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Dean Chittenden Dec 2020
An oblique shoe string
Hangs from a power line
knotted through
the wrong holes

A baby carriage on
the sidewalk
just left out
in the cold

a golden autumn
November tree
sheds her last leaf
she weeps and she mourns

nothing left
to be solved
these puzzles
make me sick
pieces are rotted mold

when you put them
together
its a lonely kid
the letters blank
ink pens run
out of code

The apartment
I live in is still the
Bloodiest brick red

stained relationships
I neglected
Its a splattered
picture on my white wall

Three wolves
each take turns
trying to ******* down

i guess these children
stories held
Some sort truth to them
after all

I just stand tall
like the effiel
tower im
builts for
world affair

Im was just hoping
for this morning
to be a symbol
of peace

listen for
a silent noise
a whisper
a vendor yelling
in the street

but its just loud
its violent creatures
and its laying in my
bed next to me
Last track from that same album if you saw the previous poem
AnyaKinsey Oct 2020
Is your bedroom ceiling,
As dark as mine?
Can you see in,
The night?

Is it pebbled,
Is it flat,
What do the,
Shadows look like?

Can you look up,
And see your dreams,
Or just see concrete,
And beams.
Pauper of Prose Dec 2018
My memories become
Motionless in midnight
Adept to freeze frames
Still seconds of past scenes
Linger on auditory loops
Repeat, remix, replay
Motionless my memories
Become in midnight
And at some point
The Spielberg center of my soul
Screams cut
Ashley Tarantino Nov 2018
Time is a monster,
that eats away your soul.
A nibble here.
A nibble there.
Until it takes its toll.
Unstoppable.
Unmeasured.
Undeniably the truth.
Time is a monster.
And it's favorite food is youth.
It's really suffocating to think that every breath you take is a moment slipping forever away.
Wes Noneya Feb 2017
Even in the darkest night
With winds cold kiss that tempest that batters
I would find or make shelter and light
To ruminate on all that matters

Of want and needs
Of those that do and don't
Of good and bad deeds
Of those that will and won't

Of death decay growth and life
Of joy and sorrow
Of triumph and strife
Of hope on the morrow

Of dew on a blade of grass
Of sunlight through trees
Of critical mass
Of conversations and the flight of bees

~Wes Noneya ©
T R Wingfield Dec 2016
I found a boardwalk in the woods
leading, seemingly, to nowhere,
In a timberland swamp I knew from younger days;
Decaying and rotten, likely long forgotten.
I wondered how long it had been there, abandoned to its fate:
being quietly mocked by the still standing timbers,
as yet spared the sawmills blade,
for its needless sacrifice, as its strength is weathered away; used but unrequited, wasted, faded and unmade.

I followed along its decrepit path
as far as I could make,
and laughed to myself and thought,
"Such is life's disarray."
To let go...to release one's grip,
Not hold on anymore,
Walk away,
Rip it off,
Break it...
Though it cannot be undone.
The point is...it was done,
It occurred, or it happened!

What was, was
What is, is
What is to be, will be!

What we were, we were
What we are, we are
What we will be...well...if we are to be, will be!

To let go is not easy.
It could be, but...
It also could not!

We could let it be,
Whatever that may be,
However it is to be!

'To let go requires the now.
What was done requires to let go now.
Let go now what was done,
Also requires to let be what will be!

To let go and let it be is part of the process of being,
It requires the now.

To let it go...
And let it be...

Past. Present. Future.
The one that stands above these is the present.

The present allows us to look to the past for lessons for the future.
The present is the best present!

The present! The gift!
I hope you not only enjoy, but are able to reflect, learn, and apply.
Nora Apr 2016
i dream of the day
where i’ll be able to say
i know how to enjoy
Free Time, Me Time, Time
Alone with no crimes,
instead of yearning for
hours at a job i deplore
because i can’t bear myself
anymore
Nora Feb 2016
I’ve always been drawn
To the artists,
The new greats,
The aesthetes,
The painters,
The writers and the
Ones who dress
Like they’re out of
A low budget
Film from the 90s -
Chic, noir, vintage,
And just so strikingly
Unique. But I am not
Like them, and they
Do not like me - I
Am weird and aloof,
Sloppy and silly,
Withdrawn and witty,
Sporadic in art and
Thought. A nomad
Of culture and crowds,
Too deviant for them:
Au revoir.
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