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M Solav Jul 2019
Mon âme,

C’est à toi que je m’adresse,
Toi mon âme, qui me tiens toujours en laisse,
Qui se plaît à me voir danser
D’un œil drôlement fatigué.

Tu m'auras trainé jusqu’ici
Pour ensuite me laisser faire;
Tu espérais de moi produit finit
Sans fournir matière première.

Parmi les cent pays de l'esprit,
Toi seul reconnait les frontières;
C'est toi-même qui les délimite
D'un air pourtant si fier.

Pourquoi donc à présent ces soupirs
Qui déterrent de vieux refrains?
Je n’attendais de toi rien de pire
Que de ne renoncer à ton propre bien.

Comme ce corps laissé à l’abandon,
Négligé durant tant d’années...
Si jamais il se dérobe de ses dons,
Est-ce par absence de ta volonté?

M'entends-tu, hélas, prêtes-tu oreille?
Es-tu de retour d’une quelque vacance?
Car sans toi rien n'est plus tout à fait pareil:
Et le monde se dénude ennuyé de tout son sens.

Ne me laisses pas m'isoler à relire ces mots écris
Sans qu’ensuite ta présence ne se ressente.
Laisse-toi croire en ces mensonges de l’esprit
Si pour te revoir tu exiges que l’on te mente.

Debout maintenant, debout mon seul maître!
Que résonne la sagesse que toi-seul nous confère.
Malgré les chaînes auxquelles tu nous auras fait naître,
Je suis moi esprit à jamais - ton seul et véritable frère.
Écrit en Décembre, 2018.
gabrielle andree Apr 2019
Frozen, completely still
White squares on the walls
You've seen a thousand times before
Innate, familiar, completely new
Emanated by blackness
Dusted over by disregard

The memories of garnered squares
Digested like a populous pit
Halting your pant
for an immense instant
                                                                                    
                                                                                                   Exhale.

Ignorance is the way to see them disguised
As white squares on the walls
You wish you could conveniently forget.
Simra Sadaf Jun 2018
your negligence
churns my lungs,
you were an uninvited
mess of malevolence,
how does one overcome
such unnerving experience?
Terry Collett Mar 2018
There are times,
my son,
when the loss of you
shoots home even more
than the darkest of days
in all kind of ways.

The look of you
that final time,
those tired eyes,
puffed jaw,
swollen hands and arms,
and the total betrayal
of the professional staff
with their lack of care
while stayed there.

The moment your heart
flat-lined, the world tipped
upside down,
you gone from us,
links cut, you dead
going around my head.

I could have said more
had I known, if I had that time
with you that day again,
I could have said
how much I loved you,
it's depth and strength,
but I didn't know
that death was near,
my son, my Stoic man,
my one so dead.
A father talks to his dead son
Your votes could have established dark powers over all control,
Such votes could have made the smallest part exceed the whole.
Only groundless clamoring’s do the protests approve,
Instead, now the power is ours to punish and to remove.
But now false gods and evil cast their wares and express,
Defending their own evil servants or their own rhetoric’s distress.
Oh that my powers of saving truth were not confined,
I’d show you how you are being forced to believe that evil is best for your mind,
Making an example out of every one of our kind.
Must I at length wield the sword of justice and then withdraw?
Ore the cursed effects of trying to confuse the law!
How ill our fates are by their blood thirsty scam.
Beware my people! Of the fury of a patient man.
The law is what patience requires, watch the law show her single face.
And don’t be content to depend purely on grace.
Oh yes, her words are always true with a glaring eye,
She can erase terror and she will never die.
By their own evil arts 'tis her righteousness decreed,
Those dire artificers of lies shall finally be the ones to bleed.
Against themselves their own witnesses will swear,
Till viper-like their sinister plot they themselves shall be ensnared.
For they **** from the nutrients of their own ****** gore
Which was always their principle of the evil long before.
With Belial and with Belzebub they themselves will fight,
Once comrades, now foes, even their foes shall do them right.
Do not doubt this event as felicitous mouths engage,
They tell lies and show only of their own brutal rage.
Then let them all take their own resisted course,
To Guantanamo to finally find their long deserved remorse.
But when they stand up all breathless late at night,
Let their guilt rise up in them with redoubled might.
For lawful is powerful and still is still superior all around.
Even when long driven back at length it must stand its ground.
They all took their oath and gave their solemn consent,
So there will be no appeals under this firmament.
Henceforth a series of new times shall begin,
Though many painful years in long procession has woefully ran.
Once more this nation will be restored,
And all other nations will know the law is our lord.
I rarely get political and I know it's a subject that can spark unwanted attention but can you believe the crap that is going on in our government? It's like a bad dream - all the lies - all the bickering. I learned a long time ago that the guilty one is always the one yelling the longest and the loudest. Personally I hope they put the whole bunch behind bars along with half of the media. Their all nuts.
Axion Prelude Jan 2018
The somber whispers of defeat haunt the wind; my skin reels at its chilling touch

