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Tony Tweedy Jan 15
Over countless months by design,
a great firework he did make,
Constructed from lies and deceits,
and by turning all truths to fake.

Honest men of morals that believe,
that truth by righteousness will always win out,
By established rules and ethic as tools,
seek to quell the falsehoods shout.

They believe the pyrotechnician,
a fool of doubtful mind.
For they cannot see the plan he holds,
hidden by deceit of such evils kind.

Divided is the great citadel,
where once truth had walked without fear or care,
To become the protected sanctuary,
to the lies that now thrive in there.

He buys the time for his plan,
that has not altered not one bit.
While good men go on as before,
thinking they have hold of it.

All of this by his design,
since from too many days ago.
He has cast you all as characters,
in this his fatal show.

When martial law is imposed,
by the power you afford him still.
Remember that you had the chance to choose,
for truth's flag to fly steady upon the hill.
I hope for the worlds sake that I am wrong.
Written on the 14th of January after claims he doesn't support violence.... another lie.
VibeActivist Oct 2020
I see you in a way most people dream of;
pictures do no justice, words barely scrape the surface
with your eyes that makes me want to sin
undoubtedly beautiful beyond understanding
with smiles and laughs that brightens everyone around you
making it a sight never to be forgotten or unloved
with figures so tempting even the faithfull-ed can't resist
every curves, intersection and archs within you all divine
but mostly i am in love with you,
i am in love with the idea of you i've made of you over time
so i was you ways people dare not, loved you in ways people prayed for
to does who've experience loving an idea of someone you don't see them change but still miss that idea you made up
Alek Mielnikow Apr 2020
My palms in my pockets jingle
the keys to my cave as I make
my way to wherever I’m going.
My legs propel me, and my feet
dodge cast-off gum and dog dung.

And on my head rests a fishbowl.

An extra load on my skull,
but I don’t mind. I rather
like this bowl. It gives me
a barrier, and though thin,
the glass has yet to crack.

I hear my voice resound,
bouncing around the tiny
space, and I smell my breath,
minty fresh and foggy, and
through the fog the world and
its creatures are phantoms.

When I’m addressed, it’s like
floating in frigid freshwater
as they call for me from
the sheet of ice above.
They suspect I’ve lost
my soul in the fishbowl,
yet as year after year
goes by, I feel just fine.

I am an astronaut taking
a space walk, drifting around
and watching the universe
unfold under a sheet of glass.

And when I close my eyes,
I am in a womb, or a coffin,
and I often can’t tell the
difference, nor find much
of a reason to tell.


-
by Aleksander Mielnikow
If you want to hear me read this poem aloud, check out my Instagram @alekthepoet !
Damien Jan 2020
My love for you still runs strong
As strong as you are
As strong as I am

Love is psychotic
Especially my love for you
Maybe I'm insane
Maybe I'm naive
But I still love you

I miss you
I miss your smile
I miss your voice
And I miss your love
This one's for you... I miss you so much. Will we ever see each other again?
Debbie Lydon Nov 2019
I remember the way the world looked when I thought everyone was pure,
The hot air balloon of naivety was my only way up,
It felt safe then, when I remained unaware of other minds,
Then suddenly the red night battered down the doors, oh detestable colour!

Now my mind is tortured daily with nostalgia at each stair,
I love in vain and cry for all the shadows that cannot leave,
Their existence is essential and I didn't know that before,
But it's true when I say I lived in light, in the midst of that old nightmare.
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