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Mystic Ink Plus Jan 2020
How many of us are dead?
No one spoke
Raise the hand, who are alive.
No one did

We
May
Be
Trapped
Between
Those two worlds
Genre: Abstract
Theme: Cold Silence
Poetic T Nov 2019
A seed may divide a boulder,
             life a verse can dived a
                                         sentence.

We must understand that the
smallest voice can be more vocal than


a country that shouts but is unheard.


We are all grains that can open up
            the hardest point.

And when we grow, our roots will
             cultivate beneath the oppression

that stifles that will eventually reach forth.
Mystic Ink Plus Oct 2019
Don’t share your visiting cards.
That, I have nothing to do with.

Breaking the silence, speak to me of your journey,
and your destination. Speak to me of your dreams,
and efforts. Speak to me about how far you have
been, and the hurdles to move ahead. Speak to me
about the blessings, and the prayers. Speak to me
about sunrise, music and coffee. Speak to me about
yourself, and nobody else. Speak to me about your
being, who you are, and who you are not.

When I will look into your eyes, speak to me
something, that you never spoke about.
Speak to me to get understood.

I am here to listen.
Yes, I said that.
Genre: Inspirational
Theme:All in comfort, alright
Poetic T Feb 2019
We are the virtues of natures
                           measurements.
No matter the strength that portray ,
                            we are each but wind.

Captured in a singular episodes
that collects

                                within a series of




cyclone syllables.


              And each is more vocal.
                 causing more destruction with


meanings that was expelled before.



Weep on the condensation that falls,
                 for the breath that collects after
                 will carry you further
      

Than any that fell in subjugation
                               before any verse...

where all wind in an eclipse of motions,
                      also surpassing every falling..
i’ll never get
tired of the way
the strings
around my neck
tighten as you play
them and sing;
though i’m unable
to sing along
for your spell is
choking my windpipe
and binding tight
my tongue

and yet i could
never ask you to
remove your hands
and the strings
all wrapped around
my bruised neck,
shut up, and just call it
quits, despite the
unfortunate fact
that the copper and
metal wires are lacerating
my bleeding throat.
Inspired by: Today I Saw The Whole World (Acoustic Version) by Pierce The Veil
He had been a vocal critic of the government
trying to expose their lies
that the people accepted as the gospel truth
knew he was being watched
certain it was not paranoia nowhere to hide
his privacy was denied!

His video channel censored and taken down
found it hard to be heard
began to feel his life maybe in grave danger
still determined to speak out
as agents began rapidly closing in on him
knew getting real facts out slim!

Began to shut himself away kept in contact
with others in his circle
who became known as the hard resistance
telling what was really going on
with little success as the public in a bubble
unable to see they were in trouble!"

Most wrapped up in themselves unable to see
a bigger picture of a society
those divided and trapped by social injustice
wars destruction of nations
where the innocent were continually dying
as upon us all they were spying!

He was a sincere man who loved his family
but he was found with his wife
daughter and pet dog slaughtered at home
the official line he was the killer
murdering them then committing suicide
but his friends knew they had lied!

All his files and documents were missing
yet the conspiracy was accepted
for most of the population it was shocking
a tragedy but what happened
main news outlets clearly said it was true
so no official enquiry would ensue!

Is this another conspiracy theory or a fact?

#TheFoureyedPoet.
They all felt the truth was not being told!
Ana S Feb 2018
What is the point of living,
If you were never alive?

What's the point of breathing,
If you never opened your eyes.

Grasping the cold harsh reality of life.
Gasping for the air never to enter your lungs.

As a young child you were handed a gun.
A gun called English vocabulary.

Capable of tearing a person apart.
With a simple hiss of you voice.

Ruining once a good life.
With the bullet called your tongue.
Lunar Oct 2016
every time his voice filled my ears
my heart strings vibrated
so he gently plucked or strummed
to match his ballads

but as days passed
with his playing and vocals getting rougher
his fingers bled and scarred
and then i snapped

gone was the singing boy
his beautiful guitar
but you can still see them love
whenever you hear their song
even if some things do not exist anymore, there will always be other existing  things that remind us of those and we can never escape from it.

11/13 of the Pocketry Series.
s Jun 2016
you shattered my feelings
and i tried to digest the
shards but cut my vocal
chords on the glass. i find it
difficult to talk now, but it makes
no difference because you never
listened to my words to begin with.

looking at you is dangerous, like
when you stare at the sun for too long and
it puts a strain on your eyes. it burns,
but you're still beautiful so i tolerate the pain.

i knew this love would hurt me,
but i never thought it would leave me
mute and blind.
CasiDia Jun 2016
on the horizon of our tribulation
 variables hover as unwritten expressions
       the plane of abstract thought
         a stream of consciousness
           holds memories from long ago

                       what comes forward
                     as sudden flashes
                   blurs the distinction
           between past and present
   uncertainty holds us close as a ghost
       our worlds float further away but
       the fatigue remains intimately alive

      when i sit alone
     he shows me that i'm small
      too imbued with a tendency
          to exude, to emote
              i am barely vocal

         the plan is predictable
       you pluck sentiment from thin air
          and with a flap of your wings
               take off into trepidation
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