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A bird perched on my chest last night.
You should have seen me jolt awake,
How it remained so near my face!

I stared at its gem blue, stained red.
Yet when I touched its bloodied plume,
A storm of black consumed my room.

With lightning’s strike I could perceive
Sweet-scented subversive coffee
Among French dreams of Liberty

Followed by sounds of clashing arms
Between brothers of blue and gray
Over the fate of the enslaved.

At once I felt the long struggle of
Tenant farmers now freed from lords,
Working mothers who dream of more.

My child ached from days of work.
His stomach starved because the Board
Deemed him something they can’t afford.

Too much! Too sad! I couldn’t last
A second more, and so I seized
The beast as my new centerpiece.

Such bright feathers but such a bore,
Now gawk with me and wine some more.
If I can identify the problems with
the actions that I take, and the moves that I make
mere seconds after flapping my lips, or
twisting my lips, then

why do I do what I do?
I don't know.
If you're asking whether I think
it's a good thing, or
a bad thing. . .


How long   is it before
"just what I do"    delivers
you to prison walls from paradise?
How far   is too far, to
let my personality drag my brain around?

If I'm self aware, I'm on the borderline.
Control me, will you, my rampant ways?
I have you centered in my sights better
than I ever have, and it's now I think to tell
myself, Action must yield choices more
than Piety or Wantonness. As a for instance,
if I see myself clearly, can I drop the gun
as long as I develop disclosure and transparency?

I'm ******* you, I already know my answer's yes.
From my experience, honesty invites
the utter end of communion,
and from this, you inherit an abject loneliness.
Plick,
Pluck,

the tiny little strings in my mind.

dancing to a different tune each and every day,
the world plays my songs.

eyes wandering around the room while I play with my thoughts,
like the child I never won't be.

cross-legged and slumped over as the heated droplets dribble down my spine,
and fall from my weary lips,
that which are worn from the words I never got used to saying,
singing the songs of my each and every day,

coalesce the thinkings that have somehow let me dance to where I sit today,
forlorn petals fall from my branches in beautiful pastels, cursed to live in the winding winds.

Aday to each and every day that I sing and prance within my tiny little heart,
washing my pains away.

ill-weighed upon my shoulders,
as yet i dance some more,
beneath the turbid downpours engulfed in shades of red.

i wish't to see the blue,
the green,
the steam, arising from my skin.

narrowly weeping within my little box of horrors i keep by my side,
in remembrance of each and every day i have and will yet shed a tear.

haunted lullabies revel on and on,
each and every day,

i crave the pieces of the peaces i'd once known.
to here,
today,

i shut my eyes,
and into the blackness bursts forth colors i've never seen,
and will never see again.
to see that which i've never seen.
silent shapes shaping away falling through my fields of vision,
and inform themselves to the visions I write today,
so here,

i simply continue,
to plick,
and pluck,
the tiny strings inside my mind,

each,
and every day.

~Robert van Lingen
Ancient Seat of Versailles
Sweet shimmering palace
Place of majestic mirrors
Reflect the grand beauty you store
So that each vision
Is distorted and deformed
Yet still retains the brilliance
Of picturesque perfection
Like Capitalism unsoiled
Or Socialism Unspoiled
A duet of ideas
Promising the good life
The great life
Heaven, before it was hardened
By revolutionaries of reality
Sappho supports thy serene crown....
Star BG Dec 2018
I, am a walking poem queen
in divine form,
living in a kingdom of words.
My cape is interwoven with lyrics.
Crown, adorned with punctuation jewels.
Throne, carved in grand mirage.

At night looking up to stars,
I see a thousand visions
shining with verse.

Strolling gracefully, I do.
Sometimes in rhyme
to launch a ditty.
Other times
inside streams of emotions
to make reader feel.

I blink and words like a waterfall
drift upon page gracefully.

I dance with never ending song,
that pulsates in pivot chamber,
as lyrics play in ears
like a birds song.

And at night fall, when one sleeps,
I shall raise my scepter pen,
to anoint all who ask.

All who request visit from me
to receive spark of creativity,
so they expand heart,
and write, write, write.
Inspired by Shah Fahad Sani  THANKS
Sebastian Nov 2018
Blue traces of lost places
Will carry me through

Black clouds above dark crowds
Their thunder unpack

White visions of drowned collisions
Set old dreams in flight
T daniels Oct 2018
wa
The sea in evening
Eyes, inhabiting coastal patterns
As gannets descend,
And rise again across the ancient skyline.

A stranger in some melancholy town,
Full of brooding faces,
And cobblestone streets.

We stood at the edge,
For hours as the western winds
Traveled toward our tawny figures.

Flesh, waning. Wishing it everlasting.

What lies over the bronze horizon,
What lies beneath oceanus?
Vexren4000 Sep 2018
As a child,
I stared off into the distance,
Dreaming of this and that,
My eyes open,
Yet a dreamworld of places,
Dancing before my sight,
Places far away,
The games I would play thereafter,
Now when we try to daydream,
There is nothing there,
But a longing for something lost to aging.

©BAS
Fingertip upon the glass,
   Astounded,
Breathless.
   Cracking the most painful smile..

Lift my head to gaze upon...
   the fallen.

Fly back,
   eyes dart around the room,

Unravel the sheets,
   Unravel my body,
   Stare up,
   Gaze. weep.
fall through the floor.

hanging by my hands.
   fire everywhere,
Cries in every direction.

A tug at my feet,
   A cold, blood-torn face says to me,
   "Go back."

All goes black.

Anger floods my veins,
I scream...
Blood pours from my fist

at the bar,
   watch her dance,
She doesn't see me,
   because I'm not there...

her smile is the most painful knife in my side,
Because it's not mine.

A sharp pain across my face
   Get it together man,

Black again, for just a moment...
   eyes, slowly open.
laying in my bed.

It's 8pm.
   guess I'll just sleep...

again,
to float through the silence.


~Robert van Lingen
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