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how can i see?
how can i let you
away

you told me
you hate me
and be away

but i love you
i will not as spider
who ate the gift
then her beloved
what does he get?
he became the martyr of love

the scorpion did the same
so every man must kiss his beloved
leg and hand
as she loves him, and let him love
her
, let him in life sustain
what a gift!

i am not selfish
i will let you at finish
but i will push
any one will hurt or tend to polish
your honor and makes it *******

i will be as the great fish
who will face every worst fish
and may **** myself and you live
long happy , you deserve
love is the spirit that deals between two hearts
Phoenix Jun 15
Whatever I write
can be dipped in inquiry,
sprinkled in spirit,
and polished with potential.

I don't write solely to impress
nor to be the best.
I write to explore.
And not so that the world can see me,
but so I can see the world.
A short explanation of what I put into my writing and why I do it. Originally written to be an Instagram caption.
Seanathon Apr 1
Would you hold my crown every night?
Polish me until I shine?
Endlessly
Until we can see
The reflective wish in the others mind
Would you polish me all night?
You wouldn't believe me if I told you - Polish
Ronnie Mar 24
Over Silesian mountains
Somewhere beyond black seas
There is a forgotten dream
Conjuring visions of peace

Go your own way, go now, go
You are meant to lead, not follow
Walk on, fly by, sail ashore
To the land that you adore
Go your own way, go now, go
You are meant to lead, not follow
Walk on, fly by, sail ashore
Go your own way, go now, go

Many lives faced the dream
More of them fade to black
But in the eyes of the eagle
There is no turning back

Go your own way, go now, go
You are meant to lead, not follow
Walk on, fly by, sail ashore
To the land that you adore
Go your own way, go now, go
You are meant to lead, not follow
Walk on, fly by, sail ashore
Go your own way, go now, go

Their hearts are worn on sleeves
Determination so earnest
Merely calm before the storm
Quiet before the Tempest

Go your own way, go now, go
You are meant to lead, not follow
Walk on, fly by, sail ashore
To the land that you adore
Go your own way, go now, go
You are meant to lead, not follow
Walk on, fly by, sail ashore
Go your own way, go now, go
Inside the city walls
The static is meant to frighten
Those who await the call
In the echoes of the siren

Go your own way, go now, go
You are meant to lead, not follow
Walk on, fly by, sail ashore
To the land that you adore
Go your own way, go now, go
You are meant to lead, not follow
Walk on, fly by, sail ashore
Go your own way, go now, go

There are many roads to follow
Some of them are painted red
Yet as long as we march on
No one can declare us dead.
Attempt at a Polish-style folk ballad for poetry class.
Peter Jan 3
A
Being
Is here
To get you
But it’s not so
Simple to get you
Huh? Everyone thinks
Its so easy to get someone
But it is much harder than it
Seems really. Have you ever tried
To get someone, and it turned out to
Be the most difficult task you have ever
Created for yourself? I am sitting here in this
Empty room listening to music doing completely
Nothing and if so only pointless things like writing
Poem even tho i have never wrote a poem before. It
Just hit me to write one and im just letting my brain go and
Spit these words like guitar releases its cords. Right now the flow
Is pretty slow, because the music slowed down. Now we are searching
For the right words to use, and when the chorus comes, our brain gets hit
By some strange feeling that it can create whole universes in just a few seconds.
Chorus has ended again and my brain is a flop. Why is it a flop even tho nothing has
Really changed only sounds that i hear changed. Why my brain is connected to these
Sounds with such strength? Why can’t i escape these sounds, they are all the time with
Me. Help me. Help me find help. I need help. I know that i need help. I don’t know where
To seek help.

Why this poem looks so strange? i want
My poem to look different.
                  Chaotic.
but this isn’t strange
it’s just different help me find help. i need help i need help please help me why is it so hard to be alive to be human to be a living thing i don’t wanna die but i don’t wanna live is it a curse or a gift life is not precious life is terrible only from time to time is worth living but still look at the cancers of the world all the terrorism all the sick people all the cataclisms   i hate life i hate world i hate living



why can noone help me please
help
me
      .
oh well music changed looks like i am happy again but only for few minutes.
                    unfortunately.
Peter Jan 3
Everything can look
      like a poem
  The only thing
       you need
  is to put enough
   ******* spacebars
  to make it look
         like
                 one
when ****
day afternoon
was really
something to
behold in
Nashville with
catastrophic notes
that mother
backs another
day and
timbre her
fortune with
a dainty
song and
hence wake
in market
of blues
Shofi Ahmed Dec 2018
It’s in my soil that maybe only
a patch of mundane dust.
But the water within it
must not come close to tear
or else no rock from space
will hit the one and only
finest cut the polished earth.
But it can no longer hold
onto its lubricating drop
of water at its very heart.
Losing it to some
one’s harrowing cry!
Margaret Dec 2018
Late one night
walking home
alone
I felt a long pink
finger nail
touch the
pad of my thumb finger
and it was my own
and somehow

I thought
to my grandma

how many bottles
of pink nail polish
collected in that
far from antique
white plastic container
and at visits
the rummaging
I would do
inspecting each color
and she taught me how
to paint each nail
one on the left,
one in the center,
one on the right,
for each nail

and when they
were drying she
would tell me
to blow
I would sit
so tall and proud
for not having smudged them

Such a childish thing
and yet how warmly
I remember this
when she died
I could have all of her
nail polishes
Wow, it has been a long time since I wrote for Hello Poetry. I started writing on this website as the only outlet for an awkward teenaged girl who was the only one in her classes enjoying poetry. Looking back, the content I was putting on the site wasn’t very good, but I loved the community here. So much has changed since then and I think as you get older you come to realize less is more when it comes to poetry. (With amount of words used at least). It will sometimes be months since I’ve written anything, but I wrote this one late a night or two ago, recalling this memory of my grandma. When she died, I lost a huge mother figure  in my life. My own mother was not the type to paint nails.
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