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Alena May 2021
She's feeling so lonely this Monday night,
Wish someone could hold her so tight.
She's sitting in the darkness with the flashlight,
God wasn't right, she's tired of keeping fight.

She doesn't want to wake up tomorrow morning,
She doesn't want to go somewhere, she doesn't want to go,
It feels like your own soul is burning,
And you are sick of sinking in flow.

My dark queen,
My darlin',
Just lay yourself down,
Don't care about anything around,
Close your eyes and feel the skies,
You need to get some rest,
You know you did your best.
My dark queen,
My darlin'.

Even when the marble statues will come to life,
She won't want to go out her room to the light,
'Cause she was made to create strife,
She knows that and she is dead inside.
Peacock Secrets Dec 2020
So what's the statute
Of limitations on racists and their statues?

You've never seen a statue of ******, have you?
I guess his hatred matters 'cause he killed millions of whites & Jews?
But Tens of thousands of the abused & doomed
Had that Jesus skin and hair:
That bronze and wool.
Bet you never knew!
Nazis killed the handicapped, the poor, gentiles, and blacks too!
On the ****** Scales of justice, white genocide blood just weighs more than ours do.

But back to the racist statues:
If ****** can't have one,
Why should Columbus, Lee & Leverhulme?
Only one reason ruptures through:
Kkkers feel more affection for stone
Than human blood, bones,
Spines, and sinews.

So no more imploring just to be refused;
****** down those statues!
Use ropes knotted into a noose,
Whips, chains, jackboots!
Firehoses, batons, and hooves!
Bring branding irons!
Surround the statues!
Sling slurs and abuse!

It's time for each and every racist statue
To taste the same treatment that black bodies do

~🖋Peacock Secrets Poetry📜
More female statues
More female artists
More brown hero statues
More black hero statues
More brown artists
More black artists
Michael McLean Jun 2020
monuments to light and sound
that glimmer off a thorny crown
and show us what

everything at
once I was, there was, we were, they had
thoughts and dreams that lit up
leaves of dappled light and what we thought they'd find
under our pillows after losing our teeth

the night creeps
the night creaks
but i'm asleep
He was not sending
He did not know even he was the messenger
He went to that cave
Called "herraa" cave
To be away of the world
To look after the natural world

To discover if the world was created
By only power and God
His nation worshipped statues
360 statues with days of moon year
To approach them to the only God

The true is when one increases his faults
He searches away from his God
Trying to get a way and method
To get his God forgiven his worst

He forgot that his God accepted one
Who discovered that he did a wrong

Mohamad sent a lone
To see the outer of the world
And to hear the inner sound
Until a great creature appeared
He made a strong hung
Mohamd felt his chest was collapsed
Telling "read"
Mohamd said," I can't"
Mohamad was illiterate

The creatures hung him again

The sweat ascended as rain

Telling him read
Mohamad said," I can't read"
In the meaning of the talk
The creatures did again
Saying," read ,
Read with the name of the God
Who learnt with the pen"

As the Al arak surat said
Mohamd went with great shock
Saying," cover me, hung me
Warm me"
His lovely and honest wife met
With great mercy and kind
Telling you God will not let you down

To be continued
mohamad was sent to guide all the creatures to the holy power wo created the world
Rezium Dec 2018
Oh Creator, my maker.
So much I thank thee for
But so much I can't say.

So much has passed by but it's been years since we spoke.
Yet my mouth remains tight
As if you had much to say anyways.

I stand here in the position as you have made me.
But life slowly repositions me.

Why bother repeating what you've heard.
Cover your eyes like the weeping angel you are.
My time has come and soon I'll break the chain.
Time to create a new...
Just like they all said...
So let's put action.

Where am I now.

Arise and become anew.

