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At times we wonder why we aren't heard,
When we sing in silence...
Lines don't make poetry but the depth in those words.
Meera Oct 2018
All you see is a smile on her face
Or how she walks with elegance and grace
How her laughter echoes in the air
And how the wind moves her hair
You see her lips painted in red
You see the tiara placed on her head
You see everything she lets you see
But what you don’t see is the real ‘she’  
If you really want to see her, get closer
See her anxieties, strangled together
Look at her tears, she hides them better
Look at her soul, a withered flower
Close your eyes, if you want to see more
Can you see that pain, there is lot more
These criss-cross lines you feel on her arms
They are the traces, of her hidden scars
See there in the corner, her heart is lying
see it is bleeding, but not much crying
Listen to the secrets, she whispers in the dark
Hold her hand and you’ll feel a spark
Behind the surface there’s a lot to see
Deep in her eyes there’s a hidden mystery
A lot of mysteries are hidden behind the smile that she carries.
Esther Oct 2018
her eyes
were black
no trace of white around
and I always wondered
what they reflected
did they reflect her soul
her endless soul
full of mysteries
hidden in the depth
concealed by her
only for her to see
or were they a reflection
of what has been and
what will inevitably be
the beginning
and the end
of time

I lost myself
never to be found
EP Robles Sep 2018
THAT in my fever while sanity has escaped by baluster
i continue to gaze in daze across the sea of white-
capped madness

Each o-shaped mouth
Each Black-bead eye
and all the ears
     all the chins

  speak an infinite story of nothing but sadness.
And within the orchestral pit finely dressed musicians
they shed b-flat note tears; their mannequin powder-white
skin a color of pink's sunsetting murmur.

Simply, the true story is off stage toward this
improbable army audience; the finely carved polychrome
citizens start to move;  half-bodied and more alive
than the flesh-kingdom.

   Last night.  Last night i felt.  
That one's life can be as real as one's imagination
   if you sinerely wish it.

:: 08-23-2018 ::
wishing the reader to decide what it means for them
thepoeticwit Aug 2018
What is worth a writer's many words
When the ink holds your meaning like something
at the tip of your tongue?

When your eyes finally perceive
what your soul feels
and your ears hear
what your spirit receives

When you dwell
be it in high ground
or on low valley
When you look to the sky
or cast your face down to the ground.

You look longingly into eternity
awaiting something all worth more
that this.
Longing for meaning,
a reason to live
a reason why you breathe and do the things you do.

Longing for
Longing for

It is in the journey of a lifetime
that we realise
the hidden things

When the deep cries out to deeper waters;
When we look longingly
into the mysteries.

Thus it is in those
that our restlessness yields,
and we find peace despite calamity.

When we shall see even the face of God
who once dwelt with us.

What is worth a writer's many words
when the ink holds your meaning like something
at the tip of your tongue?
It is worth more than this,
that meaning be even found in this life
and moves beyond to something much greater
than this.
Dig deeper and look beyond.
A M Ryder Aug 2018
In the open air of a night still young, my imagination was let loose and the story I had to tell seized me.
Free was I to wander the dark and witness mysteries unfolding in the shadows that foretold the coming of the light.
Remembering that life is a remarkable adventure and that we're all just one ray away from being a sun to someone.
Emily Mitchell Mar 2018
Dreams flying like time
Through the skies of our mind's eye
Mysteries within...
2nd dream journal haiku
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