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Path Humble Sep 2018
“every one shall sit in safety un­der his own vine and fig tree and there shall be none to make him afraid.”*

Letter from George Washington, 1790, to the Jewish community of Newport, Rhode Island


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multiple motifs present poesy alternatives,
but one supremes

safety in your own chosen orchard,
supping on clear water, wine and figs
children of trees, nurtured by one’s own hands,
children of your children, running the grove,
shouting out in sweet safety

the wasps happy shameless pollinate,
dreaming of more generations,
ruefully smiling, thinking of
Adam and Eve, who ashamed of
their apple’d sexuality,
hid their nakedness of course beneath
the safety of
fig leaves

you do not pray for safety
you do not ask for anything,
nothing to fear says the father,
for you already live in our own
George’s garden of eden
I'm your rock of stability,
forever vigilant,
forever here,
I can weather the worst storms,
and I won't budge during the harshest winds.
I've taken mud slides,
and tidal waves,
but I'll stay strong for you.
My will is the sturdiness of iron,
as I am ever persistent,
and ever looking,
for any cracks that form over time,
but I will chisel away at myself,
and make a fine sand,
that I can use to complete you again,
and fill those cracks.
I'm always firm and a solid ground for you to step on,
I've even opened a cave just for you to hide in.
That's not something I do for anyone,
but I'm so happy it's you I let in.
As the oceans rise,
and the lands change,
there will be one thing waiting for you,
your mighty rock,
where you have carved your name inside my walls that will last,
till the end of time.
Nyx Sep 2018
When I get sad
I liked to curl into a ball
That way I can pretend
That I dont exist at all

Within that ball
I hide my self
In hard to find places
Tight and secluded
I always find the right spaces

Hidden from the prying eyes
Of the people all around
Gossip spread by word of mouth
Makes my head spin round

I close my eyes tightly
Cover my ears with my hands
knees tucked away
becoming as small as I can

Using the logic of a child
Who's too afraid to come out
If I can't see them, they cant see me
Let's pretend its true, Forget the doubt

Underneath a cloud of sin
Beautifully dark and secluded
Within this sadness i dwell
My Problems concluded

I'm a little ball of safety
Built especially for me
Hush now be silent
Just leave me be
Eleanor Sep 2018
Emilee, her memory
The child within her television tv
The last standing immigrant of Chile
And a standstill on the blooming lilies
Flowers don't sprout in the withering hot
And babies are mourned when the cradle drops
Water is set free, along with the husbands
Someone, dear god, allow us to keep this bun in the oven
mother's poem about her deceased, child, daughter, and her cries for safety for her baby in the war torn comical country
awknight Sep 2018
I am water and made of earth
Trace the dew on my thighs
I mold myself to your shape
Breathing under blankets of solace
Light touches only parts of us
Fingers run across your cheek
Lightly stepping through bounds
Interlaced fingers — palms upward
Inside, my soul shakes.
God of life, take me.
Jolan Lade Aug 2018
I have a convenient little helmet
When the world becomes overwhelming
It offers protection, an atmosphere that takes me to the stratosphere where I can be myself
In my helmet, my bubble I am me, in my bubble I don't need to see the horrors of others
In my bubble, I can be free, see the world in my own colours
When I exit my bubble I put on knee-high boots, a protective safety suit and a good pair of really thick gloves. At my waist, I carry a big revolver that will act as a solver. Because with humans you cannot argue and be nice, cannot talk and make peace.
In my bubble
Dominique Aug 2018
I know the toothless women
Who crumple on the streets
The rain bleeds through their cardboard,
The cold drips through their feet

I know the dying children
With anaesthetic arms
The angels crowd around them
With time that burns their palms

I've hugged the brainwashed gangsters
With money drenched in blood
I've heard their broken weeping
While digging up the mud

I've seen the starving faces
Of the tired girls at home
The broken, hectic psyches
That eat them to the bone

I know the burning poets
With a desperate thirst for life
The need for finding soulmates
That pierces like a knife

There's weary public servants
Who risk their lives for good
And prove compassion every day
Yet stay misunderstood

Human love is buried
Beneath the plastic weight
Of angry allegations
And a world that feeds off hate

These people may be messy,
But they're beautiful and real
With hidden dreams and secrets
And ability to feel

We have a place to run to
With lights of peach and gold
Where all the weight is lifted
And all our tales are told

We live in total freedom
So safe beneath the moon
And though it seems ambitious
Our dreams will save us soon
The night brings comfort to those who need it most
Lydia Aug 2018
If you could just stay around me all of the time
that would be great
carry me when I'm feeling like I can't stand anymore,
hold the weight,
prop me up and shower me in confidence when I can't find any of my own
kiss my bruises
and form me into something beautiful
in your eyes I am always magnificent,
I need more of that in my life

maybe I am guilty of needing you too much
I always said I would never let my soul rely on another,
but
with you it's like breathing,
it's just too easy
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