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Tanya Mar 5

  
              rooting from nature’s beating heart
              through mud and soil it raises
              a tree, bathing in rain and sunshine,
              listening to thunderstorms at night
              ...
.
                have you ever noticed
                just how brave trees are ?
Amanda Feb 16
I am holding onto something
I'm scared it isn't real
Is this an illusion?
Is it what you really feel?

I know it is wishful thinking
Wishes don't come true
Every time you're on my mind
I hope I am on yours too

I am waiting for your attitude to change
Wondering when it will end
The moment heart finally breaks
Allowing it to start to mend

Labyrinths have me trapped
In each feeling you raise
Searching but I still can't find
My way out of this maze
You ah-maze me...
Amy Duckworth Dec 2018
If I cannot bend
H E A V E N

Then I will raise
H E L L
This is relatable to some extent with me please don't take this in any bad way shape or form.
Caleb John Aug 2018
When I can't get back up
When I'm drowning and I can't see the surface
When I'm broken
When I'm beaten
When I don't know why
When I can't see past the day
When I can't see past the knife
God please put me on my knees
Show me your peace
Show me your love
Father open my eyes to your grace
When I'm at my weakest screaming for help
Put me on my knees
Raise my hands
Fold my fingers
Push them to my forehead
Remind me to pray
Quin Rosenheart Aug 2018
You bring me up
When I feel down
You turn my frown
Upside down

I know it sounds cliche
But you're everything
My night and day
Mystic Ink Plus Jun 2018
Let’s talk football

All about
Who,
Scored
Missed
Raised
Fell

Who,
saved the faith
went unexpected

Make time
Just  live the game
Genre: Observational
Theme: Let's be there
Brandon Conway Jun 2018
Tonight we raised the dead
In the morning buried it
Under the pillow of your bed
Never to be resurrected again
I aged a small number of hours,
     none the worse
since posting about Daylight Savings Time,
     a radiant playful verse

teasingly succeeded against being terse,
a cogent tangential thread,
     where passage of "time"
     ranks front and center

     this central theme constitutes cultish obsession
     with vibrant youthfulness
     as if senescence a crime imposed
(at birth) on every purse

son, thus a healthy and prominant grow wing
(nee bursting out all over)
     market and cottage industries didst swing
into high gear (make that overdrive)

     addressing telomeres shortcomings
     justifies tamper ring
with chromosomal genes
     to sustain bug eyed sales figures,

     asper amazing grace full spy king
scales into the stratosphere,
     with cosmetic surgeons *** ping
where, (particularly among
     baby boomer generation)

     appear younger looking than offspring
(albeit, whereat either gender undergoing
     bust ting bosoms and tightening tushies)
     to foster said tune, where billions of dollars

     come into play, I haint joe king
this feeding frenzy removing without a trace
     (of surgeon's needle) unsightly wrinkles,
     stretch marks, blemishes, et cetera
     (over a life time) fulfilling vanity

in the name of eternal quest to dupe biology
     paying mega bucks postponing twilight/ evening
years not yielding to depredations when dotage
a stark reminder what natural aging doth bring

superficial (skin deep) transformations,
     which cannot reboot major organs
     allowing elderly to rock with van
halen again, since primary maximal apex

     i.e. post adolescence/
     early adulthood marked urban
boisterous antics, the tacitly accepted behavior,
     that would appear down right foolish

     as if elders played kick the can
     if chronologically old geezers let Mother Nature
     rightfully round up steering committee
     gently rowing rickety ship of lovely bones
     dutifully paying (chump change) to the bargeman.
what of it
have
we
broke
your human
laws

what bells have you rung
what steeple have you climbed
what trance have you seduced
that the pains
of
being
reborn
hasn't pained me
consider it not pain
that we may
greet you


who says we
they walked away
time was never
here to
follow
you

take my footsteps
walk with me in
the
hollows
what
is
this
that i would lead you
through the slaughter
have you torn my sheets
have you bruised me from underneath
from what gavel have you sentenced me
to write or say that you know
of
this
love

through meadows have we walked
peace has been before and behind me
before there was there will be
how many dreams could escap me
there is no man answer
from what **** have you traveled
that you could persuade me
what have you
with
my
repentance
?


















...
..
.
who thinks
they are
me
...
..
.
Hailee Dilworth Nov 2017
we need, in our lives, a way to express ourselves that is more than just emojis.
this constant need to type out our feelings
instead of expressing them for how they truly are.

and it seems to me
that we crave the intuition;
the creativity;
the imagination
that no child is being taught.

we’re building a nation of people who are living inside a box instead of thinking outside of it.  
a nation in which we beg for a mental capacity
and tell people to, “dream big!”
while we sit them in front of a screen
and remind them that it is...

only a dream.

so how do we blossom our youth
when we water them with hope,
and then plant them in a world
in which they cannot grow?

how can we ask them to express what they feel
and dream as large as they want,
when we are the ones
who put the screen in front of them
and cut away their individuality
until creativity is only a talent,
not a need.

we are the ones raising the next generation
of those who do not understand
that life is not the green
nor the work that comes with it.
but the exciting dreams
and the what we learn from it.
it’s irritating how the world pushes for creativity but wants everyone to be the same at the same time
no one is the same and we never will be.
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