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Àŧùl Feb 2017
The right eye I avoid blinkin',
There is a new irritant therein,
But harmless compared to the killer,
The killer roamin' here an' there,
Thousands of faces she always had,
And she dons one or the other,
Kills by the name of the lover.
My HP Poem #1415
©Atul Kaushal
My romantic mood turns into sweetness and roses
Suddenly,my sweetheart I just feel in love with love
Life opens up for me blooming with many chances
I find you all around me and on me over and above  

What romantic atmosphere prevails in your presence
What I see I can't explain in words my sweet beloved
I am surrounded all around by your essence ,fragrance
I feel as if I am to take champagne by opening its lid

Come bloom with me in  the spring like a beautiful rose
Let us conquer this world hand in hand till last moment
Let us be frank and straightforward to assault to bulldoze
Le us take the straight path to leave our eternal imprint

Col Muhammad Khalid Khan
Copyright 2017 Golden Glow
Jack Jenkins Oct 2016
You can put many things into mini fridges
You can put mini fridges into many things
But you can't put mini fridges into mini things
**** you can put mini things into mini fridges
A light, whimsical poem for my dark mood. :)
Samantha Aug 2016
can I have a single moment to breathe
before the floor is ripped form beneath me
like a rug from under the table
once sturdy now turn on its side
I cannot carry much weight or else I break in two
and you don't need something that's broken
you need a whole object
permanence is key but I am not that
a mere shadow of something that once stood so strong
I crack under the slightest touch
so don't run your fingers on my arms because I will bruise
the ghost of your breath leaves burns
and all at once I splinter down the middle
without rhyme or reason you hurt me
snap me in half so that you can use my now sharp edges to harm yourself
don't take me down your rabbit hole
because once there it may become my own
I wish to inhale the fresh air, feel the wind inside my lungs
not the rotting stench of the girl I once was
do not praise yourself for breaking me
I will find a way to glue myself together
dramatic
In many short years
we’ll know we were sweet and naive.
We’ll think about the things we thought,
our understated predictions
our dinner table conversations.
There were floaters
in our oracle’s eyes.
It will not be the now
that we know.

As what happens to us
disappears
like the sound of an engine
in the fog,
moving away.

In many short years
Auschwitz has a café.
After the tour
all the waitresses
come from the kitchen
uniformed
to sing to you
on your birthday.


In many short years
they’ll build on Chernobyl
and Fukushima will be an oasis.
There’ll be fields of bodies
fertilising strawberries
for other countries.

-

We’ve got no memory.
Horrors aren’t like happiness
they lose their impact
with every sharing
and every listen.

Will you be there?
In the next big thing.
Think of that.
How much faster everything’s destroyed
than it’s made.
Think of what work your life took

Wrong gods appear again.
As always a side will be picked for you.
As always the goals are your own.

And the answers are more questions,
homophones,
the same lessons
and still they’ll bomb playgrounds
built on bomb sites.


-

Then the next big thing.
Your entropy,
that starts and ends in fire.
The wolf
from another wood and paper town.
The flames on your monuments
and shopfronts
caught on divine wind
and a scent for sin.

Most now know
they’ve never been scared before.
Things you never thought could alight
prove you wrong.
The air stings and follows
and the clouds finally become too much for the sun.

Your heartbeat’s afterlife
is someone else’s tutting.

Unread letters,
guitars and bars with history,
family traditions
and the weight of her hand,
thumb hooked to the belt loop
of your jeans

are now one weather formation.

And under all
is flat and yellow
like an African morning.

Is it angels or great bats
which have given you
your turn?
storm siren Jul 2016
Let me entirely clear,
As clear as crystal,
As clear as the sky
On a summer's day.

It has come to my attention
That I was a fraud,
Just as you were.

I have recently realized,
It was never you I loved.
It was your potential.
Who you could become.
Who I thought you were.

And now going over it all in my head,
I realized I fell for sweet nothings,
And soft tones,
And ginger touches,
And brash conversations
About politics
Where you were just agreeing
To appease me.

And I am still a firm believer
That you can love someone
Because of their flaws,
Not despite them,
Because that is true love in itself.

But I did not love your flaws.
I feared them. All of them.

And in hindsight
I regret
Confessing my soulmate philosophy.
And explaining the red strings of fate,
And telling you of my synesthesia and demisexuality.

Because my being demisexual made you feel special.
You aren't, by the way.

And you used,
Almost constantly,
My synesthesia against me.
Even when I told you
"It is not an ability,
Nor a power.
I cannot read minds."

I also told you
"It is not a party trick."

And you pressured me into using it for the latter
Due to your selfish desire
To use my as a ploy and a conversation piece,
Among other things.

I never loved you.
No,
I loved who I thought you were.

Because you are not good,
Nor kind,
Nor gentle,
And no where near loyal.

You are selfish
And cruel.

Judgmental glances
And cruel tones,
Harsh words,
And selfish intentions
Made up our relationship.

Your mother wrote
Upon her wall
What love is.

1 Corinthians 13:4-8

It was literally written on the wall.

And we weren't any of that for each other.

If they had heard your words,
And if I had seen my own actions,
All would have known from the start
That we were toxic.

So keep fooling the world,
I'm going to be
A better me.

And upon these feelings for a Bluebird
Born under Mercury,
And the light of the star Spica,
I have come to see
The fear I have
For falling for anyone.

But maybe it's a risk
I'll be willing to take,
The closer I get,
The more sure I feel.
The ire of some men is too easily earned, and at that point is the point you should realize that you have grown beyond them, and maybe running as far from them as you can would be smart. Thank God for the other variety.
Spenser Bennett May 2016
Wind laughs low tonight
Flays skin to the blood marrow
Keep listening, smile
The wind beats against my window in the night, seemingly mocking, seemingly spiteful, full of love, and infinitely caring all at once and then not at all.
Emily Chambers May 2016
My heart goes out to many
My heart goes out to few
To friends who have my back
To the one I saved for you

Many think we have one heart
But I find that to be untrue
For I love the ones around me
As much as I love you

Some think I over exaggerate
When I yell out "I love you"
To a stranger, an acquaintance I just met
But they deserve love, too

So understand this heart of mine
In the many pieces you see
Is not broken, no,
But used, to share with many

The many are the ones I just met
The few are the ones I hold dear
If the many give it back to me
Then I give more to the few
D Lowell Wilder May 2016
Chant with me. The words. Mea
Culpa. I am sorry it’s almost always
English.  Je suis desolee.
But, the Power
of our club is your language and mine are blood kin.
I may not understand your meaning, but if you’re writing:
I will get your Drift.
Always moved and grateful that so many writers share their work here.  Thank you!
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