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The World talks about pollution 
But still there is no solution 
The world behind is so green 
But the fire and smoke make it grim
Oh! there was a beautiful linden
But the hazy smoke made it hidden

Presuming the world will end one day
And there would be no body even to say 
The smoke was so much pernicious
Which turned into distress and was serious 
Tis our obligation not to feel ignominy 
But to look forward to make the earth greeny

This smoke will make us one day motionless
If we do pollution and remain being careless 
Let me warn you it is a slow poison
Even more dangerous than the nuclear fusion!!!
At night the fire became so intense 
That gave a scene of joy and tense

In pale moonlight it looked so grey
Which was due to the burning of ******* and hay
The smoke arose and arose so high 
That covered the stars in the sky 
Oh! God I wish it should go to space 
And save some years for the earth to face
Everyone is Requested to Forward this and Stop Pollution
m h John Jul 18
sometimes we have to soak
in the negatives
of our celluloid scenes
in order to develop
and see the color
with in the world
Batool Jul 15
Ragged breathing, tangled legs
Beating hearts, a crazy mess,
wrinkled sheets, so you'd know,
Two souls basking in the afterglow !!
Nathalie Jun 12
The glistening pearls
Of dew mirrored
Tears kissing
The side of her face

Peering through the
Clear stained glass
Beauty stood outside
A display of nature's dance

Oak tree stood tall and proud
Radiating confidence and maturity
Endearing persistence to grow
And reach new heights

Raven soared through the air
Showing up in it's beautiful
Coat with black sheen
and flex of green, purple and blue

Beds of white and red roses
Uniting vows with heart
In the full bloom of love
One man stood in the middle
Of this magical scene
Her Beloved.


~Nathalie
Beth Garrett Jul 6
I have been thinking about how fictional worlds thread with our realities,
how if you read a book,
watch a film,
see a play,
the subject matter and themes will unconsciously make their way into your daydreams,
I had been watching pride and prejudice,
thinking of Pemberley Estate,
the countryside,
how English hills can flood with hanging low mist,
overcast and soft,
mild, almost ethereal,
or how it may tear itself open,
on ripe summer days,
the ground verdant and full,
I see an image of us, by a lake,
perhaps an old-fashioned picnic basket,
cherries, peaches, strawberries, plums,
feeding each-other grapes,
we could dip our feet in the water,
laze and kiss and,
have all in the time in the world somehow.
I would have a book of poetry,
Sappho perhaps, Elizabeth Bishop, Emily Dickinson,
I could show you the ones I think you might like,
feed you a strawberry,
read you wild nights,
our hair and hands all tangled,
our words and thoughts entwined too,
and we forget all about the beautiful countryside, and the fruit, and the poetry,
for moments and moments.
Sorry for not posting in a long time, I was visiting my SO (I’m in a long distance relationship) so I’ve been busy for the past few weeks!!
Chris May 31
The clouds outside and no floor,
Colors fade, they are no more,
The sky is lead it has just died,
The moon is dead, it's dark, it's night.

The smoke arises gray and dim,
It's arousal blue and slim,
The smoke arises ever higher,
The smell is there, there is no fire.

The stars shine bright we cannot see,
The dark is final, the dark is me,
the city tops sleep raven-black,
The beast asleep, no going back.

As the curtain slowly fades,
Revealing light through tiny frames
In the bleak sky color gray,
The moon shines red,shines bright as day.
I'm not sure :)
Seanathon May 16
As eyes see surely
Blue lylac on a green hill
Wavering with ease
So also these yellow sails
Grace the white canvas born free
Wildflowers and lylac scene
Jason Adriel May 6
I am a narrow stairwell
Waiting for the morning bells
To ring, for the early birds to sail
Watch all the cabs be hailed

Waiting for her to come
Will she come today?
Doubts, I have some
Should I kneel and pray?

But to whom?
Who would to listen to a narrow stairwell
Maybe God would
Will I look like a fool?

My claustrophobic natures will intervene
When was the last time I had a nice dream?
It's always the same, redundant scene
The scene is always the same and redundant one

I am a narrow stairwell
Waiting for the morning bells
A poem about loneliness and anxiety
Hunter Green Apr 4
Oh here we go again, another scene another act,
I’ll fit in just fine but I know I don’t belong.
I’m grabbing my passions by the neck, beating them into who they need to be.

Everyone’s the same, we’re all actors in this play.
I never thought I could get away,
But I’m not trapped cause everyone’s the same.
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