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Simone13 Sep 2018
quills unburdened cuts
small as threads

some words are better left undone
then said

little by little
day by day

but for paper they’re scars
that won’t fade away

each beat is stained
flowing with ink

but it goes more unnoticed
than you think

even if they try to mend those
they seep through

papers pages will never
be brand-new
The words people tell sometimes ,they leave scars and even if they beg for forgiveness... sometimes you can forgive but you struggle  to forget
Amanda Kay Burke Jul 2018
Told you my deepest regrets
Then you let them get swept in the wind
Trusted you with those secret moments
You showed me love that was only pretend

It was over long before it began
Should have seen from the start
Ignored my instincts like a fool
Handed you my heart

Somehow kept me frozen in place
Throughout hurt and dishonesty
Despite the tears, fights, long nights
Believed we were meant to be

Thought the pleasure was worth the pain
Was ready to settle for what little you gave
Realized there was hope for inner peace
Though your soul was already too gone to save

Tried all the ways I knew how
To teach you how to turn around
I was too late, your fate since promised
To shadows to which you are bound

I tried to fight demons off
But was battling them alone
Gave every bit of strength I have
Unable to win the war on my own

The silhouettes ailed your soul
Blackness was all you could feel
Dug the dirt out to your center
So deep could never fully heal

Tried to remain standing upright
Counting stars to keep sane
Mapping paths of wild constellations
Scattered across walls of my eager brain

Brightest always burn out fast
Leave traces fading in the sky
Was hard to see past your sparkling surface
Guess I didn't really try

Lost control of persistent thoughts
Failed to mark accurate score
Until your games blurred together
And we weren't certain who was winning anymore

Rules no longer held weight
Meaningless numbers displayed on a page
Order and sense went out the window
We started expressing our rage

Ounces of emotion littered about
The universe and galaxy
Testament to the immensity of our love
Time-tested passion simple to see

We lost important items
Burned to ash and sand
Slashed into scraps of fabric
Left to gather what remained with hands

Each came with a seperate story
To onlookers was all the same shade of red
Neither of us the villian
Could have made better choices instead

Every morning faced new failures
Took awhile to see we werent meant to be
Though apart I still feel threads of you
Your bones woven with strands of me
It was over before it started



















t/46-8m 47a
(strike while the iron's hot,
else...up prize cold hard steel Goldfinger
rewind: the following case in point).

Believe me you (stranger out there
along the information super highway),
perhaps feeling comfortably numb,
which I (personally experiencing futility)

vainly searching for Nirvana) attest
to be more appealing that flounder
(like a Phish out of roe jeers waters),
this Pink Floyd wannabe (actually live

ving an absurd existence as an A1 Deep Purple
People eater among a Band of *******)
oft times doth Abandon All Hope, when
this close (a hare's breath - imagined

by thumb and index finger nearly touching)
pinching that elusive Golden Silence),
when in the throes (up raised hands
signifying Abhorrent success) hopelessly

striving to summon forth a measly poetic
creation only to Rage Against The Machine
(Ablaze In Hatred) horridly glomming fruit
less endeavor, (a far cry approximating A

Blue Ocean Dream) extremely at wits end tide
feeling the painful impact re: classic mind
paralysis vis a vis Abnormyndeffect (whereat
most diagnoses an Abomination at best,

(strongly resembling, and easily mistaken
for gingerly feigning good knight two step
A BoogieWit da Hoodie), thus mental health
specialists advocate best ditch writer's block

as an Aborted effort gone south (by About a Mile),
yea...Just Above The Golden State (The Ruins),
when...with a whoosh A Canticle for Leibowitz
manifests and Jethro Tull appears waving a

magic wand while issuing Abracadabra birthing
from out The Breach of Silence inspiration met
with immediate backlogged literary juices, and
sudden Abrogation viz A Broken Silence, where

what appeared as a budding **** fantastically
heralded breakout New York Times best seller
collapses into a Uriah Heap of absentmindedness
twisting within psychic wind Abysmal Grief pain

full Acceptance of Absolute Zero literary talent
with strong considerations for an Accidental
Suicide Usher red via shocking the body electric
with maximum AC/DC self selected Act of Violence

deadening this once Acute Mind eve vent chilly Beck
conning Adam and the Ants, the Addiction Crew, and
most Petty full Heartbreaker i.e. A Death in the Family
unexpectedly engendering A Different Breed of Killers

who (Like the House of The Rising Sun nemesis),
essentially a Phoenix villa fied Gorgon Twisted Sister
faintly resembling a cross between Golgotha, Adolescents,
and Adonis, when...Who should appear A Dozen Furies

hence fomenting A Dream Too Late, Adultery admonished
by an Adult Mom with a doctorate in Advanced Chemistry,
and physiology of A Few Good Men inexplicably trans
forming into A Flock of Seagulls After Dusk matter of

fact After Forever leaving an Afterglow Against Time,
a veritable Air Supply ample enough to solve every
Algebra problem posed by Alice Cooper easy enough
to solve by average Alleycats, Stray Cats and Also Eden.

