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Poetic T Oct 11
A whisper within the tall reeds,
                          as hollow words

echo though those static.

Yet ever word has motion
             on those unmoved.

Yet words can collect upon the cracks.

Weaving untruths between each,
              caressed form.

And still though unmoved.
      I heard the lies that started

as a ripple in a pond.

But made there way through
  the reeds that stood tall.

And I just gazed as the wind told me,
          that no matter the ripples.

A breeze is still made,
      and will pass through,
           the reeds of static


I cried on the edge,
             that I neither had thrown
                                  a stone of lies within

or that I had breathed untruths
that were
                wavering between static reeds.
Alexis Oct 9
it’s my fault really
I gave you the sticks
Taught you how to throw the stones
and you broke me .
Alexis Oct 5
sticks and stones
have broken my bones
but your words
Always hurt
we walk through the garden
the one beside the house with the yellow door
watching the geese lay in their pond
then we look up at the night sky
gazing the wonders that are the stars
and you start singing
la vie en rose

the water ripples
you start skipping stones
the long grass brushed against our ankles
as if it were a cat, rubbing its head on us

the grass left a mark on my shoes
but it’s all right
because you left a mark on my heart.
Anastasia Jun 27
Wednesday, 9:12 p.m.

I hope
that I'm pretty
I really
feel ******
and I wish
that you were here
with me.

My fragile bones
feel likes stones
and bending
and crying beneath my skin.

I'm lonely
and cold
and I just think
I could make you
How many stones have you thrown into that lake?

How many of them have skipped once?


Three, four, or more times?

Maybe you can find your own meaning from the way those stones bounce off of the water.
Joanna May 16
The river flows to the ocean, releasing in me the freedom to love like never before.

Beckoning me, to immerse myself in rays of light that pierce the dark waters below, and wooing me to let passion grow.

he river flows with beauty and charm, removing dullness of vision and adding length to years.

Bringing forth a new tributary it draws me near, similar, and at the same time all its own.

This river flows forth with strength, out of a foundation of stone.
To read more of my writings go to:
Max May 27
Paint it, black.

Now I get the song.
Diána Bósa May 10
At night-times like this
I use to put my finger on
the artery of silence
and listen to the cracks
between words and the unspoken,
for the blood drops are its pauses
speaking in the tongue
of slumbering stones,
keep on chanting
a song with a beck:
"live on love, live on love."
Steve Page Apr 16
Stones and Seeds -
Whatever you hold,
lay them down
and unfold your empty hands
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