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Natalie Holmes Jun 2015
And on my way the light turns red.
Now I’m stuck with time to think.
Maybe I should turn around
But your warmth is calling me.

Red light adding seconds to my clock.
One second is all I need.
My cup is full of arguments
But for you, I’d spill my drink.

Fingers drum and throat, it catches.
Legs stick to vinyl seats.
Logic sings and reason whistles
But your hiss, it sounds so sweet.

Skip this song and then the next.
**** this whole CD.
As time, it stops. Decision reached.

But then the light turns green.
Mike lowe Apr 2015
Rest your head on my chest. Meditate to the rhythm of my heart beat. Breathe softly and escape your mind.

Live in this moment right now.

Cry your eyes dry and whisper your secrets to me. Scream your voice horse and just don't forget to breathe.  

Even the sun must let the moon sit in darkness at night. Even in your darkest times, i'll be the light you need.

I will rehearse you like poetry and speak you into existence. A tangled mess of letters and words that only us, together, can straighten out. You will be my poetry.
The key to words,
when written down,
is to view them
like a Lost and Found.
For, when faced with creativity,
one can be lost in eternity,
and the endless options
that thoughts present-
all the struggles
in the time that's spent.
One could hear a phrase-
uttered on a whim-
but for a creative mind,
it makes a cup flowing to the brim.
Ideas and conjurations
spring forward with ease,
like delicate whisperings
on a warm summer's breeze.
Bursting with inspiration,
so suddenly found,
makes each step a blessing
as it touches the ground.
Then how is it,
that once imparted,
it is so easy
to find those dear words departed?
A moments distraction,
and then they are helplessly gone;
as you frown and despair
over a writing gone wrong.
You scavenge the void
and the dark recesses
of a previous list
of brilliant successes,
only to find that,
though measurable indeed,
the words on that list
are not what you need.
So treasure wisely
your words today-
for a borrowed word
is tomorrow's play.
Christopher Lowe Oct 2014
Let these words
Be an extension
Of my soul
Because I'm over committed  
To Being
An Existentialist
And my existence
Is far beyond
Just existing
Ky Blackstar Jul 2014
I spend hours writing some night in hopes to calm myself
but sometimes the words scratched along the paper aren't enough
I still find it hard to not think about death some days
I still think about my red inked silver pen
And i still wonder if happiness even exists or if it is just the god like coping mechanism we use to convince ourselves that we are okay
sorry not one of my best works but i thought id publish it anyhow
marquida May 2014
allowing to
be pulled
flesh from bone
bone from soul
flesh being selfish
flesh being
eaten up
by God
thispoem.wordpress.com

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