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Sovit Pokhrel May 2020
With love in abundance, to share.
Yes, i am rich !
With love, all that i have, to spare.
Yes, i am poor !

If it is riches, you seek...
I'm sorry !
My life is all that i own.
If it is possessions, you seek...
I'm sorry !
My body is all that i own.
With love, all that i have, to spare.
Yes, i am poor.

If it is happiness, you seek.
I'm here for you,
With infinite smiles.
If it is togetherness, you seek.
I'm here for you,
With love in abundace, to share.

Yes, i am rich !!!!!
how much is a lotta money to you ?
What makes you rich ?
possessions?
My riches is life, forever !

BOB MARLEY
Silverflame May 2020
Your northern light lures me in
it's blinding my eyes
it's so cold and so tragically beautiful
it's roaming alone on a loose highway
where no man can stay

We all see you, but not all can feel you
I am powerless and drained of self-love
but if you want to, I'll love you enough
enough for you to never feel alone
despite our distance, I'll keep you sane
and perhaps you can keep me warm

We've felt the calamity in our hearts
etching happiness away;
injecting darkness all over
but it's okay, it's all okay now
we've found each other
and we'll get through it

I do not know much, but this I know;
all this pain and suffering have not been in vain
since it led me to you, and you to me
so let's give happiness a second chance, shall we?
Vina May 2020
If it is the ending
Would you like to go coffee with me
Or
Go to McDonald's and eat fries

If it is the ending
Can we have one last song
Last dance
Last hug
Last kiss

If it is the ending
Would you mind to tell me a joke
And
Laugh with me like we're the last people on earth

If it is the ending
Can you stay with me?
Does happy ending exist
old willow May 2020
Swift was dusk, reminding people how time flies by quickly before one realized.
Their world was separated,
two boundaries that could never met,
as was fated by heaven itself.

Slip from the crack of the boundary,
The two illusionary figures collide.
Stretching across the land,
White flakes cover every nook and cranny,
Their figures were like two magnets attracted toward one another.

She knew of his name that was covered in blood.
He had walked a path filled with corpses,
the murderer who slaughtered millions with his sword.
Looking at him from a distance, she laughed.
Nothing was needed to be said,
for words were meaningless to the both of them than the look they gave to each other.

The country is broken, though hills and rivers remain,
In the city in spring, the grass and trees are thick.
Chaos, like oil mixing with water, order is not to be anchored.
Enemy, are many;
Peace is few.
In this world, my enemy is numerous as clouds,
Are you willing to accompany my path?

Her smile was the blooming spring that would be coming.
Somehow, she had always believed in him.
He would never fail her.
If he walked the path filled with obstacles, then she would accompany him!

Alone in the northern lands,
The two of them burrow their feet in the earth,
Hands held gently against one another as they faced each other.
A tranquil solemnity befalls on the place,
as all of nature was to witness the soon unity of the couple,
Far from the turmoil of the world.

First, Prayer to the heaven and earth present to witness their love.
As if signifying their presence,
The earth shook, the clouds cleared.
Their heads held high, and their gaze locked onto each other.

A bow to Heaven and Earth,
This bow is as surreal as a dream.
First thanking Heaven for bestowing conformity upon the two of us,
Allowing me to meet you among billions of people,
Till white-haired yet never parted.

A bow to Heaven and Earth,
Kneeling love and hate into dust,
Before kowtowing the earth, permitting a place of quietude for the both of us.
let us imagine the world hatred as congratulatory,
In the end, neither of us owning the other anything,
This life, this moment,
There are only the twos of us.

And the final bow to Heaven and Earth,
the last to represent that they would stick through thick and thin,
a bow to each other,
Immemorial promises to remind each other that they are one yet not, alone yet together.
Their conviviality was sent as a prayer to Heaven and Earth,
coveting their thoughts for peace,
And may it last forever more, under the eternal heaven.

If not this life,
In the next life,
May we meet again.
Cardboard-Jones May 2020
The orchestra awaits in the pit;
Waiting for their cue.
Waiting for the lights.
The hierarchy of the symphony ready’s their instruments.
The concertmaster prepares the string section.
The principle trombone and trumpet
Rallies the brass section.
The flute looks over the woodwinds.
All these parts and pieces brought together
To make beautiful music;
Music that pierces the soul,
Soothes the turbulent mind,
And brings sophistication
To the chaotic mind.

Yet there is a man
Who stands before the assembly.
He does not play strings.
He does not play brass.
He does not play woodwind.
He stands before the assembly with wand in hand
With his back facing an eager audience.
For he has the most important job of all.
The orchestra would remain an assembly
Of beautiful noise with no direction
Without that magic wand.

This man directs the noise
To blend and flow
To make sense to our ears.
He is the conductor,
And he plays the orchestra.
Grey May 2020
Laughing, we dare each other
to jump into the crystal-clear fountains
and gaze at the bright blue sky
obstructed only by the Eiffel Tower in the distance.
Our splashes alert the security guards and we run,
unable to keep from giggling as they yell after us.
Stumbling towards a field of lush green grass,
we collapse against each other and grin,
comfortable in our warm silence.
As twilight nears, we splurge
on freshly-baked pastries
and gelato the color of emeralds,
huddling against the cold
in our soaking wet turtleneck sweaters.
Fingers intertwined, we run through the city streets
until we don't remember which way we came.
We slow, panting through our smiles
as we take in our surroundings.
We're on a bridge, the dark skies and glistening stars
reflected by the rippling water below.
We stop a vendor packing up for the night
and write our names on a golden lock.
We hook it to the bridge and throw away the key,
watching it sparkle in the moonlight
before sinking into the water
and drifting to the river bottom.
She cups my face in her hand
and leans in close
so the swirling fog from our breaths meld into one
and warms our flushed cheeks.
I gently pull her against me and close the distance between us,
our lips speaking more than the most beautiful poems
and our love as infinite as the skies stretching above us.
5/3/2020
The sentence structure is super repetitive but I think it's kind of cute despite that.

There's a bridge in Paris called the lock bridge where couples will write their names on a lock and lock it to the bridge then throw the key away, symbolizing that their love will last forever.
kinhanyon May 2020
Walked through the crowds, carry on thoughts, bring a lot cups of the words

The eyes has stopped and contemplated the purple-orange shorts

And then I'll write to you what those people will come to tale

Twenty two months together, bring pictures to remember

But unconsiously cant run closer - as if they were something I want to bring back home

And it all seemed like it  was yesterday,
We dont know how to speak and win the streak
You're my true friends, may we be found smell of rain
in grey veil-face the gale

And it all seemed like it was yesterday,
Both we create new beat and that's all just repeat ...
If it could be the day - when they say - people will changes but memories stay ...
Dave Robertson Apr 2020
To clap, or not to clap, that is the question
Whether it’s nobler in the mind to give
Undying love to those who save us
Or by opposing, expose those
Who have systematically underfunded
A public fed service with malice
It dies, we die, there’s the rub
Chatter and cheer will rightly raise from
Many whose hearts are true and proud
Whose hearts must be hardened
Next at the ballot box to lift us:
There is no country without unity
No unity without truth, no economy
Without each and every soul, always
Meandering Words Apr 2020
no matter
what is built
or
what grows;
there is always
the fear
that foundations were laid
in
    shifting
                  sands
that roots
are rife with decay

i've suffered my fair share
i don't doubt
that you have too
yet
somehow
in spite of this
the walls
are still standing
the flowers
still bloom

maybe
its not as bad
as we thought
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