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Ezra Nov 2020
Her hands are always so cold
when she touches someone they would flinch and it showed
it´s not her problem she´s always exposed
to the air that the day would hold

are her hands cold?
or is it her heart?
what's it called?
"cold hands, warm heart"?
I think she's that kind of art

the kind where she doesn't show feelings
inwardly always revealing
huh, I guess that is what it's called
does it make this, the truth untold?
Shofi Ahmed Nov 2020
A love buried in the depth of the earth
skipping the grave that can be lit up
and the bottom of the sea
water billows out of this abyss
netting the eyeballs of the sky.
Then the bottom of the night
was skipped likewise.

Taring the shades of black
there the moon rolls out
in the enchanting half-light.
So it had to be tucked away
only at the bottom of the earth.

Everything the all-inclusive pi  
could pop up from that safe womb there
that carries the weight of the matters  
but never shows up an equating pattern!

The nightingale scurries to the red rose
bubbling on the morning tessera
as if it mined out the treasure of the earth!
Oh it doesn't seem to be the only one scorer
upon the rose a mirror is up in the sky
‘Love’ is in the eyes of the sun!
Poetic Eagle Oct 2020
Forever was only a fantasy
Till you came along
Midnight thoughts
Secret Whispers Sep 2020
You had no right to talk to me the way you did. No right to take ownership over me.

No right to tell me how to dress or even how to smile,
no right babe you were so sinister and vile. You crossed the line when you told me who I could talk to or what I could say after we were done. You master manipulator and I your puppeteer.
Said you’d always be here but you were the first to run.

You pulled me by the strings of my own heart and you didn’t even care about the hurting that would cause.
Ileana Amara Aug 2020
poem lines run through my head;
unstructured, barely coherent, contemplative,
they were the words & thoughts left unsaid
this heart bleeds wasted poetries like a thriving captive.

Note well
For this is my time to be who I am
And the danger of looking backward
Is at an end

Don’t harp on about
Alligators, and poisonous lizards
For we are free to be,
Just be

Asterisk, mark my place
And untold stories
Be ******
In the un-telling
I'm trying to capture the essence of a "reminder" as life takes its course, and the danger of forgetting
Alicia Moore Jul 2020
The righteous white snow
Covers whispered lies.

But soon...

The gore of falsity
Will redden the surface.

Place your hand
Upon the red snow
To reveal truth untold.
pale Jul 2020
Some days I wonder,
how many words there must be,
rumoring the world untold.
How many feelings are still
creeping below the surface
And how many dreams
are laying on their deathbed
still hoping for things turn around.
Maruko San Jul 2020
It can be beautifully awful
or awfully beautiful
with so many hurtful memories
and untold stories
but mostly are depressing and
unwanted marks of the past
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