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Steve Page Feb 11
Like a bond song, rising from the depths
catching the theme, casting its charm,
holding the frame, teasing us
giving us just enough of what we’re waiting for
and keeping us all in the moment,
gun shot by shot, brass blast by blast,
until the action breaks across the screen,
drawing every gasp, taking every heart,
holding every gaze, clutching every throat,
- until the strings break in
and bring release and joy and disbelief
as the hero survives yet again
to bring the world its peace
Watchin the documentary ' The sound of 007 ''
Lemon Jan 2022
I'm tired of being someone.
Instead, I want to be something.

I want to be the creak in your floorboards at night; the time it takes for you to convince yourself it's just the house settling. Nothing is wrong.

I want to be the dogs barking in the lot across the street. What are they barking at? I cant see anything.

I want to be the howls outside your window, knocking to come inside. It's just the wind, just a tree branch, no one is awake this time of night.

Did you remember to lock the door?
I'm alive and really want to quit my job
Mims Nov 2021
You looked at me
And said
If I closed my eyes
I’d be willing to die for you
The air outside was so cold
And I was In need of someone’s attention
So, violently
I cling to you
For some kind of September’s worth
For someone close to home
Who I would have no future with
I was tired
Of staying in my room day after day
I was tired of being alone
I wasn’t going to let my one life slip away
So I looked down
And I decided the ground wasn’t that scary
And if I just gave my self
A little longer
Everything would be so much better
At this point in time
I felt powerful
At this point in time
I was hopeful I’d survive
And then I
my eyes

In trauma class
They tell you
A victim
Will blame themselves first
Will internalize a space of fear
Of their own creation
You ever notice that?
She says
A glance across the room
I whisper back
And then she says
Warm breath against
your lips-
Is only for God  

Daivik Nov 2020
It was an exceedingly hot and sultry summer day in the bylanes of Kabul. Lt.Sameer Sharma had missed the chance of catching the prodigal engineer turned terrorist Abdul at the marketplace.But now he had an ace in his deck,the enigmatic Dr.Rizwan, a doctor by day and spy by night.

Here they were near a warehouse at a nondescript military base.Any second now,a glimpse of the adversary could be caught.

"Over there",shouted Rizwan,pointing his gun towards the massive box.As deftly as a cat ,Sameer slowly moved towards the box.It was a cat.

Another voice was heard in the floor above.It was Abdul.

He ran.

They ran.

It could all have been over in a minute.Years of espionage and intelligence work boiled downed to one chase.

They chased. A chance . The only chance.Four shots were fired.

They saw the corpse.They were jubilant."Finally" cried......

"Finally",cried Musa as he shared a smoke with Rizwan.

There laid the body of Lt.Sameer in a pool of blood.

Betrayal had never been more stylish.
                                                        ­                                                           The End.
Not a poem but a short story
GRAVE27 Oct 2020
Is all I see
Is what I'll be

Is she?

I am nothing
I love the sound of loneliness

Don't bring me gifts
I am not a Holmes
They're not my home
Every steps come
As i do

I am not blind
I can see
What's this dividends?
What am I?
The number below one
Hex Oct 2020
It's gnawing at his bones,
and clawing at his spine,
he knows he's not alone,
but now is not the time.

The woman behind sings,
broken voice brings life like spring,
enlivening his actions,
but stressing her malefaction.

He'd been running for years,
or at least, that's how it felt.
Despite his eyes' red tears,
and skin starting to welt,
his drive had never reared,
but soon, to enervation, he knelt.

He fell into the leaves,
pain stung like blades unsheathed,
now too faint to run,
he peered up to the sun.

Then, the blue turned black,
he heard a familiar chime,
he knew, his lover was back.
She heaved her axe one time...

He still lies in the leaves,
no more cries or screams,
he speaks only silence now,
in a place that won't be found.
For an October project to write one project every day.
10/3 Theme: Fatigue
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