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Aishah Apr 2019
I had issues, dear,
I had them too.
I confronted them.
The comfort too.
I felt the issues,
I let them fall.
Calls from the future,
I took the call.

There is the part,
they won’t tell.
The part where I fell,
stood up,
stumbled,
fell.

Calls from the pain yes,
pain does not show.
You feel it right here,
In each ****** bone.

And when it crumbles,
it crumbles hard.
Believe it’s sharp,
A glass, a shard.

When the pain calls
The issues answer.
Where is she?
Who is she
now?
And does she miss me?
Issues may ask

Within those issues
we find new desires.
And let ourselves graft,
help yourself
craft
a desire to breathe,
To live,
to see.
Uncomfortable, yet
as fresh as the sea.

When the pain calls
The issues answer.
Where is she?
Who is she
now?
And does she miss me?
Issues may ask

I’m taking no calls,
that was my last.
No longer docked,
The seas are too vast.
dadens Apr 2019
from the crack of the door that is closing
i observe your new love blossom

until now i've only known you as two things:
my lover and an utter stranger

i never knew you as you loved another
and i wish i never had to

so with great pain i must shut this door
and wish you farewell
Fullfreddo May 2015
~


not a fan of reality TV,
plenty of "unreal" episodes
of my own direction stored,
available for further review
in the storage units of
neuronic black and white prison brain cells

which is why I have free~will chosen
to enumerate my poem~videos;
for easy retreat retrieval resurrection
of the travelogue of mind own insurrections

a garage of mobility devices,
car, rollerblades, cross country skis plus,
a potpourri of escape methodologies
that by definition are all round trippers,
returned to their storage unit after use

and I count them Noah~like,
two by two, as they come on board,
and when they disembark for days of
rest and recreation


this one, #4,
is born
among headstones,
just anther memory storage unit
specialized,
flag decorated,
but different

This is a one-way,
no return,
unit

but
it can be viewed at anytime
by those who care to be users,
by speaking this:

Read to me poem number four,
on a day we celebrate,
about free men of every color and persuasion,
who are calling out to
open the door to storage unit four,
so we to can perform
our once-a-year
Tour of Duty
to the those who called,
and answered with limb and love,
for by their glory,
we are
free too


to remember in any way we choose



~
memories of a veterans parade,
on a May Memorial Day
Esther L Krenzin Mar 2019
Claw apart my flesh
to reveal a bleeding heart
Peel me open
to show what is falling apart
Stoked flame burns
brighter than trampled coals
Turn me to ashes
to crumbling charcoal
Once drowning
now buried in storms
A star shines brighter
fractured light reformed.

-Esther L. Krenzin-
-Roguesong-
Esther L Krenzin Mar 2019
Why is it so hard to breathe
with feet planted on dry land?
What chains itself tight in
our throats?
Can you flee until your limbs
snap?
Can you run from the raindrops
before they fall?
Maybe one day the sun will shine
on a candid smile
Maybe on day we won't feel as if we
are tossed about in dark waters
And maybe, one day, we will feel at home
on dry land.

-Esther L. Krenzin-
-Roguesong-
This earth is such a foreign yet familiar place.
Esther L Krenzin Apr 2019
I promise its okay to let your head hang low
some trees have to bend
so they do not break
We are human
and our chins cannot stay up
forever
And Dear One
you are precious
do not let them fill you with the ache
they too are feeling
Remember that you have to fall
before you can rise.

-Esther L. Krenzin-
-Roguesong-
It is okay to break down. It is okay to not get back up immediately.
DM00 Apr 2019
Before a breath in, it is there—
muggy, swampy, heavenly.
Before a barefoot step outside, sweat folds
into the skin and won’t let go

that time they write about
is upon us.
Consider this the preface
to a 19th summer.

Where you sneak around
drinking sub-par humid beer,
stolen from the forgotten bucket left outside.
The June when you finally get to see
what all the fuss is about—
a sweaty push and pull you’ve wondered about
for years.

Freedom is before you,
released from the shackles of high school,
from a love that came too quickly,
and refused to leave.

get on that train,
into that car that you can finally touch;
do things with that boy you don’t love.

Home has never felt more like home
than when you’re on the porch,
venturing into a midnight
that is dripping with warmth
and the knowledge that never again
could you feel this young
and this old.
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