A late night with friends,
I have come home at last.
The pain in my head is ceaseless,
My body reeks of ash.

That is the smell of my city,
Soot and smoke,
Its anthem?
The murmur of the crowds.

All of them are idividuals of their own
Yet we walk, breathe and talk as one.
Day, night, rain, or whichever time
I'll still love this merry city of mine.

Be like the wind

You are the wind

You don't bend or break

No procedures are in place for you

Run up against it, flow around

Not out of strength

But out of the hush

Out of the whistle

Out of sound

The wind is nothing

The wind is everything

More than anything that could ever be built

Because the wind will always be

Around

In every lung and every city

Whipping through the whistlers town

"New obsession, next depression" is well said!
Crystal Freda Aug 24

Twirling around a pole
She is filled with such joy.
She sustains feelings of being whole.
A feeling of something to enjoy.

The sun is lowering down
as the street lights glitter on.
Darkness beckons the ground.
The sunlight will soon be gone.

She lives in this small town
where her heart belongs.
Her happiness has a vibrant sound.
It sings enticing songs.

valentin Aug 18

the truth is missing.

a whole town looks

for traces of your

orange red brown hair

after you vanished into

another plane.




the truth is questionable.

you don't know where you are

or how you breathe

or where your flesh and muscle and bones

and wounds have washed away.

was it the other side

or this side?




the truth is stuck.

you push every wall of thin air

and you find that it

is endless.

you shouldn't want to leave.

you can't.

about a book i wrote.
alan Aug 17

There's no one in this town where I am
there's emptiness in replace of idle sound where I am
the people of this town all left searching for where I am
but I've been here all along hiding until they're gone
wondering where they've gone because they're not where I am.

J Aug 17

Darkness threatens a small corner of the world we call home - Panic aroused streets full noises unknown - Ambulatory screams medics fine tuned awaiting the chaos to come - Tents spread dirt fine powder - Fire threatens the life we live - Only to await pure seconds of darkness - Mid morning daylight diminished only once this lifetime - Background tunes hands raised drinks fill brimmed - Down hatch cheers becoming etched in history - Friends beside smiles laughs memories made - Echoes this day a story told of the eclipse that happened - Darkness fades daylight returned - Normal this town retrieves routine - Panic worth words description of those moments anticipated - Reflecting life's cherished mirrored memories - Story to tell - Experience had - Perfect silence - Daylight returned

Often yet not frequent,
I'd see this young delinquent,
An exact image of whom I were most recent,
So to say that I stare at my past thus avoiding myself at that instant.
That very moment,
Ne'er ought I insinuate that my thoughts were so constant,
And the actions thereof were so persistent,
to stem that I were too naïve and reluctant,
••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••• •••••
I smell fear and mediocrity,
A custom made identity,
Whose motive is hypocrisy,
But shattered visions surely die;
And dreams are battered through a cry,
Its meaning stands a mystery,
As if it were but one big lie,
I stare at this delinquent through that foggy window's eye.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••• •••••

Amidst the abyss I hear his accent.
The voice of a believer whose innocence could fly,
But they clipped his wings because their arrogance had left them stagnant,
Closed minded individuals who lacked to imply;
This was the coming to his emancipation out of imprisonment,
Of being disallowed the privilege to try,
Sadly these spectators were Incompetent and Complacent,
Who forced the world to remain gullible to fortify.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••• •••••

So I stare as he drown himself in the disbelief that he will never cease the moment.
Due to the horrible fact that his chances were denied by a corrupt system,
Despite him filled with talent and wisdom,
Ignored potential as an aborted infant;
I heard the echo of that infant's gentle cry,
And imagined it sleep so peacefully,
Its origin were to me a mystery,
A beauty this world could never deny.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••• •••••



But eventually they'd want it to die;
As if they were driven by jealousy,
Deriving through each century,
Owning each man with a close minded mentality.

We never regret being insubordinate,
but she has room for those torn apart,
despite their hearts so full of hate.
Their tears are the hurts of the heart.




They cry not knowing,
she is watching, listening,
concerned of their well-being,
while they're busy scheming;




Her seeds are all planted,
but haven't all blossomed.
Her streets all connected
but paths are divided...




Though there's lights that always burn,
there's a thousand souls who mourn.




But she cries for those who hurt her,
and loved them like a mother.




Still we lacked to love her fully,
with three hearts like an octopus;
once she were three times a lady.
We love her enough, the haven for us,





Though infested by dirty rats,
and all seem like, a big mistake there's,
so much hope inside  Flats...


Despite our flaws of being torn apart,
We never regret being insubordinate.

Ashley Moor Jul 14

How to put this
how to keep this
delicate
cleaning the childhood
out of mind
but keeping it
in mind
as I pull
up my shirt,
letting you feel
the scar
from my youth
and I'll be
seeing you soon,
I'll see you there
dirt
in our hair
and fireflies.

If I could have my way
we would only
grow younger
and not as strangers
to ourselves,
undoing all we know
cleaning the dust
off the shelf.
I know you better
in my chest,
girl as beacon
of light
of summers
in the past.

When you leave me
do it slowly,
keep me dark
keep me waiting.
Only the dirt
will know
what you're thinking,
as you sink
into the fever
of the season.
Mary,
lay on your back
with the tv
on
it lights up your dress
and turns your distress
into a million
colored lights.

Caught
in a small town
but you are
made up of the world
in your short skirt
and honey skin
only showing
in patches
when the sun touches
down upon
your window again.
In your old Buick,
a kaleidoscope
of summer
crashing down in
dreams
in the heat of this town.
A dream in which
I am turned around,
breathing in color
and looking for you
now.

A dream I had.
alan Jun 30

Oh little town in the USA
your countrys' come to see
the time when it all fails someday,
when it all falls down on me.
Your flag is high on the pole
and waving through the wind
and by the river is one last soul
who is living past the end.

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