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The night washing over our heaving, fleshy carcasses. Like two crayfish in a current.

So you are telling me.
We ****** in a whirlpool of sound. In a dilapidated guest room.

There. Moaning into you with my eyes, I ravenously endowed our fevers.
And you make it into pretty words.
Prettier than I could ever polish my sprawling lobster legs into sounding.

Who talks like that.
A poet’s muse does it seems.
Your words were like a beautiful song, yet your silence was like a sacred prayer.

Hussein Dekmak
My feelings are hard to put into words
Sometimes it just feels so right
When I get home and I’m tired and weak
At the very end of the night
I make myself coffee, something to eat
To go at my own steady pace
Writing my poems is important to me
Without them I’d feel out- of- place
Being able to set myself free
Is something I did not know!
Just writing my poems whenever I can
Gives my ability room to grow
I hope that my poems are good to read
The way I meant them to be
As much as I enjoy writing them
Without you they’re just not me!
Written long ago just for fun.
rig 4d
thing just in that could
it got i just april
mythical use i but
kinda conditions
spending words the hard
for about concept
enjoyed me 1144 an just
one a don’t we that year
won’t
(these are, in order, the first words in each line of page 36 of my diary. random-looking verse structure is based on a square template as this was first an instagram post.)
Alice 4d
but that look
your look
still haunts me

how can so many emotions be wrapