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Valya Sep 2021
My life used to be one click away
One computer in my room
I open a tab
I open a game
My life was now finished for that day

I grew pale from this
Sitting inside with my life locked in a screen
My only friends: strangers on the other side
Were they even friends though?
No, I don't think so
It felt safe however
Only one click to start my life out
And only one click to end it

Sometimes I miss the way it used to be
I realize now however, that life is not meant to be just one click
It's meant to be thousandths of movements in thousandths of different ways
Movements that come from my eyes
Movements that come from my legs
Movements that come from my arms

Life's meant to be something that is always changing and never the same
It's meant to be running around in the rain as I slide and fall all while I laugh away my worries for the day
It's meant to be chasing the bubbles that some stranger's child is blowing
It's meant to be lying down on my towel at the beach and resting my eyes for a second as the warm summer breeze passes by
It's meant to be jumping into my loved ones arms as I see them for the first time in weeks
It's meant to be something that I can look back at and tell my grandkids about with pride

Life online was just a baby step towards this much bigger scheme
A scheme that could only be fulfilled by being fully human
Not a machine that takes one click to power on and off
Ive taken a lot of time to realize that a lot of my time online could've been spent making actual memories outside and sometimes it saddens me, but at the end of the day I'm still very thankful for the time spent online as it has taught me so much.
Steve Page Jul 2021
I stepped onto the wind
not knowing (well not certain)
of where it would take me

I was happy to walk on the wind
as the storm was becoming too predictable
a path

I stepped onto a breeze
(less predictable than the wind I find)
guessing where it would take me

My third step took me
at last
onto a faint resonance
of song
- it took me to the bridge

and I danced
walking on the wind would be cool.  Walking on song - way cooler.
Nat Lipstadt Apr 2021
10,000 steps to a poem

walk to save my visions, my subterfuge-self, trying to
encapsulate the moments, seconds of nano-instances of a
tableau of histories, of actions becoming interactions,
a physical mitosis, ground into one human paste of word-cells
by a singular mortar and pestle that more than blends, but condenses

walk in Whitman’s footsteps, prowl old cobbled
streets seeing them anew, listening to the patois
of each skyward pathway, a commingling of
catechisms, Tefilot, Salah, Stuti Karana, into a stampede becoming a tornado funnel of a multivariate alphabets singularity - a prayer|poem returning to birth-mother

rush homeward desperate to retain the holy mess of verbal music,
before aged eyes release the visions, into a heavenly lost but found
depot of single lefty gloves, snatches and refrains, hymnals, phrases,
10,000 preservation band steps keeping but scraps, weeping
for the so much lost, yet blessing-uttering thankful for this one,
to a one

who has kept us alive, sustained us, and brought us to
this moment, to this season.

~writ by night, daylight born~
Passover/ Easter Sunday
idyllic steps
are bare
in green
make months
in golden
year the
gavotte in
her little
black dress
that the
music of
spring in
vapor of
the string
makes her
frosty as
the hills
George Krokos Mar 2021
Out of the hell of this world we all have to find heaven
and the steps to go through are said to be one to seven.
This world then is a stepping stone to that which is higher above
and the essential requisite for the journey is ever increasing love.
© 2021 George Krokos
From "The Quatrains" ongoing writings since the early '90's.
Grand Piano Dec 2020
I haven’t been truly “fine” in a long time
I’ve mastered the art of smiling
And crying when no ones around
But the mask I so carefully crafted is slowly chipping away
I’m starting to stumble over the steps in this play I put on everyday
Maybe it’s time to let the world see what happens when the curtains close and the performance ends
This piece kinda goes with my other one called Steps
Sydney Nov 2020
                     my dear
                                   is steps
                                                     by step
                                                            ­     you
                                                             ­          grow
                                                            ­                at the end
                                                             ­                         of the steps
                                                           ­                                            is death
The hard moments are the parts where you trip.
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