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we walk through the garden
the one beside the house with the yellow door
watching the geese lay in their pond
then we look up at the night sky
gazing the wonders that are the stars
and you start singing
la vie en rose

the water ripples
you start skipping stones
the long grass brushed against our ankles
as if it were a cat, rubbing its head on us

the grass left a mark on my shoes
but it’s all right
because you left a mark on my heart.
There’s a mark on my back.
It’s a scar,
from days gone by.
A memory,
of long-lost faith.

I run my fingers over it,
slowly going up and down
in a pattern on my skin.
I count the ripples as I count my days,
silently waiting, hoping they will end.

Weeds grow out my body,
from seeds planted by destiny.
What created an upheaval to my skin,
will do the same for my mind.

Destiny will get us all in the end.
But all that they will remember,
are days gone by,
memories long gone,
and a back, torn apart.
Amanda Sep 11
Have a happy happy birthday Mark
You are very nice and smart
I hope your life is full of cheer
Not just today-but throughout the year!
To my co-worker
Nina Sep 2
I'll leave these mark
To show the other girls
That im yours
And you are mine
Even though we are nothing
But just friends

I'll make sure
Your other dates
Won't want you
As much as i want you
Not couples, but you are mine
mila splawska Aug 10
you changed my life in no time
and i'll never be the same
i miss you more than i
care to share  
and i want you every day
you are the stars in the night sky
when the rest of the world is dark
i like you, i love you, i need you
you've really left your mark
(on this heart of mine)
Ylzm Jun 7
Cain killed Abel, for Abel was favoured.
Losers need losers, for then nobody wins.
Rather a robber be king, and all be robbed.
The mark, a small price to despise the favoured.
Why Trump? Because *******! That’s why.
Ylzm May 19
constantly confessing sins
      never knowing forgiveness
like a man with a book
      but unable to read
or a fool hoarding gold
      and dying from hunger

enslaved to the pride of life
       the measure of men
of winning and success
      compelled to boast
the works of one's arms
      flaunting wit, or foolishness

but oblivious to the exposure
      of their nakedness and vulgarity
of pain and confusion
      of faith in their strength and wit
of the Mark of Man
      on their arms and foreheads

believing by strength of will
      what is given and not by works
the soul betraying the flesh
      in double mindedness and hypocrisy
seduced by free will
      but enslaved to another's will

but the further apart,
      the more fervent
to execute the command
      to impose commands
on their neighbours
       when the only command is love

by the measure they measure
      they are measured
for they have become
      the enemy they condemned
and judgement is just
      for evil judges evil
I remember you
I don’t know if you remember me
But I know I’m not really special

It actually kind of hurts
You left a huge mark on me
But you actually couldn’t give a crap
about me

Yes I’m hurt
No I don’t care
You have your reasons
And I respect that
I just wish I’d known
Sorry, this isn’t really a real poem...
Mark Upright Jun 2014
there is no perfect man,
there are the simple, the plain,
the whole of himself,
just so, contented in who he is,
needs not be, better than...

then he is on way to
upright, up and right
for the shades are clarified,
and those troublesome grays,
somehow have answers

his end is not peace,
his start, finish,
and all that is in between
one and the sane,
in simplicity comes
a joy of acceptance,
and therein is his path
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