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The writing's on the wall
Though you couldn't always read it
But now that you know
The fate bestowed
Ask, do you truly need it?
plagiarizing/inspired by "A Question" by Robert Frost
~
She reads the flaxen paper on her wall,
sees its patterns,
touches them.

They project her confusion in cold chamber light.

Stained hands,
convoluted heartbeat,
she creeps into the wall's design.

"Hysteria every time she opens her mouth," said the doctor.
"Rest will cure her."

She is nostrum,
and not permitted
to participate in her own diagnosis.

A man decides how she is allowed to perceive
and speak about the world around her.

Next time you're alone, look quickly at the wallpaper.

Look for the patterns and lines and faces on the wall.

Look, if you can, for her, visible only
out of the corner of your eye...

~
D Fury Sep 11
A man should never put blame upon the shoulders of others,
To avoid responsibility for his own inadequacy.
mark soltero Sep 10
man was the first to preform suicide
natural born martyrs
too sick to bring themselves to eat their own filth
our strongest are easiest to fall
men were not made to survive
but sequential installments are in
follow suite in order to remain on top
in order to fall farther
i think they understand that all religion says that the earth is god, and man is his son

there are laws made by man, and laws made by nature...both can make us whole, and both can make us salt

salt of the earth - salt is white when dry, but when mixed in, it makes a whole without color

earth - ground
Peter B Sep 2
Where are the eyes
that never cried?
Where are the ears
that never bled?

Where are the hearts
that never broke?
Where are the mouth
that never screamed?

Where are the men
that never hurt?
Where is the woman
that never been sad?

Where is the hope
that never died?

Where are the eyes
that has never been blinded
by the light?

Where will we go
if there's no heaven
we can hide in?

Who will shelter us
if there's no shepherd
among the frightened hoard?

And when we reach the destiny,
who will be brave enough
to open the heavy door?
Dampness
Didn't allow
Burn in full flames
Smoulder smoke
Rising high
In the sky
Observed far and wide
There something
Burning so long
Never seen
That end before
Let's go
Let's see
What's up there
Oh, a life there
Entrapped
On an island
Turned miniscule
River stage
Rising fast
Clouds hitting
The mountain
Upstream
Bursting to vanish
Zoom mobile cam
Snap snap
Half naked
Dishevelled hair
Sunken cheeks
Sunken eyes
Protruding ***** teeth
Dark brown man
Help help helpline
Location sent
Photos sent
Army chopper
Brave army men
Lifted him
A bunch
Of damp twigs
Billowed much smoke
Dry wouldn't have been
Of much  use
Sluggish things
Not always bad
Bad habits
Sometimes do help
Smoking made
Light the twigs
And the Front Men
Saved a Last Man
Last man = Antyodaya man
This poem is about a poor man entrapped on a small island almost submerged in water due to flash flood in a river due to cloud burst on an upstream mountain. He could collect damp twigs and light smouldering smoke billowing fire signalling for help. Nearby people noticed unusual smoke and came to his help. He was rescued by the army with the help of a chopper.
He's close, so close and I'm running fast.
Every second he gets closer and I don't know how long I will last.
I look up ahead and focus on every step,
but I know I'm holding on by a thread.
Just as I get ready to give up and give in,
I see a tattered old BMW coming.
Her trunk is open and I take the cue;
I jump into this strangers BMW.
The man runs quick but we drive quicker,
riding into the evening sunset picture.
We drive a couple miles till we hit a small town
with a motel and the countryside all around.
The BMW stops and my driver steps out;
I crawl out from the trunk and jump on the ground.
My feet feel heavy and my legs are sore,
my head feels so much bigger than before.
I can't stand straight and I lean on the car,
but before I know it I'm heading down for the tar...
This is based off a dream I had that I just can't get out of my head and have been thinking about all day. Let me know if you want the continuation of the second part! :)
Raven Feels Aug 25
DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, happy day:}


a born man
is a free man
yet somehow
is living in slavery on a timed boiling pan
is a deaf slave to a throne of what can't do and what can
is a blind king on his throne to the people's command
is a mute reigning with silence to speak up to his land
is a ******* to stop chaos with one stand
is living in the darkest poles denying the sun's shake of hand
and with all that he is still a free man

                                                                ­     ------ravenfeels
Norman Crane Aug 17
when already in his mind
he'd dusted himself off like a rooster
run down the hotel stairs
gotten on the train
to quickly
escape from her
to where the black pepper grows

she, snuggling up to
him with both eyes firmly closed
had already built with them
a house
smelling of dinner
and fresh children
to which he'd just come running
up the stairs

(in reality
he and she had slept
together for the first time
and lying
keep silent about this precisely
in two foreign
mutually unknown
languages)
My translation of Polish poet Józef Baran's "On i ona"
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