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hellopoet Oct 2015
you'd never make him for a cry baby
only because he cries when
no one is ever around
bright is his sound
dark, his pen
maybe
♦♦♦
♦♦
♦♦
♦♦
♦♦
♦♦
♦♦
♦♦
♦♦♦
maybe,
○○perhaps, maybe*○○





°
hellopoet Oct 2015
^    
《♢》
《♢》
《♢》
《♢》
《♢》
《♢》
《♢》
《♢》
《♢》
《♢》
soon we'll tire
of ● this ● game
of cloaks and daggers
~ ○●  ○●○  ●○ ~
♢》
♢》
♢》
♢♢

kelia Sep 2015
you are a needed nap in the afternoon
a curvy spine on a midsummer bloom

a freckle on a pasty white back
you are the number one cause of heart attacks

you are a seatbelt in my grandma's car
you are a satellite mistaken for a star

you are a bedside table with sleeping pills
a hook stuck in a fishes gills

you aren't really what you seem
a quirk, a cloud, a blurry dream

if i squint my eyes you're the brightest shape
and when i close my eyes i can still see your face
A P Taylor Jul 2015
..                                                       For as flying.        
                                                 ­              Spying
                                            ­             Places repose.  
                                                       ­Dream, suppose.      

   Dreams loll without respite       Shady oak.      Bright swirl spring breeze
      Of green crisp apple bite.    Shelter bespoke.   Insects morn, vast seas
        As gold burns warmer.    Sleep, still abuzz.    Clouds as beat wings
            Sun shadows corner        Seconds love.      Million insects sing

          Dreaming more light      Eyes shut, island.    Time goes, seconds fit
            Colours mix despite.     Twig woodland.     Seen today, exquisite
                Great light bested.      Instant, rested.      The rays pestered
                      Shadows nested      Dreams vivid.    Up, now rested
                                                          ­   Colours
                                                      ­          Mull
WARNER BAXTER May 2015
This     heart                          was once solid
Gold and steadfast.               But now it’s empty and
solitaire.  This  heart,  even  though empty,  is  still pure
and shines as brightly as it ever has with values unchanged.
This heart stays tactile smooth and comfortable to hold. This
heart has a shape that will remain true and always will. Just it’s
center has been taken. This heart is hollow now, waiting to be
full, to be solid,  solid gold.  To be the solid gold heart. This
heart needs your help. This heart, as you can see, has no
chain to  support it.  To hold it.  To carry it. This  heart
couldn’t possibly join with chain in full complement
to engage your neck. This heart needs to share a
chain with other gems, bobbles & trinkets for
now. This heart is for all to see and  all to
know the story of the solid gold heart.
This heart, will serve as a reminder
of  how truly  remarkable  the
solid gold  heart is.  This
solid   gold   heart
belongs   to
you.
WARNER BAXTER May 2015
'
GOD THE FATHER
JESUS THE SON
HOLY SPIRIT
AMEN
<>
AMEN
HOLY SPIRIT
JESUS THE SON
GOD THE FATHER
Double shape format, "Trinity" mirror imaged to show "NO matter which way it is turned or flipped or spun or inverted or otherwise,
it is ALWAYS constant
Alin May 2015
I won’t ask you why
when my knowing knows
why  

beyond stories
I am
an extension
of
unfinished business

answers to
Q&A; s
precipitate
as mind bound realities
on mundane plane

while all stories remain
mutually exclusive
Cat Fiske May 2015
Things have been
changing, everyday, so its
no wonder, we didn't stay the same,
it's been years since we've been close, and
every time I just happen to run into you, you're
not the same person, who was that person then, you
have built bridges, that you have seem to cross, and
I just seem, to jump off, but the fact of the matter
is, you and I, have changed so much,
we're not the same anymore,
We have tried to
grow up,*
like a child,
stealing her
mother's red lipstick,
we are painted red, but
your red, is a red of beauty
and love, and mine is of blood,
lust and honest disgust, we
have chosen different paths,
and we walk circles
*in the woods,
trying to get to
the center of infinity as
if we can meet again, in the center
paths limbo of the happy end you walk & sad
one I walk, So when we meet in the center, and we
never cross paths, and never talk long enough to hear
each other's life stories, we just end up walking in
that never ending circle, and as we circle; life
hits us with things, some good; some
bad, but for 3.14% of the time
it's as simple as pi to
get through it.
Just a poem about change and how we don't see it on us but on others.
ahmo Apr 2015
Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

A
bone
slowly
woke
just
in
time
to
become
br­ok(en).
Once spoken,
there's no point
of lending an ear.
There'll be a violent
jerking of the wheel,
deceptive *** appeal,
and an unrequited (love).
Now, unwillingly,  it's open.
The rhyme is deliberately late,
but it's not tardy enough to satiate
Swelling lungs-we're just getting started.
Both for respiratory and broken-hearted.
Here, we speak of energy-specifically kinetic
Because you can't live in love and good faith
with right hemisphere real, and left prosthetic.
AND THAT'S WHERE THIS BEAUTIFULLY KICKS IN.
Picking up faster and quicker and clearer
and headlights have never come nearer.
But I'll be somewhat content lying at rest.
While lively and enthusiastic is best,
unemployed potential is all I can be.
It's something to unwillingly see.
You'll watch the clean breaks
as the marrow escapes.
As I steadily gush
onto pavement
you'll see
how
idle
I
can
really
be.
As
I

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.
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