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Sedoo Ashivor May 2016
Close the curtains
On this last act
Call home the trains
Bring me back

Time has eloped
With my dreams
I've learnt to cope
On meagre means

Preach the truth
To he who hears
Dig up the roots
Bury your cares

Hide my letters
In an open box
Untie my fetters
Use all the locks

Life is a paradox
Running to its death
Watching all the clocks
To be the last one on earth.
I like the fact that I can have rhyme and beat even when I'm not exactly sure what I mean :-)
jane taylor May 2016
in the end
what’s foe
is friend

©2016janetaylor
Mona May 2016
As I watch the numbers on my clock run out
I wonder if I have done enough
Have i let go of my youthful lust
Have I been able to renew my spirit of the mind?


As I  anticipate more numbers on my clock
I wonder if I will have enough time
Time to travel to read to just explore
Will I have  time to say hello with love and goodbye with gratitude?

So far I have tried my best , I promise I have,
to do  everything expected of me ( by Grace)
Don't judge me just yet ,my time will come
And till that day lets anticipate growth
the paradox of growing old
Cyrus Gold Apr 2016
Victor stumbles into the room faster than
his mind has time to assess what had just occurred.
Sweat drips down his face as he pants heavily,
trying desperately to catch his breath.
It's vacant. Good.

He’s asking too much of his left hand
as it holds the Astra 600 semi-automatic pistol
given to him by his father,
but also attempts to stop the bleeding
from his lower abdomen.

His grip of the weapon loosens;
soaked with so much of his own blood
that he could taste the metal.
Never use it unless you’re dead, his father would always say.

Right palm open on his chest, he begs his spirit
for a sliver of peace, waiting for his
heart and mind to see eye to eye one last time.

He takes a moment to survey the room;
the wallpaper, once bright, symmetrical and gracious,
is now torn, revealing the ugly foundation underneath;
a frame-less door hangs on a corner of a wall,
ironically leading nowhere.

His eyes turn to the center of the room;
a chair, made with traces of oak
and other synthesized material,
sits at the center.

Victor's pistol slips from his hand,
and he uses the energy he has left
to drag his feet, each step harder than the last,
to take his seat.

The chair is positioned
to give the sitter the best view
through wrecked windows,
but the real show was about to begin.

“Sam. Sam I am”, Victor begins to mutter under his breath.
“I do not like… them. Sam, I am. I do not like… green eggs…”
He pauses.
“This is the beginning of the end”, he says.

His mind wanders, and then begins to project images
of a life, once colorful, beautiful and happy,
now unrecognizable, yet familiar.

The show starts;
he was knee high, playing with the neighbor’s Jack Russell Terrier
for days on end, only to be told he wouldn’t see the dog again.
He was sick, and had to be put down.
When he asked his father what that meant,

“He'll suffer if we do nothing, Victor.
Sometimes we have to be cruel to be kind."


Another scene plays;
A young adult, taking an English literature course,
decides to study The Importance of Being Earnest,
a tale where individuals use different personalities to
escape social obligations, thus wearing masks of sorts.

It's ironic that Oscar Wilde was hiding his true self
when he wrote that garbage
, Victor thought to himself,
now chuckling at the thought.
What was it he once said?
I can resist anything, but temptation.

And another scene;
the woman he spilled coffee on
the first time he met her
was now saying “I do”,
feeding him a slice of their wedding cake.
It tasted bittersweet.

Nothing lasts. Couples fight.
An unstoppable force opposes an immovable object.
I always lie is something
Victor would yell at her in a passive aggressive manner,
but was he being truthful?

"I do not like… them. Sam, I am. I do not like… green eggs, and… ham."

Green Eggs and Ham.
His daughter’s favorite book.

My daughter... my baby girl, Victor wept.
Her life was taken
the day after he read her Dr. Seuss,
unknowingly for the last time.

It took him three agonizing years
but he finally found the monster responsible
for taking her life;
until five minutes ago,
that man was living a floor below the apartment
that Victor is now dying in.

Seconds before the skirmish,
Victor vaguely remembers the murderer
shouting something to the effect of,
"Leave me alone! I'm nobody!"
He was neither right, nor wrong.

Victor's 9x19mm parabellum+ slugs
pierced the murderer’s chest and neck,
but that man fired first with his
long-range carbine rifle;

it was the ricochet
of his 5.56x45mm round
that ultimately did Victor in,
striking his abdomen from behind, with the bullet
traveling through and through
and the residual shrapnel
poisoning his blood.

