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jee Feb 2019
I am paradoxical;
an oxymoronic anomaly.

all my nightmares are made
of daylight,
but I’ll still sleep to escape
the darkness.

I am paradoxical;
an absurd abnormality.

it’s a chaotic peace,
loud with it’s bated breath
and bittersweet ring.

I am paradoxical;
an irregular oddity.

my counterparts are contradictory,
and I change to chance
the possibility
that opposites attract.

and we’re all just paradoxed;
argumentative attractions.

there’s no stopping at the end,
when the sun is low
in the soft red sky.

where my nightmares are made
of daylight,
but I’ll still sleep to escape
the darkness.
this statement is a lie.
Mudassir PZ Jan 2019
Our love was an open secret, I thought
But you had nothing for me, did you not?

Here I was thinking, we were meant to be
Eternal, forever – same difference.
I looked at you with rockets of desire,
You looked at me with deafening silence.

Your thought, a few years ago or some more,
Brimmed my mind with memories bittersweet.
Then you drained my heart out, fully empty
No drop of love, no sign of life – dead beat.

Not even when you came to say your goodbyes,
Did I feel so horrible, so much pain.
But, you stayed left, and I’ve been living dead
My love or your goodbye, which was in vain?

We’re an Oxymoron, in the same vein
You’re just the “Oxy” and I’m what remains.
Jing Xi Lau Nov 2018
We're all dying to feel alive,
Are we the living dead?
We hate to love
But we fall in love anyway.
We wander just to get lost,
But we want to be found.
We spend our nights together,
But we feel more alone than ever.
We cover our ears,
Shout across horizons.
What's this sound?
Deafening silence.
Piercing through the noise of the world.
trf Nov 2018
The junction where smoke and fog reside,
gliding with western winds beneath these clouds,
the moon fades perilously from sight
and it rains ash.
A thousand candle wicks are pinched
as the scent of acres burn,
lit like the flames we blow out so easy.
Control is a funny word,
like when a doctor says, "She'll be fine, I've got this",
the arborist cries observing only skeletal remains,
as his patient has deceased having control to blame.
King eLeNI Oct 2018
The war inside me is over
And now I'm looking for my Oikos
I chose a way full of trials
I chose the way of exile

My flesh shall be my poetry
and my bones my final shield

There’s no God other than I
There’s no holy other than me
I took the way of an oxymoron tale
I took the way of a massive fail

My skin in ultimate grief
My hair resisting to the winds

My body is my vehicle,
my home and my miracle.

Penelope on her own for a female Odyssey
Of rigorous honesty

Now, seeker, rise up and speak your truth.
Nik Bland Sep 2018
Ramshackled dream
Held together with glue and string
And prayers
Floating as a feather
Yet easily the heaviest of things

What tapestries you inspire
Yet not strong enough the exit my mind
Keeping you hidden
Incubating long term
Until you’re almost over cooked

Make I take a glimpse of you
Never to touch, in fear of the break
Complexly understated
A warming flame
Flickering in this empty cold world

Ramshackled dream
Pretty to most, breathtaking to me
Sitting ever fervent
Waiting to shine
Wait to breathe the air
Danial John Aug 2018
Damnation in a ****** nation.
Your thoughts are only your own if you don't say them.
From simple complexities to advanced basics.
We are an oxymoron and it's time to face it.
That or otherwise become complacent.
Then you'll have an excuse for when the human race ends and you're in the last placement.
Words to ears are not superior to feet to pavement.
Enough talk, only action can save us.
Simra Sadaf Jun 2018
poets use poetry
to narrate tales
of agony,
caused by love or
the lack there of
in various ways,
using metaphor,
oxymoron, irony,
analogy, imagery,
personification, simile,
we write about
surreal reality,
ethics and morals,
fears and misery,
spirits and souls,
lies and treachery,
we play with words
and tamper everyone's
wakeful and dormant
with words, we dive deep
into the cavern of
your memories,
we can write in
numerous ways,
forming stunning poetry,
magnificent prose,
with verses and lines,
ballads and sonnets,
that may or may not rhyme,
we shall write till there
are no words left to explore,
till the words stop
making sense,
until our fingers
start bleeding,
until every shop in the
world runs out of ink,
till there are no thoughts
in our heads,
till the day we meet
a lady named death.
Pauline Morris May 2018

Good judgment comes from experience, experience from bad decisions
This whole ******* life is a contradiction
It's an oxymoron at every turn
Every decision only gets you burned
If in old age you manage to arrive
That's when life's lessons are realized

The young are bound in the futility of it all
Never seeing the cliff before they fall
Not wise enough to know
God clipped our wings before the throw
He turned everything upside down
When he placed us on this hellish ground

We all were marked
You can't see the light unless your in the dark
You don't appreciate the sun's rays
Till you've stood in the storm for days
Without pain you wouldn't relish the pleasure
Without work, there would be no leisure
What is good, if taken to much only leads to bad
Giving love away leaves you with more than you had
The act of forgiveness is not for the one that hurt you
But heals your soul before its through

So do the best you can in life
Even when it equals strife
For this world will keep you spinning
For the score card is plain, death is winning

But don't you worry, I'm sure that's an oxymoron too
When deaths door we pass through
Real living, then will we ensue
In death there will be no rest
This life is but a test
For the oxymoron weaves it's way through it all
Even when death, at your door calls

©Pauline Russell
I guess I’m okay… What more can I say?
Forget it—never mind,
You wouldn’t understand anyway,
Would you even know what it's like?
Inside a scattered disconnected mind,
Employed to go on strike?
Where indirect misdirect
The sincerity at play,
When sinusoidal chaos spikes
And past meets the future present day?
As paranoid points outlandishly connect
At intervals of broken lines,
Memory lost in recollect,
An array of misshaped bells
Internally infect the eternal confines
Of infinite distributional decay,
Parallels with no intersect,
Streetwise cells with empty signs,
Burned out lights, potholes, and landmines,
Littered all the way.
How am I to convey that all those times
You let your mind wander away
That I was reading, thinking, dreaming,
Teeming, never idle, never strayed,
Seeing, being, so far and away,
Even the brightest intellect beaming,
Could not grasp the feeling
In the slightest of highest orders reeling,
Wound unbound, or as it would be seeming,
Imperfect, even to the disarray
Of the tamest prefect, whose verdict
Could not predict the reflect,
For in this world, seeing is deceiving,
As the lamest reject, defect,
Increasingly decreasing,
In simplistic bliss obey
Crowned unsound fallacies
That contradict all meaning,
Hiding behind reality, the actualities
Lest, protect the thoughtlessness perceiving,
Let me stop you if I may...
I must interject for I digress,
What nonsense was I weaving?
Forget it—I've lost my mind,
I best be leaving,
What more can I say?
It's periodic I must confess,
You probably don't care anyway,
Yeah, yeah, I'll be okay,
Until next time I guess,
I wouldn't want to be misleading.
I’m scattered but I’m on point.
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