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Odd Odyssey Poet Apr 2022
Tall glass towers; on mountains of golden lakes.
An island of ten million dreams; blinded by the lights
of life. Heaven is a time like no other, as nothing has
an end. But all of it's residents have met their end.

Phased by the breath of tens of labours; the works of my
hands. I built glass memories, so fragile of remembering a
tragic past. All that is wasted; wasting away in thoughts.
****** as my hairs in the morning. Some on my neck, of
having their rest on my pillowcases.

A heavy throat, and it's husky voice. Mmh mmh; clearing it
to speak into a day. This morning is a timeless piece of whisky;
strong as the first swallow of belief.

Do I...

believe of any goodness ahead of me for today? A chance of better wealth to add some weight to a wallet? Meeting my potential love; as they're waiting out there?

But when, and how far are all of these things?

Who are the fools to know; all of the wisdom of ancestors
of where they should go? My forefathers have been at this place before. I do suppose; that I am progresses living words.

Onwards, forward, towards, heading, advances, going to
the places of what progress asks of me to go.
May your word be supple with optimism
and may their cognitions follow suit.
I took a little 2C-D tonight
and prayed to move
Andrew Layman Sep 2020
I'll sing a song
of Sophie
and the life I've left behind
I've kept all your love notes
but I never found the time
to write you back
I lost track
it always slipped my mind
until the day I lost you
and I could no longer
call you mine.
AJ Sep 2020
Onward I go
without an idea
of what's to come.
Just bringing along
the things I've learned
and keeping time with
the forever shifting pace
of onward...
SomaSonata Aug 2020
Knocking on your door
But no one's home today
I brought a cake and iced champagne
It was supposed to be a special occasion
I call and get no answer
I get no explanation
I'm just standing here by myself
But I guess that's how it goes
So, oh well
What difference does it make?
It's all a dance to be danced
The end result is the same
Everything that happens winds up in the grave
Still wide awake at 2
My palms sweat in a motel room
See you again?
Maybe the next time
Maybe someday soon
Heavy Hearted May 2020
The toll of Angers tide -
Compels us on, and forward

Satisfaction, it never comes!
the only direction left to go,
We stumble.
We're pushed.

The toll of Angers tide -
Compels us on,
Pushing us further, pushing us forward...

the tolling of angers tide-
the unrelenting force.
Poetic T Mar 2020
You said I was the only step,
       but you always took one


Never walking us forward,
   excuses, like I had to tie my laces,
         or my feet ache you walk on.

But I never looked back,
and you never moved forward.

We were a distance apart but I'd only
                  took one more step than

But one can equal more when its
not synchronized with your heart.

The next day, you had walked off,
  we weren't even walking in the same

I took of the shoes I wore when we walked,
                and now I'm bare foot.

But you know what I'm walking further without


My perception isn't clouded by your backward

I'm free to walk without the pleasure
           of having to look backwards..

Just walking onward  without pausing to see
                           who cares how far my footsteps

have wondered,.

I'm strolling at my own pace
                                  passing with no goodbyes.
Jonathan Moya Mar 2020
In a realm of two moons and three suns not
afraid to be besieged by everlasting brightness,
where everyone speaks from their heart spires
and devils and scorpions cavort with sprites,
magic coexisted with every day miracles.
People would cross on invisible bridges
as easily as Jesus walking on water,
on their way to their great soul’s quest.

Now as tablets led to handwriting and
then to thousands of computer fonts,
where seeking adventure becomes
short code for finding death and despair,
where sprites now dine on pixie sticks
and fairies no longer spread their dust,
where those who believe in magic are greatly
outnumbered by those who don’t,
where everyone’s top half exists
with their bottom self wandering about
and never finding each other,
where wizardry is replaced with technology-  
the common light bulb and automobile-
is when wonderment gets consigned to the
bottomless pit of foolishness.

Then magic waits in hidden castles,
patient not for those who have it
and don’t see it, but those who need
it the most and know that it reveals
the truth behind the disguises,
waiting for that old broken stead
to reveal that its Pegasus
and that spell they chanted
to lead them back home to
the magic of their parent’s’ embrace.
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