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Harley Hucof Oct 2020
Beside the river,
I transfigure into my feather shape
I am in my bird state
Calling out for my mystical encounter
"Come make me wings and help me escape "

I feel a strong heat and an intense grip on my back
I look at the mirror and see my reflection sewing me wings around my neck

Its all a trip i claim

Just like a drop of paint in water
The rain came
to destroy the image of my lover

My unheard comforter that willfully has to lie

For this river reflects my buried will to die

But i ignore it all and fly high because i am entitled to the good things in life


Words Of Harfouchism
Hex Oct 2020
The scales are imbalanced,

As they have been for millennia,

Our time rushed to its end,

Like water off a sheer face,

Life drifted and swung like a pendulum,

An uncertainly guaranteed fate approaching,

At a capricious time and place,

Ticks were counted in reverse,

An attempt to fathom the unfathomable,

False prophets spoke as confidants to the future,

But no man can see to the end of the world,

Not the end, nor the limit,

But all will experience the unseen fall.
For an October goal of writing one project every day.
10/9 Theme: Future
LAICEY Sep 2020
you’re great at storytelling and
i could fall asleep to the sound
of your voice as it recounts a memory.
but i don’t want to be a part of your story.

i'm not one to be religious but i do hope to
god that i don't become one of them as
you remember the ghosts of us out loud
on the phone at 3am to another like me.

don’t let me be just your character development.
bring me on your entire journey and
let me remain the one you call at 3am
when you're dying to tell all the stories that you’ll have to tell in our future.

i don't want to be a part of your story.
i want to be your reality.
© LAICEY Poems September 2020
Roro Aug 2020
I orchestrate your violent butterflies
Fluttering and morphing into bees with big eyes
"Honey shed your chitin and be mine"
Your guardian angel and savior so divine

The strings of your heart as my violin
My grand concerto hypnotized you to sin
Made me your deity, my boat your place of worship
I welcomed your unholiness aboard my precious ship

Sailed through the clouds and into the stars
Set off on a light-speed expedition to Mars
When we returned to wander the Earth's seas
I found myself a slave to all your pleas

Mistress of this vessel yet so caged and lonely
When did I feed you so much power over me?
She was mine but I didn’t recognize
Tainted and defiled because of my lies

Her body and sails were painted red and blue
To much better suit and satisfy you
Irreverence to your deity, desecration to my shrine
I could only watch while you took all that was mine

A glimpse of land and gardens so close
Sparked a flame of hope in my life of shadows
I sprouted wings and the sun began beaming
Lighting up the rocks where waves were crashing

I raised her sails with one final goal
To free myself and take back my control
With cold confidence, I steadied my helm, directed my bow
Crashed her down like Dawson to Davy in the depths below.
Being worshipped and adored isn't always fun, especially when you feel responsible and in control of a relationship. Despite having that power and control, you're helpless and catering to every need of this obsessed person you now pity and despise. It takes strength and courage to accept when it's time to break it off and let them go. Pick YOU
P.S. Montague Dawson was a maritime painter and Davy references Davy Jones [locker] :)
*Read "shipwreck for the outro/part 2"*
Cameron Fischer Aug 2020
It wasn't until today
When I realized that you can
Tell a story through only your eyes
it's past 12 midnight
-and that should just be okay
  given with my quarantine body clock,
but i haven't slept for the past 36 hours:
  -i walked around the city,
  -i exhausted my brain with responsibilities,
  -i distracted myself with hobbies,
but i just can't seem to sleep.

it's amazing how overthinking really rallies with your mind,
and how it affects your whole biological being.
it's amazing how, one brief moment with a stranger,
bugs me like this.

his lips,
his warm embrace,
his sweet voice.

i just can't seem to sleep,
i
need
him,
Mary E Zollars Apr 2020
My teacher asks for the theme,
But I don’t know how to answer
I know and I know that
A theme is or is not one word,
A common thing, a binding spell
A theme is or is not an instruction,
Told by the character’s actions,
Shown in carefully crafted consequences.
A theme is or is not a quality,
Something which defines a character,
Which determines the course of the story
It is or is not more than one sentence.
It is or is not subjective to the reader.
It is or is not, so I don’t know the answer.

But I could tell you about the Little Chinese Seamstress
About blind obsession,
About jealousy, about wonder
Would that be enough? Would that be enough?
I could tell you about how reading is so personal,
Its effect on one
Can not be understood by another
Would that be enough? Would that be enough?
Or how skill is developed by tragic experience
How learning comes from failing to learn
Would that be enough? Would that be enough?
Or if I told you that the quality of a book
is only as good as its final passage,
If I told you that
a story shouldn’t be told until its last word,
Bound by something so profound,
The book must be reread, reanalyzed
Delving into the intricate mind of the author,
With full control over life and reality,
With the power to make one word thousands,
A detail into a novel,
Anything into anything without writing it down,
Because if you can understand what the author was thinking,
Then the author was not thinking at all
Would that be enough?
Could knowing be enough?

If you asked an author
To name to you one of their themes,
Do you think they’d know the answer?
Do you think they’d care what you mean?

Is it more valuable to the student
To understand or to define?
Is it more telling of the mind
To describe an impact,
Or to save time?
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