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Steve Page Dec 2018
I'm not so very special
I'm no way near essential
The world can cope without me
Blink and you just may miss me

I'm not a key ingredient
I'm pretty much redundant
It continues to amaze me
that God can bother with me

I find He always has the knack
to dig deep way down in the sack
and lift up what he finds there
to a place He has made where

no matter how far you've fallen
how far lost you have become
He clearly still remembers you
the uniqueness that He placed in you

So don't listen to the hecklers
don't dare settle for any less
Tune in only to His voice
and know this: you are His choice
Dont believe the hate.  You are chosen.
Monica Sarpong Dec 2018
Don’t you just want to hold him close to you? Or is it only me?
Look at those eyes, as bright as a polished diamond brightening the finger of an awaiting bride.  
You can’t look at them twice.
Holy God! when I thought there was no perfection.  
Well mark these words, “he is perfect”.
If looks could be a symbol of heroism,
gift him the warrior’s lantern for he descends as a hero.

The beautiful smile drawing your lips into a curvy appreciating grin.  
A man in a goddess ensemble.
My eyes are heavenly blessed to behold such a testament.
Oh! That amazing voice, let he sing me amazing grace and I will amazingly be graceful.
Beautiful perfect lips moving from side to side whilst he speaks.  
The voice, violently drawing you down your knees.

Oh, sweet heavens, why curses with a saint of looks?
There exist no ounces of perfection enough to deserve his glorious presence.
And a gentleman too, goddess of my ancestors, what great temptation.  

Permit me to do nothing but sit to watch him speak.  
Perfection, the being brought to tempt my honour.
Daydreaming the movements and triggers tingling inside my untamed structure.
Reminiscing on what could, would and want with no sense of shame nor control.
My eyes dazzling without shame nor guilt.
Mesmerised and tempted to act in accordance to this electric pull.

Oh my God!!!, My alarm goes off, please tell me it’s not a dream.
I wrote this poem at the age of 16.  That's a pretty long time ago. Of course, due to maturity,  I have had to update it but I still get the same buzz.  Enjoy!!!
AuEcologica Dec 2018
To let dreams be just imagination, to let it be nothing but a thought; abolishing it from being an aspiration—the core to which whom you are.

Is there anything more devilish?

Than to let yourself fall…
                                    To let your dreams be just dreams.
                                                         However silly they are.
To let the little coffee shop be unreachable; let the song never be sung in a hall. It is all for nought if you cannot embrace the silliness of it all.

Hellfire life cannot be the judge.

The world should never be the victor.
                                Never be the solution.
                                                 The truth.
Your dream, your life; your love—your heart.
The little coffee shop is silly but warm.
Knit Personality Dec 2018
Sugar plum visions of fairies like snowflakes, with candy cane
              cabins and cookies in bed,
Ballet à la Balanchine (red ***** and blue *****) and tickle my fancy
               and gingerbread head.
I am the candle,
You are the flames,

I give you vision,
You give me strength.

You are the reason,
That I was made,

But if you get too close,
Then I'll melt away.
Older poem
Bardo Dec 2018
Maybe it was a dream, maybe not, I can't remember now
Walking homeward across town
Suddenly there came this fog in from the sea
It covered the harbour and the streets, enveloping everything
   so it seemed
A fog so dense, I'd never seen its like before
All you could see was the slow drip of car headlights
As they'd emerge from out of the street next to me
Eventually I had to stop, I couldn't go on, couldn't see anymore
It was like everything had just faded away until all that was left,
   all that was left there... was me
But then - suddenly! Looking up. There! Right above me
The huge spire of a Church, towering up,
Like it was coming out of the clouds
I was amazed... awestruck
"Surely this was it" I thought, "surely I'd found it
(That which had been lost... lost for so long)
The Church at the End of the World looking down on all
Even now after all those years I still had a memory of you
You were there... right at the beginning, right at the start, you
   were there
Those nights when I slept as a little child
You used come to me, come to me in the quiet, in the still of
   the night
I used enter and roam your hallowed halls...look out on your
   golden city...with eyes wide with wonder
It all started to come back to me
I grew excited, so excited
Because I knew! I remembered! I recognised you still!
You were there, all there just like you had been all those years
And you were the same, the exact same, you hadn't changed in
   any way
I saw the old familiar road down to you open up before me
And then the Bridge across appear
And then entering through your Gates
My heart it leapt inside me and my eyes they were filled with
I'd found it...found you again
The Church at the End of the World.
Mystical poem. A bit like the Twilight Zone this.
Johnny walker Dec 2018
This time of year fall
to deep sleep so easily
to there I fly from
dream to dream, flown
In the arms of my Angel
of dreams
Travelling through time
and space whilst In deep
sleep It's to where I find myself
a perfect place so close to Heaven In dreams I'm sure I've been
To where I have no fear It's
where I believe my sweetheart waits for me she would have arrived nearly a year ago when she departed from
And been waiting for all this time for me to arrive
I tell her In my dream be patient, I'll be there soon
then It's to Heaven
together We'll
A vision of how I see things now, dreams and fantasy of Helen my true love, my unforgettable love, my only love
Girard Tournesol Nov 2018
. . . there's a path that could not have been
can't be but shall be seen by wise eyes 
all seeing all knowing belonging to you 
yet not you in some form sideways 360
nonexistence up safe in a tree perched 
on the brink a vast ethereal forest 
nocturnal wide-eyed visionary
A tribute to  poet Byron Hoot.
Apporva Arya Nov 2018
My old vision,
and new life
don't work together.
Thats a reason,
I write...
they say it right negative mind cant give you a positive life
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