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Are we 1,75m tall?
No, but we can do 10 pushups.

Do we get good grades?
No, but we try our best to learn.

Are spear ribs still our favourite food?
No, but we do eat.

Do we still play basketball?
No, but we do still swim.

Are we happy?
No, but we haven’t given up.

Do we still believe in humanity?
No, but we also haven’t lost hope.

Are we gonna cry right now?
No, but we will when you aren’t watching.
I can’t get myself to write lately
I overthink
All I have is my thoughts
Somehow connect all the wrong dots
I desperately desire to get it right
All I ever get is high as a kite
Lost motivation like a missing pet
Dreams haunted by a blurry silhouette
These ******* insecurities incessantly holding me back
Mind catapulted so hard it's finally starting to crack
It's lonely walking this nowhere road
Hieroglyphics in soul I can't seem to decode
Multiple eruptions happen within heart's beating rooms
Life is a tapestry of pain woven on fate's looms
The reflection staring from mirror is looking rather strange
I know that to reach peace something badly needs to change
But I have no clue what it is
Some days, in your life this time,
Seem so long, while others, are over, so fast,
Each day, is one piece of your puzzle,
Are the pieces coming together,
One rule you must always remember,
You can not go back, and relive your past.
Life, is like traveling down a highway,
Watching for places to appear, your mind,
Must always be open, to try new changes,
Often, by habit, not choice, you may feel,
Like you are always stuck in the rear, to advance,
You must have confidence, a, positive attitude, and effort,
Create new positive memories, for the future,
When you stop, and stare into your rear - view mirror.


                       The Original: Tom Maxwell © 08/05/2023 AD
I just raised the window shade,
As the darkness of night, fades away,
A gray and white sky, starts to appear,
As I tilt my head to look up high, are the clouds, far, or near.
It’s five thirty in the morning, the last Saturday,
In June of twenty, twenty five, the only sound,
An owl in the distance, and the ticking of seconds,
From a clock, counting down the time, I will be alive.
A peaceful view, the dominate color, is green, no movement,
Everything, so still, mother nature, creating another beautiful,
Peaceful scene. I’m at my shanty, on the east side of Shaubert’s,
Bridge, where it cross Maxwell’s creek, as it flows,
A southern direction, away, a quiet place, relaxing,
My soul, and mind, a very solitary, location, to connect with nature,
As many thoughts, come and drift away, why I was so,
Lucky to be in a place, many just dream of, every day.

                                          The original Tom Maxwell © 6/28/2025 AD
Vedo la luce di un lampione,
lì in fondo alla strada.

La vedo dal secondo piano. Dall'alto.

Non la voglio lasciar illuminare la strada da sola.
Non riesce molto bene. Non sembra serena.

La luce non è fioca, ma non è viva.

È gialla, ma uno di quei gialli che non sceglieresti
tra i pastelli colorati.

La strada che illumina è familiare,
ma non è amica.

Non deve esser molto contento quel lampione.

Vorrei potesse andarsene
da quella staticità.

Da quella strada.

Da quel nulla

///

I see the light of a street lamp,
there at the end of the street.

I see it from the second floor. From above.

I don't want to let it light the street by itself.

It doesn't work very well. It doesn't seem peaceful.

The light isn't dim, but it isn't bright.

It's yellow, but one of those yellows that you wouldn't choose
among colored crayons.

The street it lights is familiar,
but it isn't friendly.

That street lamp must not be very happy.

I wish it could go away
from that static.

From that street.

From that nothingness
Written by a kid looking out the window
Lui si atteggia da grande,
sembra che pensi, sempre,
si vede dalle sue espressioni
le idee che gli passano per la testa.

Il suo sguardo si muove veloce,
da destra, a sinistra, a destra ancora,
molto brutti e cattivi i suoi occhi,
solo un poco ingenui, liberi.

Forse ha paura, si vede,
ha le spalle alzate,
un po’ piegato in avanti,
con la testa bassa. Triste. Ma contento.

Ma all’improvviso si trasforma:
si muove come un prestigiatore,
le sopracciglia saltano come grilli,
e tante risate tra il barbone e il prete.

///

He acts like a grown-up,
he seems to be thinking, always,
you can see from his expressions
the ideas that pass through his head.

His gaze moves quickly,
from right, to left, to right again,
very ugly and evil his eyes,
just a little naive, free.

Maybe he is afraid, you can see it,
his shoulders are raised,
a little bent forward,
with his head down. Sad. But happy.

But suddenly he transforms:
he moves like a magician,
his eyebrows jump like crickets,
and lots of laughter between the ***** and the priest.
What beautiful creatures lives in this world
Windy winter day,
You walk alone in the white and gray.

I walk four paces far from you,
A ghost in the snow's fair ballet.

A bitter breeze blows from the west,
Interrupted by my wispy form.

Graces your rosy cheek,
And you turn to where the winds came from.

Squinting through the blinding snow,
You stare right at me.

And for a moment I think you know,
That I am here, a winter's ghost.
This is a letter I found sitting in a desk drawer of an old house in the Genesee river country. Or at least that's how it reads.
on a stage, guitars strumming a tune that
can only be hummed, for it has no verses
the songwriters, their tongues entwined,
joined as one, they can speak no words

but the crowd roars its favor,, sheds its de light, stomping and whooping it up, making
all the necessary noises, of two tongues, yes’m, entwining

kinda like a kissing, a little of hissing too,,
got its own rhythm, even the noises rhyming,
a rock n roll ballad with country western
mixed in, some say it sounds like Joan Baez
singing **** Jagger, or an Avett Brothers
serenade

words need tongues for formaytion,
tongues needed to speak, but absent
a common language,tongues do what
tongues do best,
intertwining, combining, licking,
making love noises that requires
two to be
heard
fulfilling
taste of two
blending
and we
though
silent
pronounce
ourselves
as one,
the loveliest
unspoken
vocabulary
Ariannah Oct 2024
Remember when everything was fine
Never thought about you being mine
When I had the courage to look in your eye
When it wasn't scary for us to spend time

Remember when I couldn't take the hint
I found out how you felt 'bout me
And the promises didnt turn out to be-
And then you came up looking at me

Looking at me, looking at me...
The hints..
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