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Creator Sun Aug 30
Her mouth twists into a smile.
A couple of hours later it becomes a frown.
It looks a little lopsided, doesn't it?
One arm is longer than the other; and faster.

But she doesn't care. Nobody does.
She smiles and frowns all day.
For she is but a servant tell,
the true master of the day.

Time.
It reaches out to us.
Tells us what to do and when to do it.

Time.
An age old foe.
For no one can escape it's cages.

Time.
A fabrication of the mind.
It traps us all in it's never ending orbit.

Time.
It's just like a dime.
Our future depends on how we use it.
I've picked this word to write a poetry about today since I'd gone off schedule due to falling sick. So here's a poem about time and its servant. clock. We all have the same amount of hours a day, so why are some people able to keep everything on track while others fall to vices such as procrastination? I've been watching a few Ted Talks and the monkey one stuck out to me. Also the paperclip for a house. Anyways, I'll end the note now and get on to writing another poem. I do hope that you enjoy a new experimental writing style I've used!
Creator Sun Aug 23
Loneliness is but a thousand words,
A solitary figure, nothing more,
something less.

He will never be complete on his own,
yet he cannot break through the bars of his own existence!

He exists to be lonely,
yet he can’t exist without others around him!

The others that surround him, ignoring him;
The others that surround him, that haunt him;
The others that surround him, that don’t notice him;
The others who exist just to place emphasis

On his pitiful, meaningless, excruciating existence.

He is not alone in his situation,
but he is alone.

He will forever be alone.

Unless someone breaks him free.

-SLJ
Ye, found my first poem, submitting/publishing it now.
Creator Sun Aug 23
Death takes many forms.
He can be harsh and cruel and cold
Or kind and merciful.

He takes people away,
Usually when the time comes.
Sometimes, the people even gave their permission for him to take them away.
Some even initiated it. Some were unaware of it.

Those were the ones that he truly mourn.
He mourns the absence of a bright-eyed child
In such a deep dark world.

For when the death knell strikes twelve,
A new world begins.

He watches as others try
to manage without the one taken away.  
He watches as they try and save
The ones that were taken away.
He watches as they call upon divine intervention,
Going so far as to ruin their lives,
Just to give the ones they love a second chance to live.

He wanted to wipe their warm tears away.
He wanted to hug them and feel as the fight in them went out.
He wanted to take them away to a faraway place where they won’t hurt no more.
But it was not time for him to do so.

He waits until the end of time.

He is inevitable and yet he waits.

He may strike suddenly, but still;

He waits.
I have personified Death in this second poem posted onto here. It seems that the first publication did not go through, so here is another one of my works written in boredom in literature class.
Ray Dunn Aug 3
sunlight dancing in,
doing pirouettes on my sill,
i leave her trails of sugar
and she dances on still!!

warmth sauntering through,
lounging on the floor
and darting up the stairs
desperate for something more.

a breeze trickling through—
her hair a soft plume
of cold silver and blue,
just to match the moon.
i’m really happy rn and i’m playing with some personification so yeah enjoy
Such a happy whale
I am
Staggering
Out of the *******
With a new friend at my side
Dark is the night
The moon, the stars
Lighting our way
Over the sands of time
Our hearts a racing
Urgently
To take the plunge
To go deeper into the unknown
Stopping to sight see
The sparkles in each other's eye
Welcoming are the movements  
On a wave
The shrill of the wind
And a wake of white water soon rising
Carrying, carrying us  home


Logan Robertson

7/29/2019
Jay Jul 24
Thrown in a mortar again,
And grounded down,
Into the purest form I've ever been,
My shell is but a thing of the past,
But give it time,
I'll build it all back up,
And while some have seen the worst of me,
They'll see what I think I'd ought to be,
An idealized construct,
Be it paper or glass,
Or the sugar on a creme brulee,
You crack the sweet,
And you get to the cream at last.
Depending on your tastes,
You may like what you get,
But it isn't likely,
It's best you just forgive,
And forget.
sweet on the outside with a creamy gooey stupid center
a river bed lies profoundly dry

out in the remote west

showing no visible signs

of any trickle's zest


each day bringing the same

emptiness of refrain

thirsty river banks are feeling

such a sustained pain


the wanted gift of moisture

being absent far too long

a river's course slowly dying

to feel a dampness of song


soon the summer's scorch shall

be again upon the river's trace

in its despairing hour it will beg

for rain's life giving grace
Ashton Jul 7
it's wood cut and clawed
markings of years of
misuse

built to be sturdy and strong
it's legs stir and shake
with every new addition

books
bags
even bodies

til one day

snap
Layi Glover Jun 27
It was unforgivably uncomfortable,

The prying gaze of the Sun.

It felt like a million eyes staring

Without blinking censuriously at my soul.

Stripped of pride with nowhere to hide,

I felt naked, wrapped in her fury;

She spoke sternly without pity.

Her words pierced my skin like arrows

Poking at the very core of my sanity;

I raged with sadness, helpless, drying.

Till Night came in shining armor:

To save the day.

© Layiglover
Rickey Spence Jun 19
You
6/15/19

You are a most fragile thing,
Yes, and you’re rarely found pure,
Refreshing like a mountain spring,
He who lacks you is honestly poor.

People fear your genuine company,
Your attendance can be lonely.
So they take you into custody,
To destroy you, thinking of self only.

The collective chaos of your absence,
Somehow they thrive on it.
What they carelessly lack is balance,
We don’t get along in the least bit.

You are a most difficult thing to disturb,
You bring such a pensive atmosphere.
Distracted by other things perturbs,
But just like that, you disappear.
Who am I?
My name is Silence. I am a gift to those who know me. I am a curse to those who deny my benefit.
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