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Max Neumann Jan 2020
hook a buddy up my heart
is racing
trapped in purple drops of rain
my pulse has been pacing
like a golden train

we were spacing
out for five hours
my words became your worst
your worst became my words

listen to your inner voice:
nobody is without...
Sins are committed by everybody.

Regardless of skin color, moral values, beliefs, nationality, age, gender, ****** identity, welfare-dependency, wealth.

Fühlst du mich? (Feel me?)
Do you understand that?

It is never about stereotypes but about oneself.

Still, stereotyping helps us to survive in this weird world.

Are you brave enough to distinguish?

Today is a good day.

YouTube: "Bedrock Beautiful Strange"
Poetic T Oct 2019
Life can derail you sometimes
              but you just have to get

on a new track.

And at each new station of life depart,

                         relax till its time to once again

to  travel the tracks of life...
Over Aug 2019
His feet trembling
And my tongue sticking out
His breath numbered
Ant dancing in my hand

My blood too sweet
Heart wrinkled in cold sweat
Cold gaze on his face as
I constantly made him fret

His heart too sweet and
His blood to sour for my tongue
These ants too sour for
The blood on my palm

This skin too pale for
The radiance in his eyes
This chest too open
For someone to hide inside

Gave me his heart he who
Had none for himself
Took my blue heart and
Stuffed it into his chest

My eyes shift into focus
His chubby face is too dumb
The subway station too cold
My skin was too numb
Àŧùl Jun 2019
Kindly avoid going to any hill station,
While planning so, bear some hesitation.

You are so very hot,
But the hills are not.

What if you go there when,
All that area starts boiling then.
My HP Poem #1745
©Atul Kaushal
Matterhorn Apr 2019
The subtle whishing
Of flowing gasoline
Sets the mood;
An ugly, teal-colored,
German-engineered insect
Rolls up to the pump
Alongside mine.
I note the empty car seat
Cramped in the back
As she steps out,
Her balayage-curls swishing
As she flashes me
A cursory,
Carefree smile.
Grinning stupidly back,
My eyes gloss over;
Déjà vu grips me and
I search my memory
For her face—

The insect scuttles off;
My tank is full.
© Ethan M. Pfahning 2019
Arisa Mar 2019
I missed the bus seconds after the last passenger boarded.

Now I sit here alone,
Waiting for another vessel
To drag me to my destination.

The air is cold,
And my heart is still thumping away
Due to physical exertion to reach the thing I missed -
But like everything else,
My hopes,
My dreams,
They're too far to reach.

I don't know how to end this
But mention the tiny speckle of headlights
And the roar of the large vehicle in the distance.
So now I think:
'There's always another bus.'
One of my meh poems.
The morning sun plays hide and seek between the hills
Miles and miles of strawberry fields
The little green plants wear winter smiles
and baby strawberries unripe

The innocent clouds in a clear sky
Hold a dialogue in patterns pristine
Missed by their cousins in the city skies

Bougainvillea adorned villas
And Cozy homes
Warli paintings on the walls
Red soil and dusty country roads

Tablelands and Parsi point
Scenic hills and the Sahyadri valley view
Mapro garden a place to go
For sandwiches and strawberry cream

The river stream gleams under the setting sun
A perfect cup of masala chai
An evening well spent
Gabriel Bonney Sep 2018
I have stepped out onto the railroad station
I had found my train, after contemplation
Inside my heart, a feeling for two is stored
My only question: will you take me aboard?
(Hence my profile picture)
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