1257 Dear Child
Sometimes my direction changes. Sorry master that u broke your rule but sometimes to please, you have to displease
veritas Oct 2018
if you kiss a statue in the dark,does
it leave a mark?like the moonlight's

cold stain on pale columns of necks and
thinner bones of knuckles,or like the

heavy-handed cracks on thighs and
mine own,leaking gold to's

easy to admit a mistake in the dark
what you say,but marble lips leave

little space for contrition.there's irony

in that,in rennaisance-made lovers who
screamed for dominions and settled in

ash instead.history is adjusted,and the
cycle continues.but they left their jaws

open,and the light is pouring out.
the secrets that statues never tell us
Imelda Dickinson May 2018
I entered Grande parlour of elegance where is placed bronze statue unique

Beside wide patio glass-paneled doors. “Shipped from Italy,” her Owner’s critique

Stepping closer, my curious nature sees child’s form, perhaps five, plus one

Clad poor, feet bare, head downcast. Clasps round vessel empty of duties undone

Illusions of her Artist haunt me. Why brown metal a child colored so?

Her innocence tainted, darkened, bleak. Why not a face pearled, soft cameo?

I peer in her eyes hallowed, countenance sad. She stands across from me

Near smoothed, bronze dolphin cast in glass, ****** from frothed waves sea

I think merrily, “You live where sea creatures play, power driven, dive ocean deep

Squeal with delight, let’s ride aquatic prince of Atlantic who does not sleep!

Or, “Do you hope to soar to third heaven, where bronze eagle behind you can fly?

Moon shadows beckon us to jewel stars on veiled, velvet blackened sky”

Or, “ Could I offer you a melon-porcelain rose? Fragrance perfume fills room you’re in

Petals never fade. Would you wear garlands on small feet, frail hands, brown hair so thin?”

“Angelina, come, listen to night sounds! Leave tasks mundane for a time

Frogs creak, leap high, jump gleefully, come to soft sand dunes we’ll climb!

Will you ride wail winds of tempest, hurricane water crash smooth sand?

Just beneath your window safe most days, but hurls destruction on demand!

Does music of your Owner excite you? Tunes, ballads, songs, new and old?

Melodies you never knew where you grew, stories of love you untold

Instruments: string, ebony, ivory keys, soothe soul, lift spirits high

Loud drums beat march jubilant. Music to laugh with, music to cry”

My mind stills. Angelina becomes bronze again, dress of white linen gone homespun

My imaginations for her happiness for a moment quiets, our fantasies clearly undone

This is why your Artist formed you, so mankind could see in your face

Divine hands help mold bronze your form, your simplicity man must embrace

Ill leave grande parlour of elegance from Angelina, bronze statue unique

Not Italian, but universal child-alloy. Words unsaid, so loud does she speak!

Of an Artist inspired to fire her. Of a Buyer perceptive to see

A child in need of needs to fulfill throughout life of man’s history

Child’s image, thin hair, poorly clad, feet bare. Rich in lessons clearly taught

By Master-Artist is Angelina, little teacher. Forget her not

“Angelina, did you give water to the thirsty? Was bread given away all you had?

Coarse shawl you don’t wear, did it cover an old friend? Did you visit prison comforting Dad?

In small village, do you care-give Mother often sick, rush on your hurried little feet?

Do you invite another child like you to humble hut on Lonely Street?”

Reminds me, words of Scripture, Master Teacher, Jesus said

“I was thirsty and drink you provided. I was hungry you gave meat and bread

As stranger you took Me in your place, naked you clothed Me poor alone

Sheltered Me, tattered and torn, lonely, no place to call home”

“I was sick, Jesus said, “You visited. To My prison cell you came

Downcast, forsaken,” He says, “ Angelina do you know My name?”

Lord send me Your naked, Your hungry, Strangers many in thirst

Sick in pain, prisoners behind walls, lonely, unloved at worst

Teach us to live Your words, like You help us to be

“In as much as You do to these,” Jesus said, :My brethren you do unto Me.”
A poem about a little bronze statue girl by Imelda Dickinson
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