Victor killed a murderer,
and narrowly escaped death, only to die.

He leaves this world believing
that life in and of itself is a contradiction
full of negations, deceit, and divisions by zero.

To honor life, he chose to ****;
revenge in the name of harmony.
Never use it unless you’re dead, his father would always say.

His father would be proud.
The bullets fired from Victor's pistol are known as parabellum rounds; para bellum is a Latin phrase derived from Si vis pacem, para bellum,
meaning if you want peace, prepare for war.
There are different kinds
All the same
All different
Different sizes and colors
They make up parts of life

Soap bubbles
Cleaning, scrubbing
Washing dirt, grit
And all the bad
Away
Reflecting you
Your surroundings
In different colors
Different views

Word bubbles
Floating up from the heart
Trying to escape
Only a few make it
The rest
Broken inside
Choking you
Restricting you
Making you regret
Not opening your mouth
To let them out

The best kind of bubbles
Bubbles of laughter
Bubbles of joy
Bouncing out of your mouth
Tickling you until you let them out
The fun bubbles
That make that joy
Drawing the wand
Blowing the joy
Into the bubbles
Until they are ready
To go
And spread joy of their own

Bubbles reflect
Joy and sadness
The two polar opposites
That compliment each other
Completely
You cannot have one
Without the other
Sometimes the bubbles of joy
Will pop
Explode in your face
But you can take out your wand
And start all over again
MG Apr 2016
i have done the impossible
i believe it
my entire being is proof
for i am a paradox

i am loud, with a quiet personality
i am sad, with a happy front
i am trapped, but i chose to be

and somewhere deep inside my little box of secrets
i just want someone to figure me out,
to solve the unsolvable puzzle i created to protect and preserve myself

but how can one do that
when i myself am clueless as to how and where to start?

for the longest time
my life has been full of
confusion regret shame
and it's come to a point where
i don't remember what it's like to be
in the state of complete and utter bliss

and these mixed emotions that influence many others
will definitely be the death of us
and i can't i can't i won't
bear the guilt of making you feel
the pain i've become so accustomed to
in all my years of experience on the battlefield of love

so forgive me if i'm closed
if i'm stubborn and if i'm guarded
but i can't just fall hard and hope for the best

not again
sometimes, all you need is someone who will be there to fix you when you can't fix yourself, someone who will remind you when you forget who you are. life's experiences make it difficult to trust, and they give you this perception that it's much more ideal to stay sheltered and guarded than exposed and susceptible to pain and sorrow. the more times you are hurt, the stronger yet more afraid of love you get. hopefully, the time will come when someone will be more than willing to fight for you, even when you decide to give up on yourself.
MG Apr 2016
nowadays my mind has been all over the place
my feelings, uncertain, a never-ending daze
God only knows what really goes on inside me
i think what i truly need is to just be free

free from the pain and sorrow caused by the heartless
who have transformed composure into a plain mess
free from the pressure, judgment, insecurity
from this hell of what we call a society

free from the empty, lonesome nights, even mornings
such simple moments bring out the most painful stings
free from the anger, hatred, despise for people,
i fight the urge to let out when i feel so small

but through my late struggles, at last i've discovered
the one thing i must escape, the truth uncovered
i now know why it never really crossed my mind
the fear of blaming someone new has made me blind

what if theres nothing wrong with the world we live in,
the world many people fault to save their own skin?
i have learned from experience that to a degree,
i am not someone anyone would want to be

i fix and then i break, i start and then i stop
i jump right back down after climbing to the top
i write and erase; i remember and forget
but why do i always do something i'll regret?

to those i've hurt, take this as an apology,
a confession, or a chance to get to know me
the sole reason i always strive to do my best
is to hide my failures behind utter success
Red is a paradox

                                                    Red can be hate
                                                 Blood boiling anger
                                              Fist fights and beatings
                                                Rumors and gossip
                                      Red like fall leaves falling away
                                         From the tree - their family
                                   From the other leaves - their friends

Red the color of a hot temperature

                                                   Red can be love
                                                Pretty little blushes
                                             Passion and friendship
                                     Beating hearts and broken hearts
                                         Red like a rose symbolizing
                                         Thorns - the hard struggles
                                 The petals - the good and wonderful
Red is bold.
.
Part of the Living Colors Collection
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