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Over the top to sail lips float
Oversweet travel in any sort
Two lips sway back and forth
Have lips we travel
Unravel-Hot lips Brazil
       *       *       *       *
Sugary-Syrupy the sky like
Our lips high
canopy travel shaky
Lips met her rivalry
Lips together acceptable

We travel up
Lips frown to fall
color* rich* never* to* be* frugal
First class lips diamond- coral

Forever my lips half open  
Traveling closed lips
       *       *       *
She walks and trips

Museum art
*       *       *       *
Our lips never part
Everyone needs a vacation even if we cannot smile to remember things raise your glass let your lips travel
Andy Chunn Jun 1
I know a place where words are bent
Their meaning will never be still
When you arrive and your time is all spent
You will have arrived at Dorchville

With Dorchville flandered the dumpkin kingfisher
In rocoroyal the flashblue fluger
Wasted the ibeniss of landers and hoofers
Ignored the stainbreath and dagcallers whimper

So willness of beurse the tamey from comey
And rolo ignorest may beechoff that vercove
The rosets draw sprigly from diurts so nosplay
And landers and hoofers now quacker and strutter
Zoe Mae Sep 2021
Where will we be when the last elephant falls
I'll still be in the room
You'll be down the hall
Let's keep pretending
life's never ending
when it's really the extinction of us all
Ryan Monroe Mar 2021
What if I fell?
What if I fell and never stopped?
Could I fall through time
Could I exist only within myself?
Then what would happen if I did stop?
Suspended in midair,
Would I find beauty or worthlessness?
Would I find life within my reach
Right then and there?
Or would I see that everything is nothing
That I am, yet I am not.
Am I trapped inside my skin?
Am I trapped in a prosthetic body,
A prosthetic society?
If I lay on the ground
And took a breath
Would the world breathe with me?
Could I become a piece of nature
Could I just simply be?
Why do I search for pointless meanings?
If I found the answers, would I be happy
Or even more alone?
Whys and what ifs cloud my head
The haze is a gentle push
To be more than it is that I am
I feel nothing, yet I feel every little thing
Why won't I accept?
Why do I swim in possibilities
That pull me back and forth?
Dancing around in numbness
Yet emotions sit right next to me
Entertaining the idea
That this is all that's left
Dali Nov 2020
Don't speak loudly
And listen to the ground
So much to say and a lot to do before we die
Would you even know a meaning or two
Of the meanings of life ?
The soul and the ground
They say shhhh
And listen to the old ones alive
They came along time ago from the ground
And they know how to walk on the grass
And how you should walk down and just watch the sky
Do you even know how to walk along the oceans
With your beloved wife?
I can see your soul tearing up by those eyes
Trying to speaks quietly but you just dont know how.
theghostofpoetry Oct 2020
Broken not spoken. Injured not healing for what have we done? This garden of ours where we wind away the hours amongst the roses has all but gone - for the world is broken, damaged and beyond repair as we all sit in our lair, of consumerism and capital divide.

Why can we not live as one? Instead we resort to bombs, collateral damage without any thought, for this war is never won. Oh COVID what have you done? You came along at the worse time a clear year for many without fear - now that has all but gone, the instigation of fear you bought with you that runs deep. Creating dividends that divide and not untie.

For the world is broken. Damaged and makes no sense. Did we ever learn to heal or does the war that has been raging still go on?

Now what have we done? Damaged you beyond belief and yet as we go one, no turning back to previous life. Instead earth you are punishing us. For damaging you throughout humankinds existent. But don't worry,

we created a broken world.
An observation on life, and the destruction by humankind on planet earth during a pandemic.
Is it just another perspective?
Or is it a much broader lie?
Is it what makes you fly into the sky?
Or is it that something that helps you through the night?

Is it just an expression of thoughts?
Is it just some feelings that you bought?
For someone, from someone?
Or is it everything that you sought?

Is it like writing your life script?
Or yet another piece of paper that you ripped?
Is it just some words you could gather?
Or is it out there forever,
Once you pieced those words together?

Is it just a combination of phrases and words?
Or is it expounding on a fairy tale that you heard?
Is it just a mysterious experience?
Or is it something more serious?

Is it an escape from this cruel world?
Or is it a declaration of truth with a banner unfurled?
Is it like God speaking through you?
Or is it always within you?
Maybe in different forms and styles,
Something that makes you stop and stay awhile?

Is it a catharsis of a tragedy?
Or something to help you keep steady?
Is it ever hostile?
Or does it always makes you smile?
What is poetry for you?
Do you always feel the words you write or always write the words you feel?
Not such a simple question at all, is it?

If you'd go through your poems again at different points of time or different phases of life, you may feel differently about it.

To quote Led Zeppelin's Stairway To Heaven -
"There's a sign on the wall
But she wants to be sure
'Cause you know sometimes words have two meanings"

So, how do you feel now?
Jay M Aug 2020
So used to the sorrow
One in the chamber
At all times
Cocked and ready
Barely standing
Hold steady
Stick the landing

Get back up and take another shot
Round after round
'Til it's burning hot
Slamming down to the ground
After hours, still not found

Digging up old memories
Pieces of the past
Hopefully the last

Page after page
Drop after drop
No rage
Still, make it stop
A balloon filling, ready to pop

Let it all go
Crumble to ashes
As it should have been
Years ago

What do you yearn?
A lesson to learn?
Letting it hide inside
Where your demons reside
They're living it up
While you're sitting by
Refusing to say goodbye

Wallin' alone
Breathing it in
The scent of misery
Of pain and relief
Stinging now, unforgiving
But stirring up forgotten brews
Only leaving clues

Burn it up
Break the glass
Let it all go
The past is the past
These pages are the last
Light it up
Get it out
Scatter the ashes
Heal the little slashes
And feed the flames until
The pain is long gone

Crawled my way out
From the depths of my own hell
I will scream and shout
That I'm still fighting
Because the pages and glass are gone
Doesn't mean it's over yet.

- Jay M
August 12th, 2020
I listened to the song "Addict" from Hazbin Hotel while writing this...
Anyway, I have some page Burning to do.
Kelsey Jul 2020
For a moment--
                         I was sad that he left me.

But then I realized--

                          It was I who left him.
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