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Whoever architect
The Universe

At first
With a noble purpose
The Sun may have been made
The human may have been

Among human
They may have decided to gift
Some as an artist
Among Artist
With the soulful ink
Came Poet/Poetess

That time
Something may have gone
Most had writer's block
Most often

A moon may have been made
To amuse the poet/Poetess

Since then
They are musing
They are mused
Genre: Observational
Theme: Stimuli
Slithering on the ground,
Confined to Earth’s grip.

God’s hand took from me
My freedom,
my will,
my legs.

It is not my fault.
It is human curiosity,
And now I pay for it.

It is not my fault.
It was the devil inside me,
And now my children pay for it.

Salvation is not meant for serpents,
And so I am trapped.
Slinking and sneaking,
Stuck in this legless body.
Jeff Lewis Sep 10
Do you recall being stardust?
I don’t.
But, that’s what they say.
Elements forged in fusion’s crucible;
atoms born in the hearts of stars.
Do you recall being a comet’s tail?
Do you recall a time in space?
I don’t,
but then, it’s been a while.
Do you recall the lakes and streams;
swimming as fish,
or being water?
Do you recall the plains
when we roamed as beasts,
great and small?
Were you an antelope, a butterfly, a bird?
Were you a flower?
Were you Cleopatra?
Was I…Anthony, or just
some tea in Cleopatra’s cup?
(Did Cleopatra even drink tea?
I don’t know.)
Do you recall when you said
you loved me?
I do.
They told me,
“don’t fall in love with stardust.”
But then, what choice did I have?
we are all star dust.
Eid Al Adha;
Eid of Sacrifices
and the celebratory end of Hajj.

Purity abides around their heart
as souls are blessed with the
sown seeds of joy.

Allah hu Akbar;
takbir echoes
as devotees congregate in
every mosque nearby.

They wear embellished clothes,
extending their hearts to one another
and capturing the ecstasy
in every single encounter.

Sentiments are reciprocated,
and gratitude is manifested
on such an occasion
as we recall the origins of the
reason we sacrifice;
and that is to follow the order of Allah,
as Prophet Ibrahim did.
Ickabobroe Jul 1
Maybe I’ll finally start writing well
When I finally figure out who I’m writing about
Because it always starts with you
But I really don’t mind
Y’all I can’t even express how amazing last week was
My mouth can’t stop itself
from spilling stories I should hold back
but my art tells more of a story than my words
ever could.

I am from forgiveness and compassion
from choking laughter and long stories
like my father.
I am from acceptance
resilience in the face of adversity
like my mother.

I claim roots in the crystal lakes and hushed nights
of Traverse City.
In the sweltering warmth of the summer sun and the shady trees
in Colleyville.
Nature makes me feel at home.

I could try to rhyme but
my words seem to stumble
when I’m not lamenting about rejection and heartbreak and
but there are times when my brother’s laugh
is the only sound I hear.
My friends embrace me
with their inside jokes and nicknames

and my body can’t contain the joy

when applause rings in the stadium under fluorescent lights
or echoes in the auditorium
conceals itself in a reassuring smile
or glitters in the eyes of my dogs

my heart lies in superheroes
and unfocused imagination
a human goodness that never fades
a dream that might come true

I could tell you all about the characters
that live in my mind and on my sketchbook
but I’ve been told to hold back
save it for the movies

I plan to do
just that.
In the 2019 collection of IB Poems
Amber C Mar 24
with the stretch of his arms
he created the world
breathed life into it, a melody produced
no songs existed before
he walked, danced across the land and seas
and caressed the skies
they called him King
and prayed to him through and through
sorrow and joys, dreams and storms
a lover lost, memories gained

with the nod of his head
he flew above them
tore the skies apart, fingers pointed at
the sun, daring, duelling
smiting its rays of boastful light
there can only be one sun, he said
there can only be one him, he asserted
there can only be One, he cried
he fought like a champion, the winner
who rises while falling

with the raise of his fist
he shouted a name
no one knew whose it was, no one
dared to seek the truth
"King, oh King, we call thy name"
"I am here, I call your name"
there went the Light, a heat
permeating, invading, but like a whisper
cared and loved, silenced
the troubles in their hearts

a heart of gold
he revealed his name
a name so sweet
a name so strong
his name was Yuzuru
for Yuzuru. march 23 - 24 2019.
Maaz Jan 30
Upon the tree of eternity a man laid his gaze,
A sight that caused his thoughts to haze.
The words of the devil he could not trust,
yet gazing at this tree his heart filled with lust.
He stepped forward and took from the damnable tree,
A mistake, he soon realised, to doom him eternally.

Alas, the forbidden fruit had been consumed,
the dissolute nature of man finally exhumed.
As the consequences began to loom overhead,
"Oh, forgive me for my sin", he said,
"I have taken a bite from the forbidden fruit,
yet still I wish to confute,
The idea that I am inherently bad,
For I cannot bear to lose all that I've had"

To go from a world so green and lush
to one where the ground was covered with dust,
was the price this credulous man had to pay,
banished to earth,
to live out the rest of his days.
Our story of origin
October Dec 2018
I had a different name
It was "Undiscovered"
Now this name, no longer my cover
There's a darker truth as to why it's updated to "October"
Tears of joy, tears of sadness
They all share this amber month of blackness
A deep history of sight
The pain and origin of why I write

Her name was Erin
She was beautiful
She was young
Erin, was special
and Rhett's, without doubt, the devil
The disease rendered her without brain function
Resulted in physical mutation
Erin, had an expiration
The day came
In the same month born
She would, from this life, be torn
I love you Erin
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