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Àŧùl Feb 2020
You have been here to live,
Although just for few hours.
With me, you'll break the dawn,
You'll here come to thrive.

I invite you to my schön world,
Here, you would much enjoy.

Beckoning you towards itself,
This beautiful world of words,
It would be a physical reality,
These words will make me rich.

You'll be the catalyst of my deeds,
Oh, c'mon help me.

I have lived and lived again,
No God helped me.
Only parents were here for me,
When I lay in the death bed.

Don't be discouraged,
Desist judging me.

My potential I don't know,
This terrible destiny dumped me,
I so wish to change the world,
Correcting the mistakes of God.

Loneliness imprisoned me back then,
'Twas before you appeared on my horizon.

I forgot what happiness feels like,
You reintroduced me to it recently.
Gratefulness is ripe in my heart,
Like the sweet fruit of eternity.

You are the transcript of joy,
So I dub thee Transcription.
Schön is German for "beautiful"
My HP Poem #1824
©Atul Kaushal
TOD HOWARD HAWKS Feb 2020
AND WHAT OF DEATH?

And what of death? It is, of course,
inevitable, inexorable. It is the period
at the end of each one’s life sentence.
But the meaning of death can only begin
to be understood by what comes before
it:  one’s life. In the largest, possible
sense, death is meaningless, a neces-
sary afterthought, if that, to a life lived.
An euology, an epitaph wrap up death
neatly in a few words, a few lines, but
in so doing, unwittingly becomes an ani-
madversion to the one who has died. To
commemorate the deceased, we need
to sing the song of that life lived, a chorus,
if you will, of remembrances--birth, child-
hood, growing up, adulthood, perhaps
marriage and family, a career, joyous
times, times painful and sorrowful and thus
challenging, perhaps grandchildren,
acts of kindness and courage, acts of
atonement. Only a life lived and remem-
bered can give death any meaning.
Come, celebrate a life lived! Shovels
of dirt can wait.

Copyright 2020 Tod Howard Hawks
A graduate of Andover and Columbia College, Columbia University, Tod Howard Hawks has been a poet and human-rights advocate his entire adult life. He recently finished his novel, A CHILD FOR AMARANTH.
Ashley Clark May 2013
Ever so welcome beads of rain dance against my face as I run. Faster and faster, until I no longer hear your footsteps.
I look back for you through the trees.
My eyes darting frantically amongst the green wonderland of leaves.
I stop and remove the drenched hair slapped against my check.
Trying to calm my breath, I listen.
All I hear are heavy rain drops bombarding the earth.
Then, "C           
                R            S
                    ­A           N
                       C           A
                          K           P"
The thunder yells and we both scream.
Out you fly... eyes wide with excitement.
Together we rip through the trees as the wind and warm run carries us.
I feel your eyes upon me.
I already know what you're thinking.
I extend my arm as you grab my hands.
We share a stare,
I see a reflection of the adrenaline rush.
Giggling innocently we run as fast as our feet can carry us.
Our arms extended,
Our shirts rustling in the wind,
We are one with mother nature.
We are her daughters,
She binds us.
You will always be my sister.
A memory of my childhood best friend.
TheWitherChannel Jan 2020
The shadows of our lives
Cast on the walls
Whispers of passage
Unending echoes
Of our pointless drives
And vain egos
Lining the pockets
Of demagogues
And pretending
That anything goes
When the shadows
Dance on the sand
Fragile trails
Of days without end
They linger and twist
They bicker and turn,
And when the mist
Covers them all
The shadows are
The beginning
And the end
The ultimate bond
That ties us all
Into nothingness.

(Dec. 2018)
TheWitherChannel Jan 2020
I'm swimming through

The soft emptiness of sleep

And everything conspires

To get me out of it

(Feb. 2016)
Àŧùl Jan 2020
I break hearts in this journey
But I am not proud of being a vandal
And I do not do it wantonly
My HP Poem #1823
©Atul Kaushal
jonas Jan 2020
You chase your dreams
While I run far away from mine

I drag myself along by the neck to a state of delirium
Where all I can remember is the jolt from my subconscious if I start to slip into sleep
Dreams I cannot wake myself from lurk in the corners

Where foreign hands curse my skin again
And I scream myself raw.
Begging for help that never comes
Lost in the distortion of dreams.
January 30th, 2020
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