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Do I dance through your head like an ancient melody,
so distinct and historic, yet repeated traditionally?
Do I sing through your ears like a blue bird's pretty song,
so constant in the morning, promising from dusk to dawn?
Do I twinkle in your eyes like a midnight moon's glimmer,
so steadily, heavenly bright, reflecting like a lakeside's shimmer?
Do I do all of these things like there is no other routine?
It's funny how even distance can't halt a fond heart's memory.
10/20/18

Well?...

Haven't written in a while. It feels good to write a few words again.
gracie 3d
Boy, I see you tremble,
tear-stains on your cheek:
sad little music notes
scribbled on a sheet.

Dear, tell me who hurt you,
who left you so bruised?
I'll be the melody
of a sweeter tune.

Darling, sing me a song,
a hymn from your heart,
and together we'll be
a new work of art.
There is something I wish to write about
Too much of everything that I feel
The something that slipped away
Entangled in the shackles of everything

Constant - On the go
Wish I could take it slow
Busy - Is Happy I know

Hours , they are limited
Jobs too many
Mastering one , never ever intend

But ,
There is something that I wish to write
About , Everything
Yet ,
Nothing is what I Write

Imperfection is the place where I truly belong
Happily ,
Until the end
I shall  sing this song
Greg Jones Oct 12
They call her name up to the stage
But she’s not sure she should go.
They call her name and yet
Her stomach practically explodes.
It’s not unusual and surely not so desirable,
But she knows it’s her moment so focus, focus.

I know she’s nervous I can see the sweat forming on her brow.
Anticipation, hesitation settles over the crowd.
Anxiety is swelling as the people keep staring
All the while wondering who this girls that’s wearing...

An aubergine Tanglewood.
She starts strumming and she’s humming, set the mood for the room.
Songs with three chords amuses the hoard
With enticing melody’s.

She closed her eyes so she wouldn’t see the eyes in the room.
She closed her eyes and now she’s all alone inside the venue.
It’s not so tragic as she thought it was gonna be.
Still a few more songs left so we’ll see, we’ll see.
Heads are nodding, feet are moving, they’re all feeling the vibe.
She’s the doctor and her music is what she prescribes.
The walls echoing the cheers but the room was too bright.
Nobody will notice when I change the lights to…

Aubergine to change the mood.
She keeps singing and they’re beginning to become unglued.
Ignite the masses and let’s toast glasses
To songs from the guitar.
A Tanglewood is a type of acoustic guitar
Olivia Nery Oct 11
i really thought that you would notice
but you didn't know this
how could you

i guess i thought i didn't show it
maybe just a little bit
but i was wrong

i never thought that i would let you go
but i just had to let you know
that i could

but now
it seems i've lost my anchor
it seems i've lost my boat
i cannot see my future
and i cannot stay afloat

it seems i've lost my anchor
it seems i've lost my boat
i cannot find a shelter
and i cannot stay afloat
sushii Oct 11
i'd like to order
six million sets of
hats, coats, dresses, skirts, shirts, and shoes.

i'd like to sing
six million songs
to six million children.

i'd like to bake
six million cakes
to feed those who had to starve.

i'd like to hold
six thousand hands
for all those who didn't have support before.



i'd like for all of us to hold the memory
of over six million hearts,
of over six million lives,
of over six million experiences.


i'd like us all to remember




all of the suffering
these beautiful people
had to endure.
what if I am not really a human
but a bird whose wings have grown
deep within my aching bones
like angels, they sing
of days I've not yet lived,
times no one has seen before
as though *** wants me to learn
from all that is inside myself
She tells me to be patient,
soothing voice of Lady Light,
whispers me to sleep
in some faraway galaxy
where peace makes all the planets dance
and love makes the stars burn bright
Devin Ortiz Oct 6
Two crooked razorbills fluttered past
The old oak tree on Bell's Grave.

They buzzed and crooned, in perfect pitch
For the necromancer's song.

Not to be outdone by the deathsinger's,
The skies opened up in torrential hymns.

As the Earth drowned in sinful peace,
A young man began to dance his fortune.

Feathered fellows, pouring rain, innocence.
A tune long forgotten in this worn grove.

Yet still, it was good, it was grand.
The honesty of death was pure.
sky Oct 4
A forest of ideas
With a house in between
Surrounded by my thoughts
And nothing intercepting
I’ll think of my soul
Of what makes me me
I’ll paint it on a board
Then dance around and sing

This is who I am
A child in the woods
Setting out to wander
And wonder in the woods
A seeker in the woods
Looking for things that get the music playing
Objects that make my mind orchestrate a symphony
That’s what i seek
The enlightening
I wrote this one maybe a year ago or so
Lucy’s voice lifts me;
Soaring above the staves, above the semibreves.
We dance
Over glistening melismas,
As the deep blue melody pulsates beneath our feet.

Lucy’s voice,
gifting me these chromatic blessings
As a priestess, distributing the symphonic Eucharist.

O lilting Prometheus, you
Have stolen the music of gods
And gifted the melody to lowly man.

And the twelve tones are yours, my love.
Yours to mould and to caress;
As you leap from one octave to the next,
In dazzling musical bathos.

And I watch
As music becomes itself in you;
Bound by the spell of Lucy’s voice.
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