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Climbing up from the pile of rock and rubble -
my body is again strong, and mind forgets the ancient trouble.

From the place of war, lies, and confusion -
I surrender fight for the sake of my master’s delusion.

The form I held then was battered and broken;
my soul trapped in fear, and verse unspoken.

I am no longer shattered, thieving for fragments to catch. My best work yet is composed with spirit to match.

As the old world slips and falls to pieces,
we’d do well to recall where our own peace is -

once this circle resembles nothing we knew,
we must pick up the remnants and build something new.
High school is five years of nothing.

By nothing, I mean it means NOTHING.

As soon as you get out you transform into something else

By the time the reunions come around you do not recognise yourself

Who you were then will cease to exist

All of it rendered insignificant

I'm telling you friend,

High school is five years of NOTHING.
one of the truths of life...
Adi N Oct 3
You caught our eye,
sticking out
in a bed of old red and pink flowers.

What's your story?
Perhaps you were just a red or a pink flower
who chose to be yourself.

Or perhaps you were put there
by forces beyond,
to blossom into a messenger.

Thanks for making us think,
and offering a choice to change
while we still have time.
Amongst the ocean of my tears, I see an island of pure joy
My ****** eyes gaze at the glimmering sand like it is foreplay
Lured in by the mysterious grace of the unknown
I swim through despair while my lungs fill with water
Hipnotized by a mere potentiality, I learn that hope is also breathable
For I need to Know what love is and Death will not defeat me

I lean my hands foward but something pulls me down
Suffering is a grieving mother, it does not let me go
The blue sky looses color as I sink into the darkness like an anchor
But the pain of distance burns inside me and the cold can not reach my soul

The deep waves try to shred me and I let them,
As my desire travels further than my body ever could
I hit the bottom in perfect surrender
Embraced by a comunion of billions of grains of sand
They whispered in my ears a symphony of salvation
I felt the love in every tone

I once saw an island of pure joy
But I only touched it when I drowned
Laokos Sep 10
folding the sirens of
eternity in on themselves
as this scant hour
rebuilds its stage
over and
in the light of my eyes

already there is a perception
of being caught
in a loop - of a lesson
playing out
before a malady
of ignorance

i am free to see it
and i am free
to miss it

it is the long
of the breaching
whale - an exchange
of currents for
the transformation of
sky into
ocean depths

it is
hidden union
in transience

in beautiful
nom de plume Sep 7
there is something so
evangelical about fear.
i was raised to be afraid -
it was implicit from my first sunday school and
my first crush and
my first real haircut.
there is a certain desperation bred in youth groups
in local church attics,
in big auditoriums
with looming, radiant stage lights.
perpetual guilt -
perpetual repentance -
perpetual fear.
                                                                ­                                  SACRAMENT
did i think that
baptism would make me feel more loved?
well, that’s between me
and the Good Lord Himself.
but i will tell you
the water was cold and
my father cried.
i received a necklace from
my grandmother and  i
haven’t seen it in years.
fear doesn’t drown in cold water.
it crystallizes, it burns.
                                                                ­                                    EUCHARIST
if my mouth tastes like blood,
let’s blame transubstantiation.
if my skin doesn’t fit right,
let’s blame God’s want for the process of creation.
if my heart wears it self thin at the thought of judgement - Death - finality,
let’s blame my Protestant upbringing.
how avoidant am i -
blaming Martin Luther himself
for a menagerie of ****** Georgia churches.
                                                                             THE BODY AND BLOOD
christ, you people want
to take everything from me.
i can’t go to another easter service
as your daughter.
i never could.
you never seem to realize what
exactly you want from me.
don’t look at me like that -
like this is a resurrection.
i was never crucified. i never died.
it’s no comet, either, though,
i can tell by your face.
this isn’t easter, it’s
a funeral service.
i’m sorry i can’t come
back to life for you.
but what you think is living and
what i think is living are two very different things.
do you know what it feels like when
your own mother thinks you’re
going to hell?
                                                                ­                           CONSECRATION
i’m sorry i can’t cry
holy water anymore.
but there are good things in becoming.
i remind myself that there is progress- growth -
in transformation.
but i never really liked wine,
                                                                ­                                               AMEN
Iris Mairead Sep 2
It begins as a tingling in my legs,
unpleasant like something squirmy trying
to get out, something huger than my skin,
wriggling, bursting to get free.

Without ceremony it spreads, bulging in
my chest, prickles poking through my
shoulder blades. Suppressing only makes
it worse, I need to run, to fly, to breathe-

"What's wrong?" you ask.

I cannot answer, it is taking all my
willpower not to scream, or punch an
innocent bystander. Would I? Whether I
would or not I've never found out,

I just leave.

"I love you," you say. I still cannot reply,
the tears have been melting my face, but
now they trickle down shiny scales.
External sensations have become
insensible, overpowered by the
overwhelming rage of barely managed fire
within. The sharpness of my teeth meets
an unfeeling leathery lip.

I go downstairs and leave the building. I
don’t know if I remembered my keys. I run
just as reptilian wings free themselves
from my back, they flutter, stretch out wide
at last.

I'm free,

but I still want this thing inside me, this
thing that now is me, to leave. I am
ashamed of it, afraid of its newness and
my inability to control it. It's happier now
in the open air where it can thrash about
without restraint. I let it, no longer worried
it will lash out at something or someone

We fly far and long, my arms and lungs
ache, but still the fire burns in my whole
body waiting to be unleashed. We soar,
sore and angry until suddenly I'm alone

I look down but I don't need to look to know
the scales are gone. My lip feels soft again
beneath my rounded teeth. The wings still
flap but gentler now, quietly bringing me
back to the ground then softly folding and
painlessly absorbing back into my
shoulders. I head home.
Norman Crane Aug 28
Rip the saintly halo
From above your hallowed brow
To see how it obscured
A deep satanic vow
As through your skull are sprouted
                   Two twisted bony horns:
A rose no more disgracing
A beautiful stem of thorns
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