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Seán Mac Falls May 2020

If I should die with a shunted echo hear me,
Lost fabled one, my paltry heart the snows,
The warmth rides of the chiding winter sun,
The melody and rustling in cantata leaves,

Whose strings of one, plaintive guitar, strung
By breaths birthing breaks, your tracing lips,
White birds, water wings miraculous, not so
Stunning as your steps float above the water,

I am nothing, less, you shine pure, most of all
More than any heart could tender, how could
An empty house, abridgment only, unhinging
Doors coursing reason hold the new day sun?

As flame was my doom, love hear my thesis—
Should I die, look for me in the loom chrysalis.
Arya Apr 2019
Look at all these people behind the window.
Now look at the same people with angry faces.
Finally, look at the people with no faces at all,
Those are the survivors out of them all.
Because when people tell them they're useless
And when people tell them they are ugly
Those are the people who hide their faces
Hoping not to upset us all.
But inside their lonely hearts
Are where all the feelings drift apart
It's where all their feelings start to break
And all their hearts, start to fall.
Shifa khan Aug 2018
Does pain resemble her?
Or she resemble pain?
A pretty little girl
Lost in the space of occupying thoughts
Made her mind into a powerful magnet with words of sorry
A magnet which ***** pain,
A magnet which never dies
The magnet which remains till the last breath of her life
And yet her soul shines bright giving no glance of pain,
But yet her pain doesn't have a way to go out of her
And yet she is beautiful.
Beautiful things occur in pain.
tompoet rwanda Jul 2018
grace is now my mate
happiness is now a habit
joy is now a must
i lived,i loved, i hated
i did the most ****
now it's time to change

i embrassed the wrong me
i bowed before the naive me
i failed to defeat the immersing her
i failed to change the fearful me
now it's time to change

i disrespected the blessed me,
i was meant untrustworthy,
i took my best friends for granted
i never had a thought about me
i was unkind and discarteous
now it's time to change.

i've heard a lot of unfamiliar voices
sounding like  a landing airplane
big bass of it's beat itching my ears
and i finally realized that
it was an alarm with severe ringings
saying that,
it's time to change.
Changes are now
Lora Lee Apr 2018
architectural mollusks
    are falloping through
                              my brain
                        squeezing past the
                         instincts that
        have kept me down
My instincts,
              once brittle sea stars
                          that splintered
                                    into cracked
                 are now mixed with
           the breathy liquid
        of squid,
lubrication for
the spiny paths ahead
They blow their ink
between my
inverted vertebrae
      injecting Jello into bone
                           busting through
                        fiber and tissue like
and all my muck
rises to the top
in a neon rawness
that I find beautiful

my burning crevices
will be cooled
fossils will turn to flesh
and, as sure as knowledge
springs into action
I will make
for the shoreline
like a cephalopod rocket
silky smooth
my fins spun into wings
touching magic
as they glide
It is time
sadgirl Sep 2017
you changed with
the winds,
and i

changed with
the seasons
but we

stayed intact
Kimberly Lore Apr 2017
The funny thing about change is
Most people fear it but
It's always been a big part of my life
I've moved over eleven times
I'm always pushing to try new
Food, new sports, meet new people
So I get extremely uncomfortable
When I'm stuck in the same place too long
I somehow missed this one, oops!
sunprincess Apr 2017
Hp's wonderful change
painting my world beautiful
like morning sunshine
kayla morrison Apr 2017
I used to throw away my old clothes.

I lost it all for 1 year.

Now I drive around with blankets & socks,
to give the homeless.
ju Apr 2017
My decisions grow, as moss grows. Slow, slow and unseen between the green-green of expected. My decisions grow, as moss grows. Quietly wild. Shallow threads clutched tight at the sheerness of possible- drinking light from the dark in order to thrive.

My decisions grow, as moss grows. Slow, slow and unseen. No branches, no forks, no watch-wait-and-see, just spores caught on a breeze when I need them.
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