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Rhys Hebbs Dec 2020
I spent twenty-three years
gathering my army of One.

So, on the eve of the dawn
when all inner-demons are born
and forlorn dreams all bleed at the seams,
the whip-snip of winters wind
will decimate the gold in the day
to proclaim the heir to my king...

and the sacrifice I must pay
for the essential exchange
of any ail-led aspirant
to annihilate any alinement
with the archetype of a tyrant?;

All unearned falsehood must never depart
from any sacred facade held in my heart
lest the lust for Pura Vida be the preacher
to my inner-creatures beseecher,

for adversity is the shunned sage
to those who prefer comfortable fables
and a prophet to those
who harken to heroes.

Thus,

it matters not
any amount of pain that you gained
from playing the truest game
you could play,
with whole heart,
in the wretched world of man,
when now all that remains
are the paint strips flaking away
from the walls in your room
with old age greeting the faith
concealed in your doom

nor, if the portrait of your greatest fate
has forsaken its grace
for the sake of that gorgeous
echoing bellow
heard within the hole in your soul,
for it’s the price all must pay
in the pursuit of being whole.
Rhys Hebbs Nov 2020
At the feast for heathens,
I raised a toast to those
who raised themselves
in the fickle fallout
of human nature,
with pop-culture parents,
we chose our own fathers
and married our mothers.
For when the sacred lights of life
died out in the eyes of Apollo,
and Dionysus prowled the avenues
hunting out a new mirror for a mate,
the helping hands slipped away,
into the newly shadowed hollows
where all grace was laid to waste,
in the darkest depths
of the newborns day.

Now,
in the nuclear winter,
where all the Gods have died,
I walk that razor ridge
of romanticism and ambition,
(where anchored dreams
are want to hide)
just to see how far I’ll fall
when my darkest demons
harken the call.
Humbled by the writings
on my skulls inner wall;
truthful hymns which
will mend the wings
of my inner poet and stoic
to see how tenaciously he’ll crawl,
to see his tendency for tender brawls,
to see him arise as the builder
within the razed rubble of Rome;
the only God I’ll ever need
for fashioning a home

So,
if you too have been abused,
and sacred love has left you bruised,
when searching for your answer,
seek out the dancer within your soul,
for the collateral is substantial my dear,
when you walk on broken bones
Rhys Hebbs Nov 2020
When the world tries to tell you who you are,
but you feel in your gut who you REALLY are,
and all you can do is smile back at the world
and throw back your head
and howl in the face of adversity,

if you are liberated from deception
of all of which is inside your control
and outside your control
and readily accept the latter,
like a nonchalant savant

if you are a disciple to discipline
and know that backing down and submitting to the insidious insanity
of a day-to-day charade
is not even an option,
regardless of all the cool comforts it offers
in lieu of the heat of the coals you walk upon,

then and only then
will you become the master of your destiny
Douglas Chase Oct 2020
Don’t hang your hat on past triumphs
as if the battle is done.
Don’t hide behind them as the lazy would,
saying “I have no need to fight for good,
you see, I’ve already won!”

For past defeats, don’t hang your head.
You are not the man that lost.
He died that day in that clash,
and you were born from that ash
stronger and wiser for the cost.

Do not die full of regret
because you wasted every today.
Move now, and give yourself no slack.
Don’t waste your time looking back.
You aren’t going that way.
Words' Worth Oct 2020
When autumn arrives without beauty
In some months, shall my love bring calm and serenity
Or prejudiced by the brilliant glint of the sun
The oceans hold back the breeze and current

As the leaves know their place
I find my forest in peace
With a zephyr in every corner
As fir, coniferous, pine stand tall

The vines have covered its heart and surrendered
Keeping my love in my palms and away
With a sudden rustle and rattle, He signifies the season change
But, it is the age of benediction and the trees are bare

The heart that was placid has become empty
The leaves have turned brown forgetting love and his Godly stare
No man steps in the same river twice, for it is not the same river and he is not the same man.
Alicia Moore Sep 2020
I’m grateful for the
calm winds of stoicism
exhaling from you.
michael Jun 2020
A cold swell tempers rage
To the dark it dies, fades.
Cry, sigh, a moon ray tries
To show that up against
Such stoic age, no man
Can claim he's free of sin.
Zhavaed Haemaed May 2020
The fortress that which is your mind
May find not such turmoil as harsh
And instead might as well, rejoice
The shackles which at present bind
Or may be, but it shall doth budge
The resolve of its castles strong
And surely not, it shall not smudge
Ordeal undertook by genial souls
What may be, will have then begun
Fear not, have faith on the virtuous
Path; Think not, what if but of the
Good, that has_ and in time you will
Clearly see; mental tenacity will be
Yours, decreed; Have just clear head
Upon thy broadsword. Nothing else
Will have; or will ever matter more !
Reflections inside CoViD ICU as a duty doctor.
Elle Vee Mar 2020
She sips another cup,
to her it tasted like strawberry,
though bitter.
It was tea.

All she wanted was to dream,
to relax, be in peace.
A wish to float.
It was her reality.

But when she woke,
She felt chaotic,
Thoughts drowning her,
she wants another trip
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