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Poetic T Aug 2020
Wasn't the one that fit in,
   table to myself, an ocean
                          of pressed wood

that I float on alone....


But...


    You know there's always a but,

Never really wanted
                                  anyone
on
       my life raft of solitude.

I just look up and know
that
        there's
no one to obscure
       my view of life...

My ocean is a fishery of thoughts,
                                  that are mine.

Swimming into
  uncharted life choices...

But I'm fine alone,
I'll talk to the fishes
every now
and then.

But throw them back
             when

I've finished with them..
Seranaea Jones Aug 2020
to be a bird of great wing,
pulling across the folds
of cloudy space

intimately familiar of each
turn between misty
white finials

with a quick flap—
out of reach,
into the opening of a
grey mountain—

evading the glimpse of
all but the sharpest
earthbound
eye...


"that space between mists"
© 2020 by Seranaea Jones
all rights reserved
wrote this while responding
to a nice comment from
Ghost of Jupiter
:)
Austin B Aug 2020
There's a bird at your window.
Chest cloaked in a lush boastful yellow.
Timid dust brown feathered head,
with flurries of white laced around its neck.
There's a bird at your window.
Singing the echoes of blissful memories,
majestic tones of innocence.
There's a bird at your window.
Eyes filled to the top with intuition,
feathers fluttering with intent,
not a worry in the world.
There's a bird at your window.
Wondering if it knows,
knows what world we live in today,
or if it even cares.
There's a bird at your window.
Bullet Jul 2020
My pen is bending
•                              •
Should
I
Write
•             •             •
My eyes are blind
•                             •
Should
I
Drive
•             •            •
When my lights dim
The clips break

I’m struggling  
Too hold everything together

My sky view shows a pilot twist
The sunset spirals while my flight dies

I see the windshield break
But I believe a blank canvas can still blink

I’m suffering
Too keep my passion from being passed on
•    •
•    •
•    •
•    •
•    •
•    •
•    •
•    •
•     •
•       •
•        •
•          •
•            •
•               •
•                  •
•                     •
•                         •
•                              •
•                             ­      •
•                                        •
•                   ­                          •
•                                                  •
•         ­                                               •
• The break down on the dead end •
• My pen scribbles life into existence •
•The one way spilts my paper into gray•
•My drive collided with my sight of color•
•                                                         ­              •
•                                                              ­       •
•                                                               ­  •
•                                                            •
•­                                                      •
•        ­                                      •
•                        ­               •
•                               •
•                       •
•                 •
•           •
•     •
• •
••

The love of life
Drifts away
While my
Bullets create
Turns of O-pens
Circling back around
Too the plot of sunrises
The light begins a new trip
The wind brings back the shattered pieces
The glass is finally made to be seen through
And I start to see outside the review
Bhill Jun 2020
looking ahead towards the end is intoxicating
knowing that you are able to conquer obstacles previously out of reach
hurdles, that before, were not obtainable
what changed so that victory existed on your journey
your ideas of what could be done, can be done
your view of the end changed....

Brian Hill - 2020 # 170
What is in your view?
Francesca Rose May 2020
imagine if we had a small flat
buried in the middle of the city
like i know you want
away from the sky.

living together and dancing
drinking mocktails and laughing
i want to see you happy
just once. just once.

we could have a dog or a cat, because
we'd be in a penthouse suite looking
over the rainy cityscape
up high in the thin air.

there would be dreams experienced
side by side in the night
and when you say my name
i won't miss a beat.

it's just a fantasy, a novelty
afforded by imagination
so that when i hear your voice
i see our flat in the city
and not what you wish
you
had said
to me.
Aditya Roy Apr 2020
My old lark
Is a singer and a poet
He is a dancer in the rain
And he can fly in the dark purview
Part 14
And what he greatly thought, he nobly dared.
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