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Chasing dreams like an adolescent need,
Feel the heat consume these city streets.
Moving forward, what is it that I see?
These summer nights that become memories.

Good times end before we see them begin,
Feel the thoughts cross of what could’ve been.
City lights shine on the glow that you know,
And you know it’s had you since way back when.

I’m not the same as I used to be,
In what I find the most comforting.
But I know the only thing I need,
You by my side on these city streets.

Shine your glow on me like moonlit beams,
Let me be your escape like a dream.
I’ll hold you tight till these stars collide,
Forever yours under city lights..
I’m not big into writing love poems, but I really like to capture the feel of moments. With this, I wanted to give it some life with an 80’s dance vibe and give the poem some rhythm.
Isa 5d
"Unfortunately, honey, the sunflowers still face the sun
and the rivers run toward the oceans.
Our neighbors do grow old,
and the clouds still make rain.
City lights pollute our sky's natural beauty
while we pollute our hearts in the same darkness.
So, you know, we stay pessimistic in a world that is quickly dying,
and we don't recognize things until they've disappeared.
We don't love enough for what little life we're given,
and we leave a scar once we're gone.

So, we must remember that the optimistic sun is made for the flowers,
and the rivers and ocean are but the same water.
Our neighbors see us grow too,
and the same clouds make rain for those sunflowers
just as we are made for each other.
To see each other and touch their hearts, too.
The hearts that fill up the dark.
The city will light our way home,
and the sky has stars in the dark.

It can go two ways, you see.
Do not forget the other side,
what we cannot see,
what we forget.
We are victims of this,
but the world is your oyster.
And your mind it is what you make it."
things i wish i didn't end up having to tell myself instead
Empty in African terms,
is a "coca cola glass bottle."
Strange to some,
but never strange to us.
I grew up as a child,
riding long journeys in something called a "chicken bus."

I knew about robots,
far before TV screens would show it.
But in African terms,
those robots are just traffic lights.

Green to go,
red to stop.
Amber the colour of chance in between,
and only a few would get what I mean.

I grew up speaking our common slang,
calling things a lot, by using the words "a span"
Making jokes with friends,
calling each other bra, calling another a *****.
"The rents",
meant I was referring to mom and dad of the family.

It's a wonder how I didn't fail English,
with all the made-up words we said.

Playing games in the mud,
by 5 o'clock refusing to bath.
As kids we didn't know much;
or anything close to real love.
The silly games we played on the street was all but enough.

Thinking of it back now,
the scars on my legs tell many a story.
And when I have children of my own, the memories I had,
I hope becomes apart of their African legacy.

Kids under the African sun,
how the simple times of life are long gone.
Reuben F Jun 12
Like the short-lived sunrise
My window refuses to show balloon,
I pass jarring time that pours
Looking at pictures in accompanied laughter...

Like a candytuft dies
My soul flourished a dancer in tune
To a touching sound that tours
Around an imaged and gaily passed chapter...
Jesus! The sweet burn of a heartbeat racing,
madly light-headed without a drop
passing lips that just
for want of a more sweaty term

inching to overdose with each reverie
while the colour drains from the now
a quick bump from a caught scent
or piqued memory

or a full on sofa session
pipe packed with young *****
(what dreams may come?)

the result’s the same:
unless you find today’s feast
you’ll atrophy on empty calories
of what was

#youhavepromptedme #flashedback #memory #nostalgia #youth
Owen Jun 6
Seeing the desert
reminds me
of things I wish would die
like memories
of love lost,
of fake friends,
and lies.

And yet the desert calls me
it's beautiful geology.
The sandy, rocky, dry heat,
the tumble ****,
the cool nights,
the Vegas lights,
the histories,
it hides.
sickophantic Jun 5
i take a step outside in the city of dust and bones.
the game it likes to play goes something like this:
every passage i uncover leads to a narrower one, and
each candle blown is a promise of darkness ahead.
it's a game of shells where my feet can never, ever
take me far enough before they outgrow my shoes.

the first rule of the game is to never stop walking.
the second rule is to keep your ears closed shut.

i wake up once more in the city of dust and bones.
where my eyes cannot be trusted; where my hands
don't quite do what they are supposed to be doing.
where, like beasts, we can only stand and watch
while the will of some ******* god is viciously carried out.
(by that, of course, i mean the same old game called

Power and Whoever Doesn't Have It;
the one with the never-ending shells. you would know it.)

in this city, my rotting city of dust and bones,
i am always irrational and stupid;
i am always the child who can't ever shut her mouth.
and here my head is turned all the way backwards:
nose always pointing towards the footprints i left
when shells turned into sand under my weight. and i wonder:

how far can my feet carry me before i know where i stand?
before the best thing about life are not its countless distractions?
some thoughts about leaving my hometown
Raven Feels Jun 5
DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, this is the reason I write;>

dark rainbow rays mirrored on a ferris wheel
a getaway car in an edged escape to night steal

neon lights shimmering to hit the blind
whisper the whistles for an old memory on kind

like music blasting from ages of dreamt youth
sirens delight a heaven to the soothe

instrumental of the better sometimes wilder
violins haven hearts of lost on minder

crowds beat in one
rockstar of a blast concert as if none

sweat painted down the back
shivering sensations never seem to black

a run for life from the poison killing attach
even when the loneliest matters or not without a match

heard before my days known in my mercury
just uranused with a flaw abroad the mild century

is it for a regret?
to keep this mere on an impossible met

yellow on the head
better hidden not said?

a smoking pulse on a midnight walk to anger
hair torn feet split on a single dancer

hell of a heartbreak on rhymes
driving on blades on knives

upon screams liberate a burning love rosed
rare nostalgia again miracled an incredulous indie overdosed

Josey Jun 4
The world feels strange, cold, and distant
a million miles away with no intent to stay
Th world feels cloudy, fuzzy, and intrusive
Aggravated and agitated
Tired and restless
moving too quick yet frustratingly slow
The heart beat of the earth comes and goes
Waves splash and retract
Building back together after falling apart
I stare vacantly at the ocean a piece of art
Emitting vibrations like ancient wind chimes
Reconstruction as my mind rewinds
It’s strange how your view of the world will shift and change
Molded to fit a standard that’s been prearranged
Strange how your values twist and contort
No longer a decision but a last resort
This is my first poem after not writing for a long time It’s about how as you get older the world feels less inviting and you feel more lost it’s about missing the security and innocence of childhood
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