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Carlo C Gomez Dec 2023
I woke up at angles with you
---a parallelogram, opposite but equal,
my thoughts in constant rotating view
---a diagram, showing us where
our homes are laid to rest,
where streets became dead spiders
caught in their own webs.

If we are in transit via tunnel,
aqueduct, or escalator,
it might be cinema.

If we lose atlas in the worship of light,
it might be cinema.

But I can't find you here;
here, where they used to build ships
from sand and steam
and science fiction;
where they used to design
buildings so as to create
a dissonant and mournful
whistling sound when wind
blew through them
---ostentatious things;
dead people’s things.

Through walls and underneath concrete, dug so deeply
into the wide plains
and withered, gnarled tree roots
of an agonizer's conurbation,
is a space halfway to the zenith,
charting the prescribed power
of in-betweenness.

Never again will we draw meaning from
our proximity to one another.
Brumous Oct 2021
the time that you told me to die
was painful that I didn't even try
slapping you

I don't know if you lied
but all I knew was it was possible
that you wished I did

I tried to make it up to you;
avoiding hurting you
with the fist,
and temper of mine

I just wished you noticed that I tried;

Yes, I've grown distant,
trying to find one's self;
I was occupied, sad, and alone.

Too busy to find friends,
that won't discard me when I needed someone

I guess that I pushed you away
so that you won't be like me.
An envious, gullible fool
but
as I did,
the more you become
a little more
like me.

We're the opposite of each other
but undeniably similar.
back and forth.
Kamila Aug 2021
In greenness of your shinning eyes
I saw my old and present self.
There were some things you had described
That I could understand quite well

I had some moments of a-ha,
But from my face you couldn't tell.
A lot in common we have got,
Which honestly felt great.
Carlo C Gomez Jun 2021
He trails.

He turns.

He falls behind.

But always discerns.

Fortunately our tastes for this
sort of life coincide,
except in the matter of sunrise,
which he likes to see up and dressed,
and I from my bed.
you see me differently
i see you differently
they see us both the same
what a mistake they made
oh, what a mistake they made
Tony Tweedy Nov 2020
In streams of verse and congealed words or metaphors' twists and turns,
a poet paints upon minds canvas a view of where visions do etch souls with their burns.

Unique the transcribed observation to reveal the newborn vistas as witnessed there,
Perhaps to light the great mysteries of love and hope or uncover veiled shadows of death and despair.

With each new vision transcribed and the telling of what that mind has known,
Comes the realization by the transfixed readers that they truly are not so alone.

Shared idea, thought, hope and dream to which we can see and draw some link,
where poet reminds we are all but human and not as different as we so often think.
How many truly new ideas have you had today?
Veritia Venandi Oct 2020
Pain is like a novel

One that you can't go on reading any longer

The torments, the burden of the story, the shattering of dreams...

Seems like a mirror reflecting the darkest corner of your heart

So you shut the novel down and without a bookmark hide it beneath a hundred good books

But every once in a while you feel the urge to open it

To touch the scars of its pages, to reminish the tragedies of every chapter...

And yet it only remains in your mind!

I often wonder if such books of people were gathered...

Don't you think it would have been enough to fill a library?
Reflections✨
Gratitude for reading this!
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