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Twalib Mushi Apr 2021
I take my pen
As i want to stand still
Applaud their pain
Everything is against their will
For their lives they had a plan.

Fearless
Being separated from their family
Look
how they're starving
Do they deserve?
Look
how they're suffocating
This isn't correct
Look
how they become homeless
Nobody wants to address this
This isn't fair.

They become more than hopeless
Snatching away their rights
Burying their dreams
Dreams of the innocent children.
Kirsty Taylor Apr 2021
You hear the thud.
Put on your dressing gown, rub your eyes.
And wearily approach the door, wondering what it could be.
Another bill, another promotion in a cunning disguise?

But there it is, dressed elegantly in plain white,
With the stamp placed perfectly on the right.
You see the swirls in the handwriting,
The way they flick the k’s and how they curl their c’s.

You try to guess who sent this wonderful surprise
You pick it up with care and, for an instant, freeze
Then you abandon all restraint, and rip it apart
Desperate to read what’s at its heart.

It takes thought and love to write.
In a world full of texts, facetimes and calls.
A letter hits the spot just right.

A short story, addressed to you
And only you
A little piece of history lies in your hand
Keep these letters

Store them safely away
For they will fill your heart with joy
When you re-read them on a melancholy day
Next time you are at a loss  for something to do
I beg of you, put down that phone
Take out a pen and write a letter or two.
Raven Feels Apr 2021
DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, souls shatter up too:}


dear heart on glass

dear hands on a stance

dear soul on torns

dear fingers on tires

dear mind on empty

dear thoughts on screams

dear God on the heavenly winters

my pen is hindered

because of the dreams I refuse to remember

too hard for me to surrender

to cage my fury into fonts of lavender

I want them back

demand the need demand the lack

of the splutter of my nerves on the thrilling track

can life become more lifeless than that???!!!

want my body on a panic attack?

or the blades to sharpen their steeps their venture

to cut deep to flush the ink and stain it on keep

or maybe an abandonment

shut of the door they said they inclined

tires no more for a feel

                                                            
                                                                              -------ravenfeels
Jaicob Apr 2021
Drown me in ink.
I don't want to see anything.
I want to be choked out
On the one thing that gives life meaning.

Slit my wrists with paper.
I don't want to live anymore.
I want to bleed crimson onto the page
And give meaning to the words I write.
Years ago
A pen was found
Its grip was blue
Slightly chipped

It wrote
Everyday on sheets, white
Flawlessly on the lines
Words did glide

It had a special place
Where it rested
After a long day
At the desk

Its home was warm
A wooden drawer
Strategically placed
Easy to fetch

Now it has been years
It longs to see the desk
At dawn
A practice now clearly gone

It lay still
In the wooden drawer
Cold and blue
Ink-less dry
Melody Mann Apr 2021
Pen
The vessel that is set to carry out its mission,
Is the very utensil the architect uses to craft the map,
My the courses it charts with swift motions and firm strokes,
It dispenses the virtue of possibilities onto the surface,
Opening doors to a world beyond comprehension,
How the mind wanders to conceive dreams the heart can only fathom,
Endless is its creation aiding all who heed its call.
Raven Feels Apr 2021
DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, sometimes what we want is not what we're granted;>


brought to you

no you came brought to me

painted with lines on the finements of my destiny

not on the deads

in the lives you float

rent free on a mind I own

called boat

a ship a rocket you name

there is no bound no limit no aim

in the terror of my cave

you bring the symphonies you carve and pave

pave the way to my hands

to board their journeys

to make their plans

feel the world upon tips

like the steps of sand

the breath of land

the sight of dear

the sense of mere

the drip of downs

the realize of nows

the dive of sea

in blues of surreal

up taken by the fingers to a deal

of a fluent flow a pleasant kneel

not to the gods but to the clear

no more on the behinds of blood and set and Neptune

to a slender of a violin a shiver soon

you know your lights and shades on my moon

not aware of my nights anytime for you

although my gates are open to infinite

no stops to the intimate

you color you steep

on the curves of my leap



                                                                                    ------ravenfeels
wizmorrison Mar 2021
The ink?
The ink is the tears
For a mourning writer
Who found refuge in writing.

The ink,
A black stained scars
From a writer's heart
Who carve their thoughts in blank pages.

The ink...
It serves as a photograph
From a writer's mind
Through pen and paper.

The ink
Is like a paint,
The brush is the pen and
The canvas is the paper.
An ink is always be a part of us writers.
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