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Em MacKenzie May 2017
Wind is whispering my name,
calling me back to the depths of the dark.
I'll be there all the same,
looking to play the part and make my mark.
With all pain I've felt,
it's time to finally set the stage.
Live with the cards that are dealt,
start a new chapter and turn the page.

My life is loneliness at best,
even when surrounded by another soul,
and that feeling crushes my chest,
I forgot the price but I paid the toll.
You're here, and I'm there, when close there's still distance,
feeling fear, it's only fair, at least it is in this instance.

My skin, my skin is cold as ice.
I'll jump in, and make the same mistake twice.
It's a sin, but the sin feels so nice.
Who will clip our wings?

The dark and ***** street,
the one I used to see as home,
they still greet my feet,
but different paths I seem to roam.
With all the pain I've seen,
it's time to now roll the credits.
But I ignored the picture on the screen,
or maybe I just wanted to forget it.

Your lips, your lips are paradise,
I'll jump in, and make the same mistake twice.
It's a sin, but I've never claimed to be Christ.
Who will clip our wings?
Jawad Apr 2017
When children play house
They are rehearsing
For real life, where their
Parents get to watch
And to correct their
‘mistakes’;
Not the children’s but
Their own!

             *Children imitate!
When kids play, we should watch and learn!
Zane Gorham Apr 2017
Some lack the intelligence to question.
Successfully saturated in meaningless pleasure.
Content with the everyday.
Is the answer found in ignorance?
In Bliss?
No, it is only constant escape.
A blindfold of euphoria.
The alpha enjoys life but never feels the need to understand fully.

In this new age there are those.
Those who bestow false titles on themselves.
Titles to distract for what they deem is personal happiness.

Happiness is a chemical distraction.
The avoidance of happiness lays bare the foundations of life.
Depression broadens the mind but overwhelms the individual.
Substance expands the mind.
New thoughts, new processes.
The key is not found in fungi.
Through it, the introduction to the question is bestowed.
Something simple written about the observations of an individual.
Amrita Brahmo Apr 2017
I took some time out today
To look at my mother-
Not the usual half-hearted gaze
When she's saying something
And I am drawn to the two unread
Notifications on that dizzying screen.
Or the stare that's marked by question or retort.

A real look, at the constellations
in the pupils of her eyes as they light up
With a story of her childhood.
Or a map of the lines on her face
As she smiles down at the coffee
I have bought for her, sipping with reverence,
Like ambrosia.

I stopped to take pictures of her,
Instead of seemingly interesting sights
Everywhere else. I paused to drink it in-
Her little frown as she reads silently,
The furrowed brow I've seen in pictures
Of me that have been surreptitiously captured
In a bookstore. I walked with her today,
instead of ahead or behind or even beside,
But somewhere else.

I took some time out today,
For all this time is worth
To really look,
At my mother.
Joshua Haines Apr 2017
The trees outside my neighbor's house
cover shame like my neighbor's blouse.
And the yard, oh my god, so perfect;
so, so, so suburban you could
stay safe, forever or however long it feels.

Her porch encloses her dying husband,
breathing out of a tank, or with a tank,
as if living with assistance is anything new.
And I think, well, I know she was once
married to a semi-famous musician;
some guy responsible for some important
'new sound' during the fifties'.

As the sun begins to sit, on this Virginia
horizon, I swear I am as lost as my neighbor,
digging around in her yard, trying to fix up
the place before darkness falls. I guess we all
are trying to fix stuff up before darkness falls.

The birds are chirping or screaming -- you decide --
under the coal dust sky, searching for something
but, probably, wandering around and around,
hoping that something makes sense or
presents itself. I don't know how birds work,
but this is where I say something; something
that we can all relate to. Something that really
hits the nail on the head. But life, like poetry
or teenage boys, or bloodied noses, or nonsensical
stares from that girl in 8th grade you regret being afraid of,
is unstable, meandering, even pointless. Oh so, disarmingly
  pointless.
Graff1980 Apr 2017
I was made for rivers of pain
Not plain crab but red grass
Smoked inside an appled colored flame
Dazzling while I dapple in the rain
Stained like church windows
Ready to crack before I crumble
Ready to rock before I rumble
Ready to bleed before I am humbled
Loneliness and uncertainty
Are spooks that keep ******* me
Ghosts that keep haunting me
Camouflaged and hunting me
Longing for the curves of her spine
To touch that thin line
That creases her smile
But I watch from a distance
Keep the memory of a dream
Keep the lie of what might have been
Add it to my repertoire
Stirring it in sweet saccharin
But bitter as black coffee
The same color of her luscious flesh
Another heaven that I haven’t touch yet
Another sorrow for the lack of
That makes pain in to artistic stuff
Jack Jenkins Apr 2017
Key
I find music in flowers
And poetry in the grass
Many lines, and notes
Stanzas and lyrics
Yet to be wrote
But I have yet to find
Good in people
Or love in their hearts
I have yet to find
The key to love's heart
Drunk poetry... woooooooooooo
during the day large cloud bands*
have drifted slowly toward
azure colored ranges
*beyond our village
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