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Leah Carr Sep 2021
The pain beats me down
And ties me up
Make me feel
That I'm not enough

It hurts so much
Nobody will never find
In a life of searching
Such a tortured mind

But you come in
Swoop through me whole
You take that broken
Piece of soul

That's never
going to make the fight
But you show it
Where to find the light

Lord Jesus,
I dont know where you've been
As I've struggled through this
Sea of sin

But one thing's certain
You're here with me now
And God
I'm ready for revival

Lord Jesus,
I'll never know why you left
Left me broken,
Lost, and bereft

But one thing is clear
Now that you're here
And it's this, God
I'm ready for revival
Em MacKenzie Aug 2021
You can pick up a brick
and throw it through a glass pane,
or you can look for others
and make a home.
Even if the world is ****,
it’s up to you to plant flowers
in the fertilizer.
kevin wright Feb 2021
An arc of embodiment
Decadent perfumed petticoats swirled to order
Power ****** from the sweat of the land
Stone hewn from its very foundations
A spider's web encloses the flowering art

Phoenician helmeted raiders
Roman taxing invaders
Trespassing Gaulish voices
Thumbed rosary transcenders
The dawn of a walled resistance

A Religious pandemic
Storming Carcistes
Razats rebel
Friends denounce their own
A castle evokes revolutionary fever

Ghosts reverberate running the embattlements
Proletarians open the walls
Guardians red and blue
White clergy take the souls
Swords discarded, a tricolore soars

Slaves to the chisel
Open pits for Vulcan to dip his toes
Gothic Cavernous quarried vaults
     in search of Sade’s demons
Stone to shape Provencal style

Dereliction a Maquis delight
Refuging resistance and the persecuted
Destruction and collapse
Artisans and folk revive
Paint brushes to the fore
Transientents page the streets with blood red gold

A coat of arms rings its bell
Lowly hovels now adored
Gaping holes swallow the light
Sleepers enrichen the ground
Too long a museum

Stirring string notes
Cherups embrace their calling
Voices rouse the deities
Banners furl in mistral breaths
Spirits hightail Lacoste’s new allies

Iced sun rises over Luberons range
Warmth caresses the blood of day
School children playing, wake the sleepy
Warm stews vie with Pistou
Hallowed vines are groomed

Long walks with herbs to find
Boars try and outwit their hunters
Dogs smell the truffles afar
Ventoux snows cool the view
Cyclists roar through in celebration

Village a transforming microcosm
Artists absorb, evolving a creation
Animate habitants living and the vogue
A hearty cocooned culture emerging out into
     longer days luring the coming spring
The second of  a four seasons  poetic series. A village stripped bare to its origins  during winter.
Andrea Kabugo Dec 2020
I've been talking to the mirror.
Been looking at the mirror.
The mirror of me.

I see the tears on your cheeks.
The red on your skin.
The mirror of me.

Dear mirror,
The cracks as you scream,
The pain that you're in.
Is a mirror of me.

Oh mirror,
I saw you on the street
The rain your only sheen
Was a mirror of me.

So mirror,
The claws at your cheek
The deep open screams
The mirror of me.

Hear me when I speak
The reds and blues I see.
The dark that your making.
Is no mirror of me.

I hope you can hear me.
The lies that I've seen.
Never a mirror,

Of me.
Not all mirrors tell the truth.
Ken Pepiton Jul 2020
after all's been said
and done
you’re the only one who got it.
How's that feel?
good. right. No question
3md Jul 2020
tis been quite a while since;
now that im back im at a loss
a loss for words, a little
clueless perhaps-- for some
reason i havent brought myself
to write til now. why now i
do not know. a calling-- no,
a brief revival, i say; a sudden
puff of air fought its way through
to the rusted innards of this
heaving engine… a momentary
spark, brief in its intensity but
eternal in that its light travels
ceaselessly; the legacy of a
blunt yet nevertheless discernable
moment of passion, barely visible
but somehow, just somehow, twas there.
Written July 5 2020. It's meant to address the fact that I haven't written a poem since last year (no joke).
Xavier Low Jun 2020
I cleared my desk today
I trashed pieces of paper, old receipts and movie tickets
I crushed and tossed letters and brochures
Perhaps its nothing to many of you
A simple clearing, of items that you no longer need
But to me, it was so much more than that
In this mass of what others may call trash
are items that hold memories and scrapped futures
Because I remember them all
Every movie we went for
Every cafe we visited
Every letter or piece of news that
we struggled or celebrated together
It was landfill of triggers that I was rummaging through eyes wide open

I was exposed
This gravity was craving in
Like an insurmountable weight
Place on top my chest
I couldn't breathe, I couldn't see
You've tried for months I told myself
Today's the day you will do it
Put those memories away

But how did I do it you ask?
How was it possible to no longer feel?
Truth is, I felt it all.
The weight still came in waves
As each item still screamed for its place to stay
But I was no longer in the mood for mercy
For they have haunted me long enough
Piece by piece, I was being set free
Perhaps what I felt in all these moments was genuine
Perhaps I only felt what I wanted to
Perhaps all I did was layer to stay longer in your storm
To keep you company, to lift you up
But it mattered not
For I knew that starting today
I no longer wanted to feel that way
For this is not the love I want not deserve

So for the last time
I did what I had to
Just like when you were in lalaland
I kissed the only picture you let me keep
With the same feeling of longing in my heart
But today, it was goodbye.
With that,
I placed you far and high
Out of my reach

I cleared my desk today
Removed all the artefacts
That I marked my precious
I couldn't breathe, I couldn't see
But I knew it was necessary
I knew deep down that I had more to give
But it mattered not
For it was time to go.

To all the things that weren't meant to be
I'm here saying my final apologies
For I knew that my rage is strength
For I knew that I had more to give
For I knew that this was not the end of my story
For I knew that I am grateful for all that life has given
The people, the love, the pain, the suffering
I love and am thankful for it all

But still a mark has not been made
And my fire lies unsatisfied
My fate calls for my awakening once more
And this time,
There are no chains on me
No gravity that shall bound me
No fear that will stop me
For deep in me, I feel power
Power that will allow me to
walk the path that is dark and unknown
For I am wiser and stronger
Than I have ever been
Let's do this, round 2.
KJ Jun 2020
precipitates of spite
sting deeper than an angry bee
even as I shudder in hate's bite
buds of resilience sprout in me.
deeppoet46 Jun 2020
I was tired
So I retired
When I awake
It will cause a wake
that will shake the ground
all around
I had to make a new account
Linn C Apr 2020
Today, I walk down the same shore
Of beach 'revival'
They say,
Pick a stone
And you'd come again,
They said the same before.

Out of the shiny, shimmering, crystalline ones,
I chose the darkest, small and round piece of rock.
One mistook it for a darkened egg,
While others declared it a marble.

It's a stone,
Simply my way back to the beach,
Where my transient legs once laid bare
And the grains of sand
pricked against my sole.
Where once my love and I walked hand in hand,
his smile reaching my soul.

Those were yesteryears,
We were young, bold and shy.
His shirt button up till his tie.
We promised to build a house
Along the seaside
Hearing the rhymes of dancing waters.

Indeed I'm back again,
To return the nature its nature,
Giving a last look at the stone
That held him and I close.

I close my eyes
And smile with grief,
I feel his hand touch mine,
I let the stone fall off my fist.
His form disappears in thin air.
My intention is fulfilled.
I've let the waves
Wash away the mortal existence of us.
Now remain only in the faded memories
Of the revival beach.
Open for interpretation.
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