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Knut Kalmund Jul 2020
In the aisle air lies the smell of honesty from filthy hands
Along lurks deceit in subtle stance
One evolved from hardly reaped beans
The other is sprayed by gloves in billious-green

And so they dance around the weary noses
Eager and revulsion awaited to be ****** in
One's scared of exposure
The other of sin

An illusionistic pas de deux
The people overly drained to grasp
And they never will

Or will they?
I will be waiting for the epiphany
Until the birds cease to fly
Mujen Suraj Apr 2020
I still remember
your odor.

You don't agree, but

That close
you were to me.
Jamison Bell May 2016
This world is dark wherein I roam,
often voiceless and all alone.
These things you think I cannot hear,
rest assured they're perfectly clear.

You see my friend there's something amiss,
and it's not unlike that very first kiss.
The event horizon breached by a meeting,
the most delightful of all the possible greetings.

Drifting and wading amongst so many souls,
aimlessly doubting they share the same goals.
Lamenting their woes and playing the fool,
never keeping in mind the golden rule.

It's in your nature to feel somewhat needed,
to serve a purpose many have pleaded.
To know that your death might bring them sorrow,
to know that sadness would visit their morrow.

Still though you stand there out in the rain,
thinking no others could know your pain.
Feeling alone and misunderstood,
I cannot help you I wish I could.

It is our tasks to wander this earth,
hoping and praying that time will give birth.
To a realization or an epiphany,
of knowing you are more than what you see.

The journey can **** and be rather daunting,
the spectre of loneliness forever haunting.
Fret not my friend upon looking you'll see,
there's to be no sorrow your will is free.

To love who you want with reckless abandon,
you may happen upon the right companion.
Someone who carest to ask about you,
to know of your fears or the size of your shoe.

Moments show up like scenes in a play,
some last for a while and some just a day.
Hold tight these firsts they may be your last,
before you join me as another outcast.
PJ Poesy Mar 2016
Smell it I do, then thought of you
Presence comes, in wafts rose powder
Sweet dust, pinching, untainted, true
Nana's essence, remembrance undo
Faith's instinct couldn't seem louder
Than rose powder, temperance's you

Heightened fragrance, blooming sense
No excess, bought at dime store counter
Perhaps to ward off onion's offense
Her pierogies, life's past tense
Empyrean staircase, she, soul mounter
Origen in belief, source whence
Rose powder thence, spiritual encounter
Loved her dearly, there seems nothing but goodness in that sweet dust. It tickles loving memories, and says "safe."

— The End —