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Sanko Feb 28
Sweet silver tongue
Builder of hope and of Nations undone
Whispers of light against the darkness beyond
Oppressive dictators, shackles of freedom with the tune of a hum

Hum sweet silver tongue, do you tire to be a rudder
Sailing your ship through the cracks of instability, tearing down a sister, or a brother
Setting up systems, to rob child from their mother
Foreign lands now discovered, shackled hands, the nations dollar

When you’re sitting in your palaces,
Sipping blood from your chalices, made from labour of your educated salve, indoctrinated ways, disseminated lies- made to believe these shackles are made to save

Sweet silver tongue, do you blame the throne or do you blame the song, do you blame the culture gifted from generations gone
Do you blame the man upon whom this title is on,
Or do you blame the nations lalaby to the newborn, “live for today, tomorrow may never come”

Price of admission
Jonas Feb 22
Break out of my world
let go of the shackles
free the chainend
no strings attached
wrapped around my neck
breath freely
at last
don't look back
what a beautiful mind
may you find the answers I'm missing
Spriha Kant Dec 2020
When it comes to break the shackles fastening my feelings , then my sangfroid soul transmogrifies into a rambunctious wild creature.
Samara Nov 2020
with rain kissed plumage
cold in the moonlit expanse
over the evergreens i see below
- - -
i am free
as far as these shackles
will let me be
MsRobota Oct 2020
the truth
It's simple, It's sweet

no one can handle you
expect you

you're transformed by these words
these thoughts
these emotions
you're shackles

you write the story

and I, What I want

the truth
It's simple, it's sweet

for us, you and I, to meet
by chance
one day

when time collides

in a corner cafe
maybe at the bus stop

I read the story

I'm transformed by these words
these  thoughts
these  emotions
my shackles

and you, What you want

It's simple, It's sweet
the truth
Average Dreamer Jun 2020
Love crooned to Fear
"Hello my dear,
what shall be of our dreams?"
Fear replied
"They shall be naught
but memories of our
slumbering hopes"
Love shook their head
"Fear, my sweet,
when will you learn?"
Fear sighed,
"Perhaps never my Love."
"Oh Fear, you're shackled to
yourself. Let go, Fear,
my dearest."
but Fear was afraid
and could not unlock himself
for his Love.
Love wept,
for loving someone, is the truest
love is one of the greatest fears we experience.
Bus Poet Stop May 2020
“for when the mind has no solution to the rough and tumbling lives,
lived in glass shackled confinement, the poet’s desperation equals theirs”

The Bus Poet Stop “The Glass Shackles” ^


~this one for Eliot York, who gave us a great gift - opportunity~


The mandated city buses are largely denuded of passengers,
so the drivers, peruse the enriched, enforced silenced life of the
streetscape, and as they pass, call-out a fisherman’s plaintive wailing,
“here we are, where are you, do we exist?” Too few nibble “I am!”

Bus Poet Stops, stumbles on an older writ, now seemingly prophetic,
once again, he is back, living in a glass shackled confinement,
his 16th floor perch, besmirched, the mirthless empty outside well matched by the isolation inside him, a new kind of shackling bereft.

For these glass shackles are not new, but different, the glass is poorly blown, cloudy, pockmarked with air bubbles entrapped, useless
for fresh breathing, many containing a question mark, some ask
what, others when/where shelter, all, harsh pleading tones, why me?

“For when the mind has no solution” poet wrote in twenty eighteen,
unaware that this predictive value would return to rent & render mean,
his composure, no longer a savior, now he weeps copiously for thee,
those that he, in prior life, came to save, now too, another faceless face.

no, no!

Your writing saves self, and a thousand more, you infiltrate, penetrate     our conjoined quiet, giving name to each of our unsalted tears, no fear poems that make us say, Merry, Merry to us all; God bless us, every one! Bus Poet head-hung, shamed, pained, looks away, mask-covers-gratitude.

Rough and tumbling times, we discount ourselves blameless, but voices
say time for gifting varietals of solace mysterious, this! is your business!
words, instruct to touch, to transport us on a poet’s bus to Delirious,
enable arrival+survival to destiny’s destination, “for all, a good night!”

Fri May 1
twenty twenty

in anno autem coronavirus plaga
from NYC, the. epicenter
Łëïçkî Jan 2020
Maybe I should leave him.
I can see the pain settling in his eyes as he stares me down eyebrows crinkling in pity.
"Why don't you fix your sleep schedule?"
It sounds like code for,
"Why don't you fix yourself?"
I tell him I can't. I tell him that I've been trying.
But he can't see it.
The shackles, the ball and chain.
The shadows that appear even when there is no light.
He can't hear them.
The demons in my mind whispering self hatred.
Maybe I should leave him/
I can't explain to anyone what I am, how I feel, what I'm doing.
I'm tired of trying to explain, exhausted from trying to live a life that I don't want and trying to change.
What a cruel word.
What a sad reminder that pain is all I possess.
I shackled myself and I should leave.
Before I shackle him too.
I dragged the one light in my life through the mud and he paid the price
Mary Frances Nov 2019
I love to see you fly freely
without the shackles that bind you to me
without the thin red string that connects us
without the belief that we're meant to be.

I love to see you fly freely
with all the love I can give
with all the wish I can whisper
with all the smile I offer for your dreams.

I want you to be free
Not looking back to what you'll leave behind.
Free from worries of what should have.
Free from worries of what should be.
They ask, why care so much?
Simple, my ancestors blood and bones
are the foundation of this nation.

But that isn't your blood or mine?
We have come a long way!
True but broken chains
don't free us from shackles,
and half measures
can’t get us across the finish line.

If you hate it so much leave!
In case you missed point one
I'd much rather fix what's broken.
I want to make sure that the stacked deck
is reshuffled. That kids don't have to grow up
in war zones, where the only way out is debt
or a casket. Where people don’t get to profit
from the very thing that took others freedom.
I want a playing field that all can use,
where the rules make sense and the enforcers
are kind. Where I'm not the oddity
for never having been behind bars.
That people realize that there's more
to our culture than our bars.
I'm over the 40 acres
I want 24 Oscar's. Maybe then I'll see
myself on more than just ESPN and MTV.

Others have it far worse than you!
Well then let's elevate them too.
A rising tide raises all ships.
So let's create a flood that washes
out the hate. When will people realize
that we aren't enemies. That the system
crushing you is already destroying me.
If they can put people in cages for where
they were born then Eastside or south
of the border are just bad hands we are dealt.
I don’t know how to fix it
but I care too much to be quiet.
So thanks for reading my thoughts,
but will you stay silent?
My raw feelings this Juneteenth 2019
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