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Arcassin B Jun 2017
By Arcassin Burnham

No toss and turn but sleep is lost,
I live to trust myself and the ones I love,
But you gotta learn to take a loss,
For everything in this world has a cost,

You know me from distant memory,
If you were my enemy I trust you less,
So not what you appear to be,
The epitome of vanity,
A lost hope to a broken dream,
Your mad at me but you ruined your life by parenting,
And even in the darkest days,
I still wanna have all the times of my life,

To look back and say I shouldn't stay,
I couldn't find the truth on the brightest day,
In knowing that would be okay,
I just headed for a lil delay,

Tough today , and then tough days ahead,
To sin and then be sinned on is hard to maintain,
Any day I could've just been dead,
Either by a random mugger or a racist fed,
And even in the darkest days,
I still wanna have all the times of my life,

I just wanna get away from here,
Not just here but out of this world as well,
See fear in every corner here..
There are no guns in where I wanna go.
©abpoetry2017
http://arcassin.blogspot.com/2017/06/there-are-no-guns-in-valley-30-days-til.html
Zero Nine Apr 2017
Vanity shone open armed
You gave it your heart
What's worse than being
loved too much?
No ******* love at all

Vanity pulled from your lungs
The final gasps of aspiration
Don't forget to feed your
demon familiar don't turn
away, resign and shut
your eyes.

Twice failed, if they don't see you now,
they won't ever.
Twice failed, it's time to bail, call
your demon back.

Popular opinion can ****
the fattest
****
Oh Jonathan.
claire Mar 2017
if my mirror could talk,
she'd tell me I'm here too much
and she would be right
Alan S Bailey Mar 2017
I make a promise to myself
To avoid the past and think of tomorrow,
In the dusk the world is a bitter reddish hue,
Under this happy sky with people dying in war,
It's just what we need to make certain that
We will "make it through," with "endless" life,
But there is really no other way I'm told.
You who deface nature for yourselves alone,
Trash the earth we were given that keeps us alive,
Even then you eat off of plates of gold.
We are your fools who sit in the library,
Reading some important history about
"Non-essential" needs of love and
The glory of the way of tribes past.
Whatever I am saying-even this moment
I'm being laughed at far and wide.
I'm wrong! I'm stupid. Go ahead, say it.
We're going the right direction, leave no stone
Un-turned, let no animal in the woods hide!
You will still show me "perfection" in destruction
And death once I let you get inside my head,
If we are the future, it's already dead...
Seán Mac Falls Mar 2017
.
Lear wanders in stormy open, bares warring elements,
The heavens blister, crackle, night is balmy shroud,
Wretched monarch babbles in sprinkles of wind cold,
Arguments lost by ones own pouring perturbations
And raining sky said 'nothing will come from nothing.'

Howl, howls into blackness treed in lightning splits,
His outcast soul, reels, fleshed, cut to smithereens,
Tang of salt burns on the bluffs and the sea rages,
So entire and ceremonious is Lear's fall meted out,
Air spoke, 'nothing from nothings ever yet was born.'

Sky proclaimed to man child King, here is a reckoning,                                    
Each mad choice was self infliction, now wind flays
And sweet Cordelia lies in her innocent **** grave,
Sky, in thralls of thundering asks, 'what say thee now,
King of highborn follies, even purple heaths are rags,

Yet black and above you and night shades, whine,
Unworthy King, done in by compounded effects,
The might of maelstroms in low butterflies wings,
How now, bare trees, knifing reeds, skeletal flashes,
To rains of night are ever your lanyards my lord,'

Sad Lear so near oblivion fell mute, sky went on,
'Howl and cry mad King your reaper calls beyond,
The icy brisk heavens await to brusque you away,
Your slipshod kingdom was mere and fools' dream,
Howl, til howls abrupt abate, for nothing now comes.'
King Lear is a tragedy by William Shakespeare in which the titular character descends into madness after disposing of his estate between two of his three daughters based on their flattery, bringing tragic consequences for all. Based on the legend of Leir of Britain, a mythological pre-Roman Celtic king.
.
RLG Mar 2017
Where there was something,
Now there is nothing:
A glade in the forest
Is all that remains.
The woodland of youth
Became wasteland;
No serum or tonic
Could Regaine* its flourish.
Sometimes, I run my fingers
Through the ghost
Of what was there.
I am, of course, speaking
Of my phantom hair.
*Rogaine to my North American friends.
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