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Do you hear the people sing?
A song of anarchy and rhyme

Do you see the people stand?
Fight for their rights, every time

Do you see them wave the flags?
The red and black they hold up so proudly

Do you see them stand so tall?
Speaking up, and singing loudly?
A poem every day
24/6/20

Listening to les miserables at 8 made me punk
I dreamed a dream - Les Miserables

There was a time when men were kind
When their voices were soft
And their words inviting
There was a time when love was blind
And the world was a song
And the song was exciting
There was a time
Then it all went wrong
I dreamed a dream in times gone by
When hope was high and life worth living
I dreamed, that love would never die
I dreamed that God would be forgiving
Then I was young and unafraid
And dreams were made and used and wasted
There was no ransom to be paid
No song unsung, no wine untasted
But the tigers come at night
With their voices soft as thunder
As they tear your hope apart
As they turn your dream to shame
He slept a summer by my side
He filled my days with endless wonder
He took my childhood in his stride
But he was gone when autumn came
And still I dream he'll come to me
That we will live the years together
But there are dreams that cannot be
And there are storms we cannot weather
I had a dream my life would be
So different from this hell I'm living
So different now from what it seemed
Now life has killed the dream
I dreamed
A poem every day.
29-01-2020

I'm too tired to write about you
I catched a glimpse of you,
Running through the moonlight.
You climbed the barricades again,
Because you fight day and night.

I didn't see your face that night,
But I know you looked beautiful.
And even though there's chaos here,
You made my world feel peaceful

I see you standing there, every day,
Waving the big red flag.
But you're so far ahead of it.
It's not the revolution, it's me, that you outdrag,

I see you fight here all the time,
And I get filled with pride.
So as long as we'll stand on the barricade together,
We don't have to hide.

You are my barricade boy,
And the revolution is ours.
And someday we'll fill the world,
With black and red flowers
Enjoltaire is OTP
I'm going to Paris in a few days,
Definetly going to Quartier Latin and then of course steal the mona Lisa and start a revolution
Let's get the barricade boys
Don't trust the baguette
A "poem" every day.
Neil Ang Sep 2018
There,
out in the darkness,
a fugitive running.
Running from God.

Did I write that? I don't think so, Maybe it was me. Wait, maybe I heard it somewhere.  

I sigh in frustration and look to the skies but I see nothing.
Just darkness. Not the total black, the absence of light brought on by the spinning of the sun, the darkness that signifies rest, rejuvenation ,
No. no, just a faint black, a charcoal blackish grey brought on by a fog;

I glance around but I have no clue where I am. The fog is too thick. I know that there's something beyond the fog. Um, big ball of fire burning in the sky. Sun. That's what it's called.

After forever, I see a path, a meandering, twisting path. Its bricks not yellow like Dorothy walked on but red. Wait, I can see the colour. Maybe this is the path I walk.It's a long trek but that's what I'll do. Trek. Lugubriously down the path. Flashes of gold before me, of red, of blue, of orange, of purple, of a colour I cannot name but seems like a blue green thing.

Sometimes I can catch them, sometimes I can't. Sometimes they form a picture. A face in front of me. A voice. A flash of lightning in a cold dank world. Rain, falls. I know rain. Rain, will make the flowers? Grow. No! not my words as well. Where do they come from? The weather grows darker, the fog grows thicker. I wish I remember how it all started. I close my eyes to think.

When I open my eyes, two little faces appear in front of me.  I know them? no, I don't. Wait, I do know them. They chirp something at me, like two little birds in a pod. Peas, peas in a pod. Peas don't squeak. Peas posit, no, peas don't talk at all they're not sentient. **** it, the fog is back. I look at them and smile. That's what you do when you see people don't you?

Now I see some people coming into the room! Big men! They'll steal from me! **** me! I have to defend myself!  Oh wait, one of them wears a face. I've seen a million times; it's so... familiar. I look across to the mirror in the bathroom. Oh, he wears some version of my face. But younger. With... well with better hair.

He growls at me, his voice booms and brings the room to a stand still. I still don't know what he says. The smaller one echoes. His voice slightly smaller, less boom-y. Boom-y, that's not a word.

