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Hao Nguyen Apr 2016
I, the humble poet,
who counsels anonymously,
is cursed with complexity:
seeking endlessly
for structured simplicity,
trekking tirelessly
through modern mediocrity,
and examining closely
at psychological obscurity
and sociological hypocrisy---
aiming to teach attentively
to those who read closely.
Hao Nguyen Apr 2016
Why is it easy
to casually disregard
the kind consequences
produced by
innate goodness,
that if a day may come
when a simple act
of honest, good will
would befall you,
that you would
so graciously accept.
Yet if provided
the opposite spectrum,
the few moments
of pain and betrayal,
would you assign
accountability to
the innocent majority?
Why is it that
when a good deed
is often performed, it is:
"Faith restored in humanity"?
As if we cynically
presume and accept
that the world is dark,
that all fathers abuse their sons,
that all mothers **** their daughters,
that all must fear at every second
as if good nature does not exist.
Do we take for granted
order and morality
up until misfortunate
consumes our souls?
Would it not be more appropriate
that amongst the immense
majority of good nature,
that a single occurrence
of negative circumstance
be dutifully deemed
a "Stain marked in humanity"?
I worry for those
whose perspectives
pervert and distort
the personal worlds
that there is a need
for faith to be restored.
Stella Cleere Mar 2016
The material was stretched tight
deep furrows in the red and black
pulled across your shoulder blades so severely
but you were all soft edges.
The blunt edge of a 2B pencil
gently shadowing in the crease
where stomach met hip bones
and warm.
It was lovingly done.
Lawan Mar 2016
Because there is nothing
worth the saying


talk-- talk


nearly everyone that talks--


Talks. About. Nothing
"why are you always quiet?"
"Because I have nothing to say. Don't take it the wrong way, I am being sincere."
NeroameeAlucard Mar 2016
My city has 4 sides and those sides have millions of people with two eyes and a nose and a brain that gives them the power to decide the future and look to the past for lessons but staring in the rear view mirror will cause you to miss blessings

Why are we so in denial when we're clearly unhappy. And then we're hesitant to change,
I swear we as humans (especially me) are all kinda twisted and demented
Spoken Word
NeroameeAlucard Mar 2016
The pressure to please
Is a CID, Creatively Induced disease
It hurts when you pour
Your heart and soul into your art
And the audience rejects it
It feels like a bullet tearing you apart

The self doubt sets in
"What did I do wrong? "
Can't they see what's within?"
"Am i losing my way? "
"Should I give up today? "

So to offset this problem be your own solution
Understand that you can't please everyone, and to try is a date with a mental institution
Just do what you love, and others will see the glow
Now when you've become great, all but you will know
I have left this marbled host of the future's tired, brilliant minds at a quarter to four in the morning.
I am still and bewitched from the latest spell of writer's mania. I have reached the highest point of the neighboring smokies.
It's advised that when descending from a hike, one should proceed with caution in order to avoid straining.
So I slowly observe the surroundings I have detached myself from for the past couple of hours. I line my psyche in a goldenrod shade of velvet.
Simultaneously comforted and stimulated.
The observational sky is inky, like the residue resting in between the lines on my finger tips.
The person striding next to me and I have made the conscious decision to enjoy the silence.
We step in unison, their gaze wanders, but their intent is fixed on the destination.
Uncalled for precipitation is falling in a quixotic manner. It is now three minutes past four and there are cardinals chirping.
I bid my companion from this stroll a goodnight. As the elevator closes they earnestly compliment the magnitude of my pupils.
I had been complaining about sleepless nights, but now I am being tucked into bed by the nocturnal kind's ways.
It is now twenty-seven minutes past four.
Maple Mathers Feb 2016
far too young

to
be
this
**OLD
(All poems original Copyright of Eva Denali Will © 2015, 2016)
Lawan Feb 2016
Gently painted on the evening sky
By a Hand, infinitely Divine.
The orange orb rests assuredly--
And of its supports to be seen, no vine.

Its reddish-yellow mixes sublimely with sky-blue--
Now it flickers clean-white, now golden-black--
A truly-- deeply fascinating view;
An arrow drawn to never miss its mark

I think it scrapes the epitome of beauty
Since it encompasses a beholder's eye
With a tolerable show of bubbling fury--
The sun-- setting behind the evening sky

In it I see-- a requiem for brighter days,
a regret written but well expunged;
a solemn oath for darker years,
and a replying breath before it is plunged
(In a sea of darkness)
I watched the sun set today.
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