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Michael Oct 2018
I see them watching me,
All eyes aimed at my life,
Everyone trying to see,
Waiting for me to trip or stumble.
I may fall, I may fail,
But no matter what I will pick myself up,
I will restart my game,
So I can try again.
No giving up for me,
Surely this you can see?
I will always push forward,
That’s the only way I know how to be.
Life is hard,
That’s a fact,
A truth for us all.
So worry about your own life,
Rather than waiting for me to fall.
Just been thinking about all the people who spend their time waiting for me to mess up and are completely ignorant of their own shortcomings
M Solav Sep 2018
Oh it's all hanging threads,
Hanging ligaments with drops of red:
Vines without poles - flesh without bones.

Events roll out in scarlatine flashes:
Eyes in crowd flap down their eyelashes
And in silence the suspense grows strong;

The bricks are set, the façade is over,
But from within, the house still lacks a structure:
One penetrates rooms without walls.

A memory from the depth is brought up,
A storyline used to link so many dispersed dots:
Leaves are flying free as the childhood tree rots...

Oh it's all hanging threads
Hanging sources, hanging roots:
Scars over the sun revolving in loops.

And the conduit narrows down,
Leaks a single bolt of light to glow:
An empty room as throne and crown

And a thorn, pain escaping death,
A frown of estrangement in the face
Of all that's known - what's most unknown.

Spectators stare deceptively
While promises of relief are spared;
They too are suspended in the air...

Oh it's all hanging threads
Hanging loose, hanging dead;
Waiting for the artisan to ease the noose.
Written in October 2017.
Mystic Ink Plus Feb 2018
Exploring curiosity
Different world with the same moon

Spectators and Players
Genre:Haiku
Shared from my Anthology, Canvas: Echoes and Reflections, 2018.
Rockie May 2015
My mind suddenly breaks the fourth wall,
Unaware there's an audience,
More understanding of what I did than why,
I wasn't told of spectators upon my life,
Expressed not in the words of many townspeople
Who mill in the streets of my world

— The End —