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true faith is rare
how lucky am i to have found it already
though to me, it is not a man on a crucifix
but belief that the sun will rise again in the morning
that love conquers all
that things will be how they are meant to be
belief in yourself
belief in others
when friends become family
that’s only because you have so much faith in eachother
that the word “friend” couldn’t have the power to contain it
The men and women from the forest
Brightly colored
Stripped ***** from innocence
Sense of ferallity
Militant majesties
Taken off all layers
They stood there
Watching me
Gazing at me
I was in a theater
They were the audience
So I began the dance

The show of a lifetime
Stripped to be seen unmasked
They watched
Eagerly yet uninterested
Flowing as unmovable objects in space
I fell down to my knees and cried
Like a newborn in the arms of a wet nurse
Surrounded yet so alone
Protected by many yet so exposed
All my senses floating out of me
A shell
Confined within for seventeen never-ending years
Greeted every morning by its hollow disgusting sneer
Cutting fingers trying to peel off the layers of this theater
Getting stabbed and kicked in the head again, death is near

Another day, lost in the space
Feeling more and more alien
Piercing the days like a warrior
Have my head cut off a thousand times
Another day, losing my own face
Smells more and more my carrion
Peering through this barrier
Have my body buried a thousand miles down the earth

Existence does not mean belongingness
Dedicated to Per "Dead" Ohlin
Dante Algheri Nov 2018
We are all racing birds;
we win just to be caged.
I don't know if you've heard,
but all the world's a stage.

I tread the rigid boards
and bend myself instead.
Another curtain call;
another ego fed.

The limelight comes and fades;
the sweat falls from my brow
now everybody cheers,
another perfect show.

You will never make it,
you know that this is true.
The flowers on this stage
will die along with you.
rebecca Oct 2018
My life was quite dark
but then the golden curtains opened and Act Two began
with it's first remark
Laura Sep 2018
We sit next to each other
In the mezzanine
Of the crowded theater
Our matching purple outfits
Far too dressy for the occasion
But who cares
We look **** good

You put your hand out
Palm up
And look at me
As I smile
My coy, giddy smile
And place my hand on top
Interlacing my fingers with yours

The lights dim
And the show starts
But you never let go of my hand
Even when it gets weird and clammy
You never pull away
Even when I snort into your shoulder
And wipe away my laughing tears
You still hold onto me
You gently ****** my arm
Your warm thumb
Against my smooth bicep
And I can't help but smile

I look over
And catch you staring
Which makes me blush
And get coy again
The mezzanine
The balcony
The floor
It all disappears
When I feel your touch
Your light touch
Just glide over my skin
I float to another dimension
When you lean over
And kiss my cheek
Only coming back
To the mezzanine
When I open my eyes
Seanathon Jul 2018
The old names that I used to know
Roll out no more, like curtains old
Like a theatre in the lesser days
When more was sung in older ways

As I sit here in the mirror room
With lenses quiet as a tomb
Just to think of names I once had seen
Alive, a thread, in poetry seems

Would'ya close the curtain, lock the doors?
And stoke the candles inside no more?
Because the poets heart is quiet when
He life is brightest in the eyes of men

So be it showmanship deceived
Would you show me the name of a friend indeed?
And I'll read and read until bygone age
Until all the lenses have passed away

And the stars become the only screen
Where the heights of poetry
And the shallow depths of the human soul
Can be ere seen

For as the old names that I used to know
Quietly pass away
Only words remain like fallen snow
In the masterpiece of a city day
About the authors who I never see anymore. About our society which worships media and forgets so quickly about verse and live theatre. About some of you people. My favorites. And about the future when all of this man-made technology comes crashing down. Masterpiece for the theater reference, not for the quality of my tired work.

From my "Almost Asleep" collection.
Laura Jul 2018
People tend to think it's an act
When you want to **** yourself
And it kind of is
You have to put on an act every day
In order to get through basic ****
Social interactions,
It's all an act
But you still want to die
That part most definitely isn't an act
That's the most real part of you
The deadest part inside
Is what's keeping you alive

The attention seeking *****
Seeks attention
Because they wonder if anyone actually gives a ****
Or if everyone else is putting on an act, too
Because if all the world's a stage,
And we're all just acting,
Then why not **** off some characters
Shakespeare got rid of Romeo and Juliet
And they were still famous
They were still the stars
And if you can be the star
But still be dead
Then why keep on living
When you're already dead inside
love is when i look at her,
our eyes meeting,
tears rolling down our cheeks,
and we both connect.

love is when you're held,
and they're so proud,
and pain in her heart,
but she tells her story.

love is when she broke a vow,
a vow that kept her safe
from feeling sadness, dread
and trusted you with it.

love is when your heart leaps and the audience stands,
roaring, singing
screaming and thrashing
we made our mark.

and we cry and sob
and we begin hugging and wishing this moment could stay..
for we told a story,
a real story,
about how love is powerful
and could withstand
the spiraling earth
and the thunderous rain
and survive,
even in the face of death.

i love you,
and this is why we tell our story.
this is not romantic love.
this is love i feel for everyone.
i love you all so much, you helped me tell my story. you helped me feel raw.
and for that, i really do love you. and to my director,
thank you!
thank you for telling me your story,
thank you for trusting us and pushing through the pain,
i know she's watching us from above, you know it too.
i love you all!!
i'll always be here
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