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Chrissy Ade Aug 2019
Fear has taken my left hand
And Faith has taken my right hand,
Pulling me in opposite directions
Like children playing tug-of-war
I’m swaying between the road that diverges
Into a life of comfort or a life of greatness
And I cannot decide who deserves my heart
Does Faith deserve it because it embraces uncertainty,
A tortured game with unpredictable results?
Or does Fear deserve it more because it promises certainty,
An enemy of progress that loathes new adventures?
Faith has taken my left hand and Fear has taken my right hand
I cannot make a choice; they are pulling me apart
Where do I go from here, I’m running out of time
Logan Aug 2019
The warm flame attracts the moth.
The moth wills itself to sacrifice its own beating wings
for a moment of the flame's eternal radiance.
If the moth knew it would be set ablaze,
Would it still seek to embrace dancing fires?
No matter their beauty, surely it would recoil,
and yet I do not.
More foolish than the moth I am.
For I know her flames burn,
yet I long to reach out.
To touch, to kiss, to hold
Her soul in disrepair.
I do not want to ache but cannot refuse her smouldering caress.
I am a moth offering my beating wings
She is the flame, slowly fading as I disintegrate.
Ahna Aug 2019
Too much sadness for one mind,
too much thoughts to actually realize.
The beauty in our souls,
And the world within our minds.
Soft spoken, blurry scenes, a sad ditty
Yet to the tune we make our steps
One before the other, one behind the other
One together and one with ourselves
Through various chronologies,
The wave of life we defy, uncertain.

Half a step brings us closer
Yet our routine takes us further
Our actions bound by the divine book
And the underdogs we identify .
Slowly, insanely, terrifyingly slow
Our heartbeats rise as one seperately.
We sing at our campfire, far away ,
And again and again and again
Through various chronologies,
The wave of life we defy, uncertain.

With our plucked wings we fly
Soaring across the dirt beneath us
Looking up at the great whites,
In a sea of vast blue and Arcabaleno.
Yet our reflection we see, truth disguised
A humble tree, slowly withering it's leaves
Yet the fruit if passion it blooms
Enough for our mundane hands to reach
And through various chronologies,
The wave of life we defy, uncertain.
James Rowley Jul 2019
Angelically gold Mary stood stoically
Cradling all that I’ve known to be true.
His father is dead; blank was his expression
Blank were the people bowing to him.

For all meaning had been lost to the wind.
Once, this place teemed with the beams of children;
Now that our fate is confirmed, we merely stare
Without sight.
////
Anastasia Jun 2019
i feel like
uncertainty
is pinching my flesh.
pinching my elbows
my ears
on my neck
my ankles
my stomach
my nose
my toes
this
uncertainty
won't leave me alone.
Xenafar Jun 2019
Uncertainty is a disgruntled maw,
One that gnaws on your bones and swallows your heart.
It salivates at the thought.
Nikki May 2019
If pressed, I wouldn’t say that I’m unhappy
To leave one home for another,
But that I’m living in the future
And thusly have no control over my surroundings,
For they do not–might not ever–exist, and the I today and the I of June
Are distant relatives.

So, if further proposed the question
Of whether or not I grieve,
I’d reply that this town is like a loved one
Who I shall only visit on leap years,
And decisions are as deaths.
When I go, I’ll leave a piece behind forever.

If asked, I might not disclose
That the fresh wound of impatient joy harbors a quiet fear
Of disappearing into Ventnor City
From the hearts of those who are still in mine.

Yet, should one wonder
If I might reconsider,
I’d reply that decisions are as new lives.
When I arrive, I’ll weep with uncertainty.
I’ll meet the I of June on the shoreline.
I’ll feel the boardwalk under my feet and realize, with a start,
I’m home.
La Girasol May 2019
I had a conversation with my mom last night. Grandpa is not well, she told me. He's dying, is what I heard.

So am I, I thought.

I ate dinner with my friends and their kids tonight. I needed 2 years to heal from one of my first break-ups, she told me.

So do I, I thought.

I screamed at God or you or maybe both tonight. You're an a**hole! I yelled until my sobs cut my screams off.

So am I, I thought.

I wept in a friend's bed tonight. He's not making healthy choices, she told me.

So am I, I thought.

I watched the stars and sat outside while I cussed out God and you both tonight. You lied to me and I needed you, I sobbed.

So do I.
Grief is an ever-present neighbor who makes herself at home in my life frequently. I am feeling betrayed, sad, angry, shocked, and hurt. Grief, God, and you, have all been taking the brunt of it. Tears are becoming a daily reality.
depth deprived May 2019
I can't fall asleep
But I don't want to wake up,
So I'm sitting here thinking
Of how I'm out of luck.

I keep tracing the map
That I've drawn for myself
To keep track of my mind,
Which I keep on a shelf.

Hours have passed
But the clock hasn't changed
The longer I lay here
The more I feel deranged
Aaron August May 2019
There is a garden that stands
On the east side of these lands
That sits in sunrise beauty.
And there the white rose grows
With the flowers that often doze
And dream and dream and dream.

What flower of love
calls out to a beating heart?
But repels thee with its thorns?

Oh is it love in only memory?
In beaten wind-torn memory?
Shipping flowers to the sea
Shipping flowers to the sea
Though the rose forever grows
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