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Sarah Ricard Jul 6
The sconce on the wall
for crackling torches left burning for a returning
resents the assumption of infinite patience.
She's attached to an old brick wall;
not by affection, but by habit
and tools of the trade of attachment.
Occasionally-replaced simple screws worked into the bracket.
The wall is as dusty to touch, as divisive
as a tome of records, of laws of old.
The sconce respects history-- wishes more would become antiquity.
Knowing every flame left ardently lit, eventually burns out.
While here she stays.
Avery Glows Jun 16
I want you to know that
no matter how
                irrational
                                  ­illogical
             dissociated
                                 disconnected
                 sporadic
                                 scattered
                    erratic
                           ­      brusque
          anticlimatic
                                 abrupt
        idiosyncratic
                                 volatile
   temperamental
                            and
                   ­               fickle
are your emotions.
To me,
they are valid;
they are whole;
they suffice.
Because,
you are only as absurd as you believe you are.

And absurdity's boundaries stretches linearly,
into immemorial time.
2018 June
Love, that brought me into this world
Love, that took me into its arms to get cuddled
Love, that adored and celebrated me
Love, that understood and let me be
Love, that was boundless somehow
To that love, I bow
Love is everything, I believe
For having lost one, I now grieve

From showing interest in my extra curricular
To teaching me to ride a scooter
From being my tutor
To finding me a suitor
From fixing marital problems one after the other
To playing my children’s second mother
Every act of love
Just went far and above

For the unshakable support
For being a friend of sort
For the invaluable guidance
Which often left me in awestruck silence
For all this, to God I pray
A chance to repay
In another lifetime ,
Only this time...
The roles reversed
To showcase my love at best!
Dedicated to my dad...
Briar Ren Dec 2017
She fades from your memory,
like weightless dandelion seeds
stolen
by a gust
of jealous wind.

And the next time you see her,
she is just another stranger
swimming
in a rough sea
of unfamiliar faces.
Vexren4000 Nov 2017
A sentiment of peace,
A concept of love,
And an idea of happiness,
Its odd,
Because that is all they ever seem to be.

©BAS
Nylee Nov 2017
Midnight of summers
the waking of dreamers
breathes in the new winds
hearts beat rebelling  
excitement and yearning
dizziness surrounding
watering the seed sown
the days lay hope driven
wiring the electric intent
comes the feverish sentiment
night passing by, days out
without pausing by doubt
fueling the ambition
with every emotion
taking the moons comfort
connecting many dots
to make the dreams come true
bring back the light hue.
Mongi Nov 2017
Literature – (Lit-rate-you’re)

>> Lit
From the deepest masculine roar resounding from the podium
To the sweetest melody coming from the queen right on his right
The animated crowds that zealously keep their eager ear rightly open
With one accord, though silently in their now alright hearts, they say
It was lit. It was lit!
For, the valley, however dark
The mountain, however high
There are the birds, and however small or big
Fierce or friendly, they accordingly sing their songs in due time
The fierce lions will bow their brown fur
The friendly sheep scratch their white fur
With one accord, although diverse in their nature, they agree
It was lit. Lit, it was lit!

>> _rate

The astonished crowds turn their heads around, their souls wander
They think they are finally hearing the sounds from the heavens of wonder
Their minds perish into the podium where wonder ponds are nurtured
They cannot believe rhymes and tunes from the heavens can come just so naturally
Their faces stunned, their mouths agape, there, their reflections through each other
It is the reflections from their souls, because they realize they are one in nature
At a rate of knots, with one accord, though diverse they realize their true natural definition
They are all defined by the same, non-diverse, literary principle, and all bound by the same art
Although lost within the words, their souls are rated the most natural, pure, original and sane
For, the voice, however deep or sweet
The rhyme, however rhythmic or jumpy
Literature in poetry, rates our souls to a state perfect even without definition
She is first rate art! She first rates our souls!

>> _you’re
Individuals’ souls separately rolled back in time
They are taken aback when they realize what has truly brought them to this time
Unapologetic irresistible nostalgic waves drift them back to their diverse melancholies
Their pre-time situations so tragic, their hearts break at the sound of their diverse sad melodies
Struggling for strength they are drowning in shadows of their universes
All they want is just one breath above the surface of the waves that swallow them
They tend to forget even the waves speeding above them possess some poetry
Behold, whether above or beneath, you’re there to carry them to life
Life that never really has to matter, whether dark or bright
For, however the tribulation, you find and you’re found
However the jubilation, you find and you’re found
For to the rejoicing and to the perishing, there, you are
You are! And you are!
YOU’RE a LIT first RATE art!!!

Mongi C. Nkabindze
A piece of art that illustrates how a torn soul can be saved by just a bundle of words of poetry
Carlos Oct 2017
Repackaged, see the sentiment sculpted in the semblance of a seraphim with second skin,

I'm reckoning,

Respecting artistry is the energy in empathy,

Interdigitating like gloves to fingers,

Clutching the doorknob,

Twisting to a time that was once there, felt by a someone,

A freethinking carbon unit,

Carved by cards dealt and carsick movements,

This perfect person; a testament to diverging from automation,

A someone, Doing SOMETHING, somewhere,

Forging from thoughts to creation.

I admire you as a maker of things,

There are no mistakes, every moment is golden  -  don't flinch
Crimsyy Jul 2017
Your name tastes sour
in my mouth,
I should be breathing you in,
but I want to spit you out,
cause I'm just an afterthought,
an occasional roundabout.

You surround me
but never close enough,
we keep arguing in circles
and I've had too much

Sick of nursing
this brick in my chest,
wonder why I haven't left yet,
sick of feeding
the doubts in my head,
I think you'll be my next regret.

You let snowflakes
fall on my tongue,
am I supposed to
think that's sweet,
when your love is built
on nothing concrete
and you seem to be
a one end street?

You seem to be one for the road,
but you still haunt my sleep
and so while I toss
and turn for you,
your mind is devoid of me.
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