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Marwan Baytie Jul 18
How on earth I end up with you
a question I bury in silence,
where answers decay.
How did I spend thirty-five minutes
trading my peace
for your poisoned lullaby?

How many times I should have left,
but stayed
each time a bruise
on the soul I pretend is whole.
Each moment,
a thread unraveling my name.

Deep purple sleep
where I float, numb,
ends nightmare.
Not with rest,
but with forgetting.

Thank God
for the wicked wake
the jolt, the break,
the moment truth
slices through the dream.
At last,
I breathe
alone.
Alive.
CE Uptain Jul 10
Life is but a moment, only time will tell
We live, we love, we pass on through
Memories are our only hope that we stay awhile
Deeds done well and things left undone, the struggle day to day
No one wants to be forgotten, no one wants to be left alone
We are here together for the time that we have
It’s what we do, what we say, how we live
Its love and family and what we make do
Our time is not long, the sun sets quickly
It is ours to stand in the light, all is gone within the dark
Fear not for love awaits, worry not for we are all with you
I did some wondering a while back.
I did not board the train this time
its whistle soft as a wish I once made
before learning the cost of arrival

There were other hands to hold,
small rooms to fill with quiet work,
a garden of dreams still waiting to bloom
in the soil I help tend each day

The map stretched wide with longing,
but I folded it neatly beside the bills,
between the unopened letters
and the list of things love asks us to carry

Not all journeys begin when the door opens.
Some begin when we choose to stay—
when we say: not yet,
with a voice that still believes in someday

Let the wind have its turn
Let the stars wait a little longer
What is meant for me
will find me walking—
with full hands,
and an open heart
Some things will only find you when you're not seeking them.
They prefer to find you.
Like happiness, like joy.
These feelings cannot be kept or stored away like some sentimental keepsakes.
Instead, they can be appreciated and cherished in every moment that they choose to arrive.

-Rhia Clay
Umbră a Nopții, te arată,
Ca un vis ce-i rupt din Rai,
Ce-n lumină ești scăldată,
Mă chemai cu dulce grai.

Mă-mbăt de-a ta ființă vie,
De râsul tău cu gust amar,
Ești dorul ce nu vrea să fie,
Și visul stins ce-aprinde jar.

Pășeai încet, cu glezna fină,
Cu trupul tău sculptat în foc,
Privirea ta, o vină plină
Ce arde gândul, pas cu loc.

Și-n urma ta, tăcerea plânge,
Sub pași de vis, sub stinsul dor,
Se frânge clipa, gându-nvinge,
Rămân doar umbre care mor.

Rămâi, icoană neuitată,
Din nopți cu lună și parfum,
O flacără nemângâiată,
Ce arde-n mine negru scrum.
With love, to my Heaven and Hell
L❤️
My mind is covered in scar tissue from too many years of pain, with wounds that keep reopening as the world shakes me and pulls at my hair.
Still, I look up and see beauty.
In the early morning, the light radiated with such brilliance that I felt certain I could glimpse heaven.
All I could do was absorb the moment and give thanks.
I’d endure 80 dark nights for a morning so bright.

-Rhia Clay
Veera Jun 28
Someday the glass will be half-empty
And you’d get happy about that,
Cause yesterday was not so grateful,
The future, well, has not yet passed.

To see a glass already is a victory  
When you were struggling to have a sip.
A wandering eye, obstructing vision lately,
Somehow is focused, fighting to see clear.  

There are no words that could describe it,
There is no person who could really tell.
The glass could be half full and empty,
At least it’s real to begin with for today.
My reinterpretation of the idiom "half full or half empty glass".
21.09.24
Nat Lipstadt Jun 10
flux.
a word whose very sound connotes its meaning, a sloshing state of change

a liquid moment,
for we solids,
of bone and flesh,

though
we may be islands of stolidity,
entrenched, focused, organized,
when the surround sounds
of change are all about
you too are
fluxed

the serenity of splendid isolation
is not an impervious shell,
close eyes, ears, nostrils, mouth
these liquid times we abode,
inescapable from the roller coaster of
crashing storms of our
environment

try as I might,
cannot recede into a
white sealed envelipe,
cannot secede from
the froth of current events,
in the age of no distances,
and the rotational revolution of
but one lever,
a single beating wing
can disrupt the
the supply and communication
channels of our normative existential machinations

let me retreat unto my poetry trance,
but that choice
is currently unavailable

be wary of the calm of routine,
we live in a time of
the olympics of change,
and we cannot walk
on water,
nor tread forever

flux.

the liquidity curse of our
ever curving intersections
The year of 2025
Madeon Jun 6
We’ve built our little world,
With sunsets and dreams,
Through ups and downs,
We’re stronger than we seem.
So let’s paint tomorrow,
With colors, bold and bright,
Chasing every moment,
Like the stars in the night.
I stood in silence, and though the world offered me no time, I stole some time, and I relished in the victory of the moment I had stolen.
It belonged to no one, save me.

-Rhia Clay
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