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An empty mind
Is like an empty book

Perception is our ink
That may fill that book

Pages written in scribbles
Of what our mind registers

None is readable
All is chaos.
My mind is chaos. All the time.
Antares Sep 2018
In my hand I hold a book,
memories clashing, thrashing, collapsing at every verse.
To where I meet my fellow adventurer, traveler, merchant.
Oh are you friend or foe?
I ask at every letter, word, line, paragraph, page, chapter...
Scour every verse ever written, details of the past.
Yet they'll often end the same.

A frame to a world,
etched by fledglings of paper and ink.
Imperfections that shatter, clatter, splatter
every notice of human touch, hunch, crunch
But bunched together, sewn together
to reform and perform such a broken, silly tale.

Kindling hearths
as bluebirds fly.
I honestly don't know with this one...
Josh G Aug 2018
Numerous titles spanning an ocean of literature
Offering stories of grandeur and knowledge
Voiced from the thoughts of artistic and powerful minds
Expanding ones curiosity to dive
Luicdly into the greatest works of past and present times
Julian Delia Aug 2018
One, bright star,
In an otherwise dark sky.
That is what you are,
And now I know why.

Much like a star,
I could only observe from afar.
You were always there –
Radiant, with a certain flair.

I witnessed as you overcame nightmares,
As if you had the energy of a thousand solar flares.
Forged from unstoppable chemistry,
Leaving earth scorched with phenomenal synergies of energies.

I always saw you through this lens tinged with admiration.
Head and shoulders above the rest, a jewel of all creation.
I felt inadequacy by comparison, extensively -
I never respected myself enough,
I gave myself to people recklessly,
People who turned me cold and tough.

And so, our paths never crossed.
A faraway star you remained,
And over our friendship I casually glossed.
I was always coveting unspoken fantasies,
Never realising I was sheltering under broken canopies.

Perhaps you also had this thought.
Perhaps from afar, your own insecurities you also fought.
Never have I hoped with so much suspenseful delight
To see two stars collide;
I wish to fill up the darkness of this universe with light,
And bridge this divide.

Now that I’ve realised
I no longer need a canopy,
All I can think of
Are excuses to seek your company.
Have you ever desired someone but felt you were unworthy of them, so you never approached them?
Take my advice: don't listen to yourself on this one. We all deserve to love and be loved, or failing that hurt and be hurt - it is the freest human emotion of all and we should experience it whenever we can, both the good and the bad.
Sabila Siddiqui Aug 2018
In the midst of escaping
I no longer knew who I was.
rey Aug 2018
letting others read my poetry is strange—
it’s as if they’re in my thoughts.
they feel my feelings, read my emotions,
and capture the essence of me.

letting others read my poetry is odd—
but not in a bad way, por say.
it’s just strange letting them into
a part of me.

letting others read my poetry is smart—
it helps me improve my writing.
Better understanding others helps me
understand myself more.

i like letting others read my poetry.
a quick, cute poem. i hope you enjoyed it! i have a bunch of other poems as well, i hope you read a few!
Glasses weigh heavy on the newspaper
Time to gain news
Courtney Aug 2018
I’m the hidden book,
Leather bound
Threads fraying
On the top shelf.
You like the paperbacks
And hardcovers,
Pretty titles
And modernity.
But please know
I’m collecting dust
and I deserve a chance.
Just this once,
Brush me off
And open my pages.
Read my story.
I promise I won’t leave you hanging.
writerReader Jan 2015
is it love to die
in the
rain or to
jump in front
of speeding trains
or is it love to die
happily
in our
beds
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