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James Jarrett Feb 2015
Just some ideas

Thought outside of the lines

And without the box

Ideas so dangerous

They comprise a crime

To think to be free

That your laws

Without my consent

Mean nothing to me

imprison for life

For thinking such things

But

A lonely cell

Just won’t hold

All of those

Dangerous ideas
rey Jan 2015
this is a story about a war
angels looking for completeness, and
reapers in uniforms

we raised our flags
they raised their guns
we filled the sky with our cry
we heard gunfire gunfire gunfire

you can never
ever
feed the hungry with bullets

four angels went home

do demons really run,
when a good man goes to war?
this is about the Trisakti shootings in Jakarta, 1998. I wasn't even born yet but oh my god, the horror...
Steele Jan 2015
I took the path less travelled by,
and found to my chagrin
that the path I walked was paved in good intentions
and devoid of friend and kin.

Though in walking those trails, I only meant well,
The herd is the entity that most oft prevails;
The lion devours the lone gazelle,
who of the well worn path did not avail.
Pride precedes the fall.
Dolores L Day Dec 2014
There is no such thing
as a note-worthy conformist
This came out of my mouth one day, and I thought it was genius.
Sylvie Barton Nov 2014
yes, you were all
straight-edges and knives weren't you

until the clouds dare drift
to colder skies
you melted right before

our eyes
"I can see clearly now the rain has gone"
Shaun Meehan Nov 2014
Features, my reflection—
subtle hints stare back offering wordless reply,
their evidence a betrayal of age.
A wrinkle looking deeper,
mane of face, of head—hairs
fresh lacking pigment.

Vain attempts made to mend heart,
to sooth soul's dread.
Testimony of experience
of wisdom, persistence, perception,
an impotent contraceptive, the argument
aberrant.

Regret to cloud memory, my youth
seeming a flesh and blood cliche.
Tiny footnotes heavy with prose,
words in bold
to distract mind's eye—a demand of attention.
Edging out tomb's more beautiful weight
of love and heartache
of passion's attempt failing,
to try again, sinking before succeeding.
An era's dusk and dawn anew, life's advent
unpredictable—without cause changing.

Notion hanging lingering, poisoning future,
the venom of defeat an insidious invasion.
This new age creeping toward night
in this stage my life's sun less bright.
Maturity's introduced responsibility,
some enjoyable while others to own hostility.
A brigand mugging freedom—time for leisure.
Spurring combat for what remains of youth,
fingers wrapping air in futile seizure.

The inevitable to command subservience,
presuming ownership of life, though the mature
demonstrate the defiance of the immature.
Objects, activities, music assaulting ear,
their manner,
symbols of strict adherence to who once was—
a spiteful surrender refusal.

A piece of me defining me until no more,
years holding power—threatening
to change who I am at very core.
Canvas construction the colour of murre,
rubber toe caps the shade of pure.
Design worn since youth, dead and resurrected;
a million mile shoe of valorous resistance—insurrection,
a Converse rebellion.
In torment of age's scars,
I'll never be too old to wear my All Stars.
The Jarl Nov 2014
A peaceful man in a belligerent nation
Delivering messages of hope station to station
Through words of power and words of encouragement
Supplying the spiritually needy with nourishment
Don't stop, because this place needs an uprising
Creativity is dead and authority is hypnotizing
Liv Oct 2014
The rain drew her in
It doused her fears and put out the flame of false hope in her heart
It awakened her soul and lit a new flame of courage and rebellion in her
It washed away the sorrow
It kissed her face the way he never would again
The rain was the only kiss she needed now
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