Harmony concedes to an epithet of solemn solitude; it creeps within my very bones
tabitha Aug 2016
i have been habitually harboring my feelings
like an emotional pirate, storing my heart's hardware
protecting it from the scorch of sun rays, my chests against threats of rust
each ship a chasm of sea-sick, wayward memories that i must
keep safe

i sail the waters and dock the vessel in my own private bay,
far, far away -- uncharted waters. that's the most i will say.
then i hop to the next, neglecting to unload the former.
heaping chests of mine, glistening gems of a find....
they stay there, then i am...where?

i am a greedy, negligent pirate;
promising to be back and give my lonely pearls a place on the shore
then bolting to my next nearest ship because my quest is, well, unsure

most of my treasure, hunted and beaming,
desperate to be gazed upon
that comes from sitting in the dark too long.
i saw my very first diamond to revert back to coal;
there was no way to shine, and quite frankly
not enough pressure. no goal.
and then the occasional skeleton of
whichever soul decided (kindly) to play guardian
to the glimmer and gleam of my nostalgic, pristine
yet ****** up way to blow off some steam.

i do not let the guts of my love see daylight
i cannot let the world wear the veins of my blood money,
resting on their oblivious clavicles without the narrative, honey.
not until the ports are full, stacked, racked, labeled, categorized;
carefully prepared for a lifetime of timelessness
not a timeline of lifelessness
which is now what this is

i count down the days in my tummy-turned sleep
to when i find a new pleasure, other than
collecting treasure, and just leaving it in piles and heaps.
Äŧül May 2016
Tujhe laga jo ** ki hai tujhe mujhse pyaar,
Jaan, tujhe badi galatfehmi thi.
Tujhe laga jo ** ki hai mujhe tujhse pyaar,
Jaan, tujhe bada sahi laga.
Tujhe laga jo ** ki hona mera kuch nahin,
Jaan, tujhse badi koi buddhu nahin.

If you felt that you indeed loved me,
Baby, you're a girl so naïve,
If you had felt that I had loved you,
Baby, you felt just so true.
If you felt that I am just a sore loser,
Baby, none is dumber than you.

You're the dumbest – yeah you read it right,
For you got scared of an imaginary tempest,
You deserve for yourself not me but the best,
For you, the best is that fair bit less than me.

*Some sorry loser will be yours – I'm outta it!
The word 'galatfehmi' is Urdu for the English word 'misconception'.
My HP Poem #1079
©Atul Kaushal
TERRY REEVES Mar 2016
I'VE HEARD OF SHANGRILA - THEY SAY
THE HOTEL IS  NOT TOO FAR - JUST STROLL
IN, ORDER YOUR MEAL AND THEN I'LL
TELL YOU ABOUT THE DEAL : FIFTEEN
THOUSAND POUNDS FOR TEN PEOPLE,
SOUNDS A BIT STEEP AND I'LL ASSURE
YOU IT'S NOT AN ERROR - FROM SHARKS
FIN SOUP TO ABALONE, MUST BE BETTER
THAN HOME-ALONE OR IS IT? GROSS
OPULENCE FOR MOST OF US - ANY TRAVEL
PROBLEMS - WE'LL BUY THE BUS - A MERE
SNIP FOR MR. ABROMOVITCH - WE WOULDN'T
WANT TO QUEER HIS PITCH, PERHAPS IT'S
TIME TO PAUSE AWHILE, JUST TO SEE MY SICKLY SMILE.
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