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Neon Beaches May 2018
When rain falls and the skies are marked with grey
When the real world seems ‘o so far away
I reminisce about old days
the things I used to love
And the things I used to do
When I remember how I used to blaze
Blaze, Even brighter than the sun
I simply sit back
and let my eyes glaze over with sorrow
Because I know that soon
I’ll have to face tomorrow
Bryce May 2018
Puff and Pomp of Circumstance
I maestrate my digits unseen
As an old lady hums loudly off-tune
begging to see their face
I tap my fingers to the drum

Watching myself walk the stage
Knowing I will receive no applause
How many people will watch--
Scoff as I go the distance

A piece of paper with a shiny crest,
Firewood, tinder, disinterest

A hilarious dream,
The biggest lie ever sold
But I still walk and talk and sit as I'm told

No great symposium,
No perfect forum

As every time I went to speak
I was silenced,
Pleaded to keep clean

The great farewell
dictation of objectivity
Of dis-indoctrination
I wanted to scream

No ma'am you are mistaken
The quaking words you claim are making
A better world, a better place?
Setting the stage for the end of day

And a rambunctious after-party
Full of mean mead and black wine
******* in the grass of the divine
"Let us remember..."

That they have never been

"...In the holy presence of God"
Falguni Sudan May 2018
Softly and gently, I swim him along
the frail whirlpool of a lie,
He visits like a lamp in the froth of cold
forward towards but shy

I remember to keep my palm onto the cold night's sheet
and tell him how his would fit in,
how every moment of my cold nights would burn
into the arms of his unconscious sin

I canst remember thy face though,
o love, was the dust of snow much.?

Swaying like a leaf in the wind of my poem
skimming on the foam of an immortal stream,
with his perfect structured fingers touching his evening cup,
he flutters like a laugh from the lips of a weeping dream.

A dream.
A DREAM.
O my.! Was this illusory?

Years of long closed eyelids imagining their perfect fit
The word exists the definition doesn't,
Dejection over fancies is dejecting
Perfection is straight where you find true love.
Both girls and boys alike, dream about their "perfect" life-partner from the very beginning of their formative years. This "perfect" illusion seems to surmount over their subconscious self and when they aren't provided with the same revolutionised "perfect" partner, they feel dejected.
"don't be", I say. "Perfect" has no meaning. That one moment when you find true love, It is, nevertheless, "Perfect".
Falguni Sudan May 2018
Coral-black hair
plunging o'er his bold
shoulders,
lilac soft, nectar sweet lips:
which could be a flower moulder.

Dulcet whispers,
like a singing bird bed
And, after a smile
His beguiling, oyster-white teethset.

Two cinnamon-brown jewels melted onto snow
had the sparkle of 'Lueur d'espoir Petillante',
And a pair of his arched eyebrows which eased down gently,
to his black, beetle’s-leg eyelashes.

His dusky complexion would apprise me of
his never limiting sheen,
I just wish I get to visit this till the last blink of my eye:
A humanly divine paradise,
indeed.
Nick Stiltner May 2018
I've reached the end of my days!
Tomorrow has never come, and I know
it never will!
I sit and wait for the sun to set, night's
humid breeze caressing my cheek with
silk touch, leaving a trail of goosebumps
that send a shiver down my spine.
Tomorrow will never arrive,
it cannot be!

Waves of distortion as these red eyes
catch aching morning light, a glimmer cast
into his irises until they dry and burn,
his head drops to his hands and a sob escapes.

The sun it goes the sun it returns
the sun it goes the sun it returns
the sun it goes the sun it returns
the sun it goes the sun it returns
the sun it goes,
the sun it returns!

An energizing sunrise!
Those bittersweet sunsets!
Each set in the molds of different lives
to everyone their specific smile or iconic laugh,
the ones that see as each of them are forced to see
due to the differing circumstances surrounding
their inhabited reality!

Tomorrow has never been, you have no proof!
On and around we spin, ruler in hand to
measure the meaning of a higher powers
light shining upon us, translating its language of
forgotten past and harrowing future.

In the middle of that vacant space in your head,
a spear pointing directly inward,
towards the infinite space still finitely contained.
Right in the middle, on the highest hill
next to the white rapids river
I am building my fortress.

I spend years digging my moat, deep and wide,
laying bricks side by side climbing ever higher
closer and closer to the sky and
farther and farther from the Earth.
A lifetime design to protect
my last spec of shining light.

Oh I know tomorrow never comes,
it never ceases, cannot end,
the light it glares and we turn to meet,
but it retreats, pushing us back to our sheets.
Time to rise and the classic
"I'm so sorry guys but i really
must go to sleep, could you please
keep it down?
I have so much to do tomorrow
and I swear on God himself
I have no time to waste!"

I have no time to waste
I have no time to waste
I have no time to waste
I have no time to waste
She Writes May 2018
She planted a garden in their love
Because she believed in a tomorrow
Taiwo Olufemi May 2018
Scary, yet amazing
The mystery about this life
Deadly, yet we are living
Daily we are reborn into this life
What remain of yesterday are memories
Today is yet an opportunity to create tomorrow's memories


Whether we'll see tomorrow or not
The truth of the matter is that
Today, we are going to die
Tomorrow, we may be born again


If you doubt this
Ask your inner self
Why he feels that sensation
When he wakes up from the long night sleep
When he wince to stretch his hands and feet
When he savor his face with the morning breeze
When he look out at the far horizon
Even at the sight of the rising sun


At the first instance he knows nothing
Within the first fragment of seconds or minutes
The smile he wears on his face
or the Frank he bears on his face
His general countenance
Are all by-product of his dream


Then come yesterday's memories
Wallowing with worries
In a friendship way
Or in a hardship way


If we are not dead yesterday
We might still be able to go back
And correct all our mistakes
But what remain of yesterday are memories
Today is another opportunity
To refurbish our acts that were floppy


The scary thing is that we will die today
The amazing thing is yet, our memories will live on
This is how it's going to be till we are not going to be reborn
Tomorrow
When our memories will edge past us
And no We to worry on the memories
Except those people we left behind


This leaves us with one logic thing
Since today is the only assured day of being a being
While hope of being reborn tomorrow holds uncertainty
Let's work out today a wonderful memories
Even if we'll not be reborn tomorrow to worry
Tomorrow will be lived by our wonderful memories
And on the sand of time
We will write our wonderful name
Amanda Kay Burke May 2018
Winter flakes fall, alive, alone,
Bright like ivory, cold like bone,
Peaceful and silent, they ride the wind,
Brushing snow-swept faces, chapped, skinned.

Icy sidewalks lay and stare,
Smooth glassy pathway reflecting brisk air,
The sky quietly murmurs a shade of bluish-grey,
Clouds block the sun, dulling this December day.

Trees stripped bare by merciless freeze,
Unwrapped, they suffer, nobody sees,
A lifetime of labor hangs from every limb,
Waiting for Summer to begin.

Mountains far off watch in greif,
For greenery's sake pray for relief,
Blistering rage unharnessed, free,
Is a predator gobbling all it can see.

Winter's love and hate collide,
As unpredictable as ocean's tide,
Moment by moment, fading away,
The beginning of tomorrow, end of today.
I think a poem about Winter is a nice refreshing change from all the summer poems about sunshine i have been reading.
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