There's a word for it, I, The words are there, in my head, like rays of sun bright, no sunlight, coming through the darkness. I wince at the thought of the heat burning my skin. But there's no heat. Just fog. Just that blasted, ****** fog. It came one day, out of the darkness chasing me down like I was fugitive. It never sleeps, it never eats, it never leaves. Just there. Why can't I see the sky. I remember what the sky was like. It was, green? no blue. The sky was blue.

My dreams are interrupted by the boom-squeakers. That's not a word is it? I used to be good at words, I used to write them in a book, for others to read, for others to write

The four faces are in full speed now, booming and squeaking and squeaking and booming. I nod at what they say, I still don't understand them. Something about school and class, something about work and money.

Suddenly I see her,  there's a fine one across the room, I open my mouth but no words come out. She's wearing blue is coming with something. Oh I remember this! Sweets! she must be coming with sweets. She's young and pretty, she knows my name. Wait, why does she know my name. A little too well, wait are we related? that would be bad. Oh no, she doesn't look like any of those around. Her rosy red lips move but I can't hear the words she must be saying. The fog always prevents that. She's brought me candy I think. In a little bowl too! Oo! that's nice. I used to love candy. I think I still do now?

I let my guard down! Oh no! they've got me! (Pop!) they've forced me to swallow something! I better spit it out! Spit! Spit! Spit! Oh wait, the darkness is coming, it's better than it normally is. I see the void and know it's time to rest. Maybe when I get up tomorrow, the fog will finally... clear.

As I teeter on the edge, I hear it. the voices. They're saying something. They say....

"Is Grandpa Grandpa today, Dad?"

"He'll be fine, son. sniff He'll... maybe. be ok. Some day."

"Maybe tomorrow he'll remember us?"

"Maybe tomorrow, now put on the music. He loved Les Mis, it was always his favourite."

"Don't go yet, Dad. Please... don't."

The world goes dark but its finally happened. The fog has cleared and I see the sky, just before the sun turns and it goes dark a final time.

Now I rest.
The first introductory bit is from "Stars" sung by Javert in the musical version of Les Miserables. I'm using a tiny bit of it here for a) its relevance on how this man feels like he's been chased like a fugitive by the fog and b) to represent the fact that he has somewhat forgotten that these are not his words, that his memories are blurring.  

Many people out there have a friend, or a loved one who is suffering from dementia. It's probably the worst punishment to have especially for this man who I've imagined to be a word-smith, perhaps a writer, of novels, perhaps dictionaries.

If you have a relative who's like that. Maybe go visit them one day, Maybe you can be the wind that pushes away the fog and they'll be able to see the sun someday.

Just maybe.
Kit Rose Jul 2016
The smell of gunpowder filled the atmosphere
Blood and sweat suffuses the pavements
I look at you
Out of the blue,
I knew what I was fighting for.

The deafening silence,
Is it really all for freedom?
What is it all for?
I'd like to think there is a reason why we are here.

I see you standing there,
I held your hand,
"I believe in you."
Suddenly, all is clear.
Riley R Jun 2015
My lips clash against a bottle mouth and
my mouth strangles a cigarette and
my teeth clamp down on a paint soaked brush and
my tongue taps my teeth in taunts against
your lover, The Cause and
I wonder if ever you will
tilt your angel face down from your pedestal
and command me tell you why,

my body is your mannequin to pose
though I'm not malleable enough for you,
my skin is yours to wear for a cloak
though it's too large and rough, oh Apollo,
my heart is yours to fill with bullet holes
and that at least might be to your liking,

and I'll bare my teeth in wolfish joy
as the guns blaze and
molten metal makes a home in my chest
and all I will feel is your hand in mine
your hand
your hand
your hand
Eiliv Advena May 2015
Enjolras lead the students
He lead them in the fight
There upon the barricades
They fought to get their rights

There upon the barricades
They fought without much chance
There upon the barricades
They fought to save their France

There upon the barricades
They fought to soon be free
They fought for a freedom
They could only dream to see

But the frightened people
Soon left their side
And there upon the barricades
All the students died

There upon the barricades
With a red flag in his hand
There upon the barricades
He made his final stand
Erin Hankemeier Apr 2014
"A Little Fall Of Rain
Will Make The Flowers Grow"
This quote is from the hit film Les Miserables. To my personal life, this quote has so much deep, indescribable meaning behind it. I ponder the meaning of these ten little words everyday.

Enjoy!
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