I hope you enjoyed Altered Images (ideally while in an
Altered State) Among the Oak and Ash during A Month
of Somedays assigning Amorphous Androgynous (A Pale
Horse Named Death) naysaying A Positive Life!
Poetic T Apr 2018
Entangled thoughts hang him
                   between the realms
                   of reality.

                  The fine thread
                  that he hangs between,
the themes of life and imagination.

Soon to cocooned within comfort
                 of there reflections.
                 life or death between stands.
Mystic Ink Plus Feb 2018
Get in steps
Or, leave it

You are free.
Genre: Abstract
Theme: When everything matter
Mystic Ink Plus Feb 2018
Driven energy,
Understanding silence
Familiar wavelength
With sympathetic threads
Invisible bond
A sense of prospective,
A fate of inclusion,
Synergy of trust
Moment of warmth
Bridge of communication
Law of equanimity
Seizing a moment
With a Joy without an end

Adventure of being alive
Worth of human connects
Celebrating a new time.
Shared from my Anthology, Canvas: Echoes and Reflections, 2018.
Cynthia Jean Aug 2017
Faith made perfect
Those golden threads of Love
woven
through our days
of joys
and sorrows.

Cynthia Jean

8.23.2017
Our life is a tapestry, and nothing is ever wasted.
Truth is the word
That we’ve always
embroidered
Onto my pillow

But instead
It’s that I’ve never had
Enough knowhow
To sew my

Secrets anywhere
Except the
Soft, pin-cushiony
Pink of my lips

It is always you
With truth shears in
The hand you’re always
Extending

That sets them
Free
To fly and
Find light

Your work on
Our tapestry
With little fingers
And quiet tenderness

That many
Will never
Feel

Your vision
Of our bigger picture
Unravels before me

Making more sense
With Every stitch

When I leave my
Heart
In places so
Cold

You help me
Pull strings
To drag me back
To myself

You remind me
That my fabric is
Fragile and
Precious,

But never to fear
Cutting away
What no longer
Fits

Being Raggedy Ann
Always comes with
Its share
Of loose threads

And I’m forever
Thankful

That you
Tie them,
Hands un-judging

In knots
As intricate
And beautiful
As your soul.
Tay Dec 2016
The closer to christmas the more chaos
We get wrapped up in making treats and buying gifts and watching movies
We wish the days would  fly faster and get to the 25
but each day belongs to be treasured and not be rushed and thrown away
And strewn across the floor forever forgotten
And by the time you try to remember a detail of the day
It is gone in a  wise since you rushed through it not caring about the *details or the small things
Time is precious like fine china but weaves a web finer than human eye *can see
Don't let it slip through your fingers for the dice our rolled the moves are played
The people are moved coming closer to the end
*Don't rush through life in hustle and bustle for enjoying the small things *in life are truly pleasures
I realized I myself do this sometimes.
But I need to sit back and relax and enjoy life and it's pleasures.
Devin Lawrence May 2016
How can it be
that you can have everything
and still want more?
Am I greedy when I ask
"is there anything else?"

How can it be
that the ties of friendship
can be undone?
Are they not elastic?
Aren't they impervious
to the ever-shifting sands of time
that weather meeker men
down to disassociated
piles of dust?

How can it be
that you can plant roots
that spread and intertwine themselves,
seemingly immune to any upward motion,
just to pluck them from the ground
that nurtured them for years
and place them somewhere
unlike anything they've ever known?

How can it be
that the world can hold so many secrets
and yet our instincts tell us
to discover the truth?
No secret was ever discovered
by trusting a single source;
like the threads of a dream-catcher,
we entangle ourselves in multiple realms
to capture what we seek.

I don't know which face means more:
the smiling ones
that coax me into song, and folly,
and memories as precious as time,
or the one blemished with melancholy
as it stares back at me
knowing there's so much more.

How can it be
that we have an imagination
as wide as the universe,
and yet we never dare
to find the borders?
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