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Amanda Kay Burke Feb 2020
It really is a crazy world
I see it every day
No matter where I run to
I cannot get away

Right is not right
Wrong is not wrong
Life is too short
Yet the nights seem so long

Steadily fighting for breath
Choking on pouring rain
Frustrated with no way to deal
Bottling up sorrow and pain

I hide behind a careful mask
But its starting to wear thin
Revealing the frown underneath
The monster deep within

Barely recognize myself
Changed so many parts around
Most days it's all I can do
To not crumple to the ground

Every time I dare to leak a hope
It gets slashed out of the sky
After so many disappointments
I don't even try

I take the struggle for what it is
Forgive and then move on
And wait for happiness to arrive
Knowing it's too far gone

The wicked world keeps spinning
Turning in spite of its weight
I try not to give up on love
Its challenging when there's so much hate

Bitter but not yet beaten
Though I'm bent in a few places
Trying to write a better ending
Fill in the rest of the blank spaces

Though my eyes know endless misery
My heart continues beating still
Life may never get easier
But who knows? Maybe it will
Feedback?
دema flutter Feb 2020
honey
drips
out
of
your
words,

you melt
all my walls
down
and sugar coat
this heart
of mine
a frazzle
was cold
pepper in
the cloud
that hydroponic
filament but
sink with
compost may
revere lent
with ammonia
as this
Evangelical was
the entitlement
of American
in Waterloo
with corporate
rain there
A waterloo of eagle
Dani Jan 2020
He is perceived as youth
Younger than all
A child amongst the gods
However he was borne of Chaos
Bringing life through love
Chaotic and painful love
Uplifting and righteous love
Melting hearts
Make them as unyielding as steel
Arrows of gold and lead his tools
He uses them with wild will
Just as love is
Borne from chaos
His bow taught and waiting
Finding their targets
True strike of love
Rain your arrows upon me
So that I may learn
To love myself
A poem about the Greek god Eros
Dylan Barrett Jan 2020
The sky a low ceiling.
Below a tapestry of blues, greens and greys –
Woven in shrub, stream, stone and lichen.
Mount Brandon.

Mountain spirits, dressed in wool.
Suspicious beady eyes.
Hoven feet that read silently the land.
Mount Brandon.

Fog boils over the mountain –
A breath that makes night of day
And ghosts and spectres of those who dare.
Mount Brandon.
HeWhoExplores Jan 2020
We marched into the thick of town, laughing and hollering like
Jovial soldiers of the night. The sky was dark & poetic , as we succumbed to its drunken beauty. Night's like these were meant to be enjoyed, savoured- for what was yet to come, we could not escape.
Staggering around town like a drunken platoon, we ended up at the Ulster Sports Club, a place so decadent and mysterious we had to sell our souls in return for a one way ticket. But, it was worth every penny of it. With low hazy lights that aligned the corridors and a special style of liveliness like that of the 90's- we were on cloud nine.
Electro beats and foggy disco lights gave the place a retro vibe, as people of all ages and shapes boogied and grooved as they became slaves to the music. It was utterly beautiful. Beer was guzzled and shirts came off, as we staged an act of defiance against social conventions- this was our paradise, and rules were meant to be broken. And as the lights came on, a chorus of "One more song!" erupted. We staged a rebellion, for the night was not over yet. Eventually, the time to retreat came upon us, as we threw down our conquering swords to surrender. We grabbed our things, our bags and coats and made off; walking into the dead of night like soldiers returning home from battle.
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