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Rowan S 5h
The mist filled gaps
Of my mind
Leave small open doors
Count down slowly
      And slip
1943 10h
my eyes sees the light
my eyes is the light
the light emerges from inside of me
the light is my soul
my soul is the temple
the temple is where the light resides
the light is god
god is me
we are one
In one look
he had captured
her heart forever.

Reincarnation so good might it seemed
People outlived their old lives
They rejoice to relish their thousand lives
But they are not bound to suspect the greatest thing
To live only one life to love you
jas 3d
my life has been ripped to shreds
my heart has been ripped apart
instead of living
I want to be dead

I want to be rid
of all this guilt

you don't understand
how I feel this way
it's comprised
and you're the delay

I've been broken
and beaten
to the core

its been years
I kicked you out the door

yet you're still here
haunting me
I can't find a way to breathe
can you believe
all of the damage you've caused me
in this lifetime

must be a record
when I put it together
if it's not me it's her
I've been hurting too long
been put in the wrong
and it's just too much

can't believe you ripped me to shreds
into tiny pieces
I let you lead me on
all along
so my mistake
wouldn't have it any other way
I'm already gone

ripped into pieces
none of me is decent
that's left

youtube instrumental love hate hurt shred ripped apart left no yes hard
They always say you can remember where you where the day when someone famous passes away  
I remember the day
Elvis Presley died It was about 8 pm I sat eating a fish and chip
When It was announced
by Tony prince radio DJ simply said Elvis Is dead
he like me was a big fan
at that time Elvis was my life
Every a new album that was released I was there
to buy so much a part of my life
I was saving money
to go to America to see a live performance but sadly that never did happen
But when that announcement came on the radio It was If light had gone from life It really
was the day the music
But even today when I play Elvis records or watch his
recorded live performances he still has the same Impact he could draw you to
he was  magnetic don't believe or ever will be another the likes of him we will never see  again a true great
My personal take a truly great performer my opinion the best there's ever been the likes we'll never see again
Liam 5d
Thank you Mom, thank you pop
You raised me to be strong, you taught me to be kind
Thank you Aunty, thank you Uncle
You encouraged a young boy’s inquisitive mind
And thank you no one, for from you I learned the rest
For when it’s only you, you’re put to a grueling test
Left alone I realized that God was not for me
But that I longed for a people, my own community.
In a space so dominated by what you all thought,
I wasn’t supposed to be.
A small boy full of fun and creativity
A young man full of angst and anxiety
A creature who just longs to be free
So thank you school, you told me I could be anything
It’s a shame you lied to me
I achieved by myself, a personality
Incomplete but full of joy that was slowly robbed from me
An adult with only ideas of what he should even be
No concrete facts just examples and advice
“Get a solid job, then everything will work out”
Well isn’t that nice…
So to cope I found a vice
A bottle then a pipe
I rolled the dice
And still, I could use some advice
So thank no one
For the nothing that I’ve figured out in life
Thorns 7d
If all our life was but a dream
Fantastic posing greed
Then we should feed our jewelry to the sea
For diamonds do appear to be
Just like broken glass to me

And she said she can't believe
How genius only comes along
In storms of fabled foreign tongues
Tripping eyes, and flooded lungs
Northern downpour sends its love

Hey moon, please forget to fall down
Hey moon don't you go down
Sugarcane in the easy mornin'
Weather-vanes my one and lonely...
I love this song...
Nat Lipstadt Nov 2016
one thousand poem children

one thousand poems has mine soul commissioned,
a thousand more neath stone vault doors do attend,
patiently waiting revisions, rescission, catch and release permission,
waiting room patients, looking to buy a more favorable diagnosistician

this prolificacy,
nether curse or blessing,
this profligacy,
poem children fathered by single mom mothered,
borne nightly in dreams borne
from the northern, the southern,
the brains twilighted hemispheres,
who coordinate, drawing deep,
consulting a bartender's manual
a creation guide of mixology,
'how to intoxicate the brain'

cheap gin, multi-generational scotch,
visionary vermouth, the reddened cassis of life,
memories in the white grapes of possibilities,
futures unrealized, colorful takes and retakes,
a directors bespoke make-believe tales,
impossibilities, divine and mundane,
all into one admixture into the venous cavities poured,
nerves to blood to consciousness,
courtesy of the ganglia

the brain stem transmits them
fully formed to my
good morning sunshine
cracked and dried lips for re-emission

nigh head upon the pillow,
the hair trigger,
my rapid eye heartbeats, each a demanding sweetheart,
some performed to a discordant metronome,
in a controlled rage, my mental waste,

the residuals,
purified with language as the
orchestrator, debate moderator

dreams, once recoded, once accorded,
the disordering tempestuous,  
neurons cease-to-fire,
now just words, just words, just **** excretions

did I admit to a thousand?

more like tens of ten,
one, two per eventide,
have washed  ashore, for some thirty years recorded

my brain pixilated,
its big shot game controller,
demanding purchase of more;
more storage space, more games,
not admitting in advance,
that it filters blends, conflates and purges

by combining
psalms and ditties, infantile rhymes and
new vocabularies of  human aging idiocies,
though newly acquired, immediately forgot,
so always room enough for
one more episode

I study the brain, I study sleep,
study living and dying occurring at
their point of intermediation,

*this more knowledge gives no relief,
it becomes this poem becoming,
testifying that I prosecute myself
based on the evidence,
and if insufficient,
dream up nascent visionaries
from places that come unlocked,
tales from the vault vivisected,
the proper verdict

sixty six years
of accumulation,
and still know so little of
proper space utilization,
writing poems proper

but nightly come the dreams,
nightly comes the trial,
comes the judgements,
comes a man-made customized
whitewall tired judgement,
and to you
submitted for
judicial review

strange that each one of you
becomes, adopts, adapts my visage,
my words in you, reflected,
a jury of my peerage peers,
which is why my appeals are
always returned in the file labelled

until the next nights dream
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