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Kodi Udezue Mar 2020
I have a thought that tickles down my soul bank of thoughts.
It's a thought that dilutes all the sweet taste of all I thought.
One that gaols the psyche and maneuver in the midst of all my anxiety.

I would have uttered it to my close companion,
but the thoughts of being ridiculed consistently quenched out the desire to communicate.

Can I find a pure one who can listen and not tell the world my greatest fear?
The dependent one is but an atom in the midst of particles.
I need to dig deep till I find one who can bear my world with me.
Ekstyn May 2018
When you want to write something
but the words won’t come to you
and you wonder if it’s about vocabulary issues
or just personal issues.
You ask yourself,
why the heck can’t I
write this down
when all I think about
is how I wanted to see the words inked
(maybe, just maybe, it’d help me forget).
You start to doubt the integrity of your craft,
you ask your muse
and get nothing but a sad look
(like, somber and defeated and sorry altogether because you can’t)
You have a lot of words running through
your mind but none has made it past your pen,
none has made it through that wall.
And then you ask your heart why.
Why do you do this to yourself?
Is it not better if you keep it inside your head?
To not have any concrete evidence that such thing existed
(wouldn’t it be easier to forget then?)
You look at your reflection and see your past self,
asking you to please stop.
Stop, stop punishing yourself with memories.
You must remember that there is no sin in loving someone
even if you are not loved in return.
Lovers are not sinners
regardless of any circumstances,
love is the only religion we can all agree on
(funnily enough, love has punished a lot of people – exhibit A: You).
You look at the words you’ve written before
and the shadow of the people behind them.
Will this be the same?
You haven’t forgotten any of them
but time has salved the pain
and all you have now is a hollowness you can’t quite explain.
You look at the paper in front of you
and think of how you’d be reading the words
you’ll eventually pen down in the hopes that it’ll balm your wounded heart.
Will time be enough to let you have a peace of mind?
You look at him and you know the answer
(tomorrow you write, but not today)
Writer's dilemma
Andreas Simic Oct 2017
The Quandary©

Standing high on the mountain side
I take in the first breath of morning
It seems so much more refreshing here
Maybe it is the altitude that we are at

The aroma of my morning brew reaches my nostrils
The steam a reminder of the time of year
As I survey the pristine landscape my thoughts wander to home
Father would be at the farm readying for harvest

He too would be having his first cup of java
I can hear mother in the background reminding him of something
Soon he would be culling the herd for winter meat
Isn’t that what people say I do, cull

Yet for me gazing down the hillside it does not feel the same
Sure I do this with my fellow men to survive
But it feels like to me that we are taking them out in their prime
That somehow it is a travesty

Back at some headquarters they will remind that others will follow
We are only doing what needs to be done
That much good will come of what we will do today
And in that is my quandary

I see them fall some younger, some older, some not at all
Those few spared to provide seed for new generations
That last gasp is the same regardless of their age
The word “timber” signaling their death knell

That which took decades if not centuries to grow
Will be felled in a matter of minutes
The tree which has lived longer than I now dead
A seedling placed where it so proudly stood

I am a logger
But you can call me Bob

Andreas Simic©
Keen Oct 2016
Dear You,
Yes you
the one who broke me;
into pieces,
Tiny pieces.

Expecting someone
like you
in front of my door.
Without you knocking
Without you asking
Without me knowing
that was the last time.
The very last time,
that I would see you,
that I would talk to you,
that I would laugh with you.

Everything was over
looking through the memories;
Sad,
sad memories of you.

Till we met,
not as lovers
but as strangers.
- 10062k16
SassyJ Feb 2016
Philosophical epistemology strumming adventures
Albeit, coherent mental decoding stratifications structured
Supposedly our world rests in our minds, revolving knowledge
An entwine of conceptual abstract flowing within oneself
The mind in the “I” the “I” a reality lived in my experiences
George of Leontini, a mine mind approving solipsism exploring innatism
Imaginative insights that nothing exists, the secrets secreting secrets
The knowledge behind the veils that remains un-communicated
A reverse of normality and known existences, moral disposition
Hypothesis of depersonalizations, adventures of self internalization
Justifications for what lies outside the Medulla Oblongata
Skepticism and just alternatives to western philosophy
Subjective unapproved experiences only robust in one’s mind
Descartes abstraction of inner experiences, reciprocated paradigm
Intuitively, perceived lived formulations of "Cogito Ergo Sum"
Psychological conscious undoubted individualistic thoughts
Berkley explored perspectives that physicality is an embodiment of the mind
The mind a decoding visualizer, that encompass the non-existent
An idealism marriage of ‘metaphysical’ and epistemological philosophy
The intense esoteric “dualism” verses the fiery “monism” reality
Mind boggling differentiated truths bleeding with blinking unresolvable hypothesis
The jiggered methodological, streamlining the un -logic sequential beats
Rachael hays Mar 2015
carefully i write words
on your heart so that you will
not forget our moments of gazing
upon each other’s
naked skin and slowly
devouring your lips as you taste mine, i am
ravished by your passion
uttering your name breathlessly
moving with you until we are like the dead.
~rh 13 March 2013
Frank Ruland Jul 2014
What is life
but a series of events and
coincidences?
You meet people and
forge relationships over
hot coals.
You experiance things that either
make your or break you.
You learn to love or you
lust to hate.
You submerge yourself in empathy
or you can
drown in the dismal depths of apathy.

It is a battle of volition over the
grueling Wheel-of-Chance that is
fate.
It's a blessing of the soul
or a slap upon the face.
It's the straight and narrow path you
walk, or the seedy, sinuous street
you've been made to scour.
It's a chance to find yourself or
lose it all amongst the masses.
It is either your Reckoning,
or your one chance at Redemption.

What is life, but a game of craps, or
just a total crapshoot?
What is living, but one more day alive,
or one more biding your time?
What is this thing that we call breathing?
Is it nothing more than tasting air,
or eating off of someone else's plate?
What is the big meaning?
Will we ever find a righteous answer,
and will it leave us blind?

— The End —