would be to be forgotten
for nothing would hurt more than being stabbed after death
when i cannot shield myself
my rotting corpse unknowing the horros the living are committing
a legacy no longer concerns me
i long to be forgotten
Legacy is such an odd word.
Something to keep you alive
When your life becomes blurred,
And you need the drive.
But no matter with what fortune you pay,
It’s still with the dead you lay.

My thoughts are with the dead,
For among them I will one day walk,
And yet I hope that once I’ve bled
The living will not be wrought with midday talk
And the tears will surely fall
And more than just the babies will bawl.

With the living I find delight in space,
Watching the star soaked sky,
And dancing around in lace.
But I know it is all a lie,
Because it is with the dead I will survive
It is with the dead where I will one day arrive.

My days among the dead are here,
With them I now belong.
Now that I am more than fear
I hope my life was strong.
I hope my legacy is enough
For my life to survive the tough.
Written in response to Robert Southey's "My Days Among the Dead are Past"
Hidden
in the echoes
of your footsteps, I walk,
obscured by your shifting shadow,
waiting.
Do you see me?
A M Ryder Jun 1
When all you have
Are memories

Who will
Remember you?
There was a street in Paris
where a woman sat playing her violin.
Many would pass and ignore,
others would pass and admire.

The music she played was painful
A blood-curding sound
that brought depression
Onto anyone who stops to listen.

It made men regret their lives,
and woman appreciate theirs.
A sound so horrid and disturbing
could only be heard up close.

The street was famous for one story.
A woman named Charnel.
Who played the violin to support
her husband and his way of life.

She played day in and day out.
Never making enough to please her husband.
In a drunken rage he pushed her,
out the window and onto the gravel sidewalk.

Stained red and black.
The sidewalk is walked apon but hundreds.
Men feeling regret and pain.
Woman feeling appreciation and love.

For the past 99 years
this street has become known
for male suicides.
And they continue to this day.
Tai Roberts May 22
I always wonder,
Why do we have to mess everything up?
Intelligence is the most beautiful and most terrible thing,
Because without intelligence we would be nothing,
And with it, we are the cause of destruction.

I always wonder,
Do we have another chance?
If we could change our ways, would we?
Or would we choose to carry out our lives with acts of cruelty?
Because as far as I can see,
It's easier to ignore the things that stand in plain sight.

I always wonder,
Are any of us innocent?
We don't blame the water when it kills something,
But we blame our kind for returning the favour.
Is that because we can feel pain?
Feel the burden of existence?

Now I wonder,
Is redemption even possible?
Because at the end of the world,
There won't be a second chance to offer us comfort,
And we will cease to exist,
With a stain on our infinite legacy.
A short poem on change, chances and legacies.
Ameilia Lewis May 16
Tick Tock
Seconds go by
The timer will reach zero
But the clock will keep ticking

Tick Tock
Years go by
The clock will stop
But time will go on

Are we the timer or the clock
Or can we be both?
When we’re gone time will go on
But will our legacies as well?
Time is Endless...  Are We?
is this it?
the life we were promised?
we look past the present, we say that we're honest
is this it?
the great romance novel?
a happy ending sappy ending a villain who's awful?
is this it?
our legacy? our time?
the hate the love the good the bad the justice and the crime?
if this is it
where did our time go?
fast and then slow, fast, slow, fast, slow
is this it?
To those who are gone.
We’ll carry your legacy.
To honor your life.
Regina Fable May 4
I reach back through memory and mortality
To inspire that which I am to become
Exciting the bones of my ancestors
Their feathers of black and red and white
The golden rays of dead and declining stars
Deflecting off the face of the moon
"Is life still real if it echoed?"
"Yeeess," they exhale from eons past.
The first and only answer to an ageless urge
Stretching to me, through me
Filling the unfathomable empty
With intimacy and evidence
New issues to nurture
Most seeds remain in the shadows
Dreaming of a shift in the design
Stardust progressing toward potential
Again and again and again
And again the bond is broken
And refashioned
I am remembered
In unsettled frenzy, my soul awakens
Setting alight my future
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