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Pickpocketed

each pocket has a purpose
church bells shatter through the surface

the worthless circus sunday service
a procession past the pickled mirthless

dispersions of persons pass pews
hoping He accepts the time served, in lieu

and thus this pocket is purposed for you



At the masqurade parade all day
That preys on insecurity

youre sure to see a bargain,
sharking, armed with curiosity

but the cost is often hidden, lost
in a forest of desire, in a silk lined pocket

and this is where they keep your wallet



search for solace in a sound structure
then ruptured synapses, flayed fluster

rebuild it all, regard life's lustre
meander melancholy with what you can muster

place them in a pocket, each respective,
one for your lessons and one for perspective

as the pickpocket of fear plays with the reasoning detective
A bit of rhyming fun here with a few feelings expressed against some aspects of life completely biased and brazen.

Sew up those pockets people.
Nathalie Jul 14
He took a seat
beside me and held
out his hand
A smile crinkled
at the side of his
deep hazel eyes

The sound of
his voice
was lost under the
noise of the engine
as the train
gained momentum
but I sat stilled
and watched
as his lips moved

I felt the swell
of my chest
as I could
feel my breath
moving and in
and out of my
lungs; my
mouth widened
as a smile smothered
my whole face

I could see a small
box peeking from
the pocket of his
trousers and my
my heart welcomed
with complete faith
this lifetime
token of love that I
would soon be gifted.

~Nathalie
Priyam May 19
So there's a pocket in my purse
Its unopened or maybe its cursed
Am I just indifferent or maybe I'm afraid
(I'll let you in a little secret)
It's where I keep my favorite blade

It's been in my company for quite some time
In the moments I chided, in the moments I chimed
I have always kept it close like a love another
(I don't even know how to say this)
Sometimes even closer than my very own mother

But I like how it feels on my soft skin
I carve through my teary eyes, a ****** grin
But sure I hope that I don't die
(I don't do it to **** myself)
It just gives me hope that the bad times will pass by

Its been a while since I have cried
I feel like a psychopath with no feelings to define
So I reach out for my blade in the purse to feel something
(I won't throw it away so soon)
It gives me joy to know that i can sense, even if its hurting.
Brave sky under mine.
Beautiful light.
Warm Earth above mine.
Fresh freedom.
Calms guide.
Silence air .
On one side.
Open mind.
On other side.
With clear brain in my pocket.
I go to walked it.
Kerri Dec 2018
Sometimes I wonder
if the smile I gave you
is long gone
or do you keep it in your pocket and put it on from time to time
in the darkness of the night
Maxim Keyfman Dec 2018
with violin in hand with
sand in your pocket
i go i step again
where will i find that
golden bird

I live I want to live
find the last treasure
to burn to burn
and darkness and darkness
never know

play a tune
one melody of the world
play the misty of mist
but fog and gloom
and not know darkness

13.12.18
Anya Sep 2018
I just realized
As I was shuffling
Through my poems
A majority of
My poetry
Seems
To be
A
Pocket
For my
Insecurities
Marianna Sep 2018
When i was fourteen
I learnt how to tie a rope
And practiced on a small string
until i could tie it with my eyes closed

i kept it in my pocket
i placed it in my bag
I played with it when i was lonely
and held it in my hands

Now i'm nineteen
I no longer remember how to tie a rope
But i still keep my small string
In the deep corner of my drawer
only words never actions
Nayana Nair May 2018
Oh! Let me be you.
Who walks with a sun in your pocket
for every rainy day.
Who stood at crossroads
and decided which road shouldn’t exist.
Let me be you for a day.
So that I am not the one
who hides in hollow words,
who makes her bed on the dreams of others.
Let me be you,
so that I can put out my hand
always with the confidence
knowing that the love I ask
shall be given.

But what is this that I feel?
Why my hands shake?
Why my heart cries?

Is it because
the one who is breaking the wall
with bare bleeding hands
has the same pain, same fear
as the one who is hiding behind that wall.
Is it because
this love, this life
leaves no one without scar.
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