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You smell like a wet wood-
Freshly watered with rain;
Dried up by the crisp of the wind;
And golden shade of sunlight peeking through the leaves.

You reminded me the sonnets of Shakespeare-
Classic, romantic, and deep.
I swam into your thoughts but was drowned-
A renaissance man; I cannot fathom.

You sounded like a heavy rain-
Pouring carelessly on the hot tin roof;
I could listen to it, ceaselessly-
Under the white blank sheets on a lazy Sunday.

You tasted like the last drop of coffee;
Dripping through my throat, s-l-o-w-l-y.
Wanting for more-thirsty for the unknown.
A strong bittersweet addiction.
This is the continuation of my first poem called "The Prologue".
Neither a scepter nor a sword,
Became an epiphany of our poet chord,
Rewarded by words,
Not Eden's hummingbirds,
Our love is forever,
It's the dove's endeavor,
Our messages evocative,
We are truly cognitive,
Philosophers classified,
Our voices amplified,
May the poets here and everywhere flourish,
For one day too,
They will nourish
An attempt of a poet's vase of flowers
In July, I collect stardust
And text dust
I linger in Shakespeare’s shadow
And who knew
He had a home in Oregon
I walk along his stairs
Finding myself hovering in front
A trio of theatres, tall witches
Brewing a cauldron of magic
Each performance, enticing
Crowds from every corner
And I follow in suit
Getting lost in the magic
That makes me want
To not return home
My favorite place is Ashland, Oregon
Shakytrumpet Dec 2019
'Tis not the tender
Paper betwixt mine cheeks, 'tis
Mine hand that greets me

For fragile parchment
Hath been punctured by me, the
Elegant **** jokes are fun
Traveler Oct 3
Big Bang of aesthetics
Cognitive creative thoughts
The universe is expanding
With thee inertia of the god
Traveler Tim
Strying Sep 29
All my friends had given up
They'd taken the easy path
The one where straight A's are attainable
And sanity is sustainable

I moved my mouse in a different direction
From their perplexion, I knew
My complexion would never be the same

I knew that taking these courses
Would be no vacation
The certification was hard to achieve

Yet I got to the point where I wanted no more than to get down on my knees!
Plead guilty
For the crime
Of being in over my head.

I couldn't retain information
My mind was an augmentation
Of my imagination
A collection of mistakes,
And earthquakes.

No more could I stand on still ground,
my knees shaking from your sound.
My heart pounding from
the inevitable loss of my innocence
which came derived from your

My friends
the ones I held dear, my very own
Turned their face, shielded their eyes.
I was a damnation to everything they stood for!

For everything I tried to become
They became the opposite.
They fought their own, in the worst way possible
And I was left to battle my
impossible alone

Alone with the hours of homework,
And alone to face the very
housework we had built.
To see it crumble down before
my very eyes,
as I fumble to even close the windows to my soul,
as sleep is for the weak,
and I have too many bleak thoughts.
Far too many to ever be able to really dive deep
in this menacing society.

My school which shuts its doors at the very sight of me
And God who rains smog down
and it's not the year 2020, it's the whole future, past, and present.
It's our actions that will never be corrected
For we have had too many opportunities
And pennies for thoughts squandered into oblivion.
For maybe we should stop making
and start accepting our fates.
For one day we are all destined to be gone,
yet isn't it odd,
that ignoring this,
that is how we survive?
I really needed to rant in poetry today. Trying to work on my word choice, hope you enjoy this :)
Ruheen Sep 24
Wanting to be like someone
And wanting to be someone
Are two very different things. is identity theft!

To be or to be the other one.....that is the question.
A momentary burst of sarcasm.
To be or not to be someone like Shakespeare....that is the question....!
Anais Vionet Sep 16
Pay Shylock his pound
of flesh, give Richard his horse,
let Juliet love anew.

Let go of the ghost -
Shakespeare’s doomed heroes
- pronounce them all dead.

Fight no more battles,
release strings so puppets
finish their dance.

Dismiss the actors,
set horses to pasture,
lower the curtains.

villainy, once banished,
has taken new stages.

Human suffering,
in concert - you won't miss it
- it comes to you.
We recognize villains on stage - why not so in life?
annh Aug 29
Three Scottish hags brew up a political storm in a...cauldron.
Inspired by Suri Ben N who got me overthinking about brevity, Shakespeare, alternative storylines, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, and the existential milieu in general.

‘We do on stage things that are supposed to happen off. Which is a kind of integrity, if you look on every exit as being an entrance
somewhere else.’
- Tom Stoppard, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead
they say,
but are we players or the played?

Words are planted in my head-
it's not my choice that they are said.

But of this mad,mad world,
who's author?
To make this place,one
must be a monster.

This is a tale told by an idiot, signifying nothing-
should we out this brief candle,and die-to sleep-no more-
or shall we stay,and make this last syllable of recorded time meaningful-have all our virtues ,and sins, remembered?

how oft men are at the point of death.
Let the coin flip one last time.
/curtains-exit left./
exit, pursued by the weights we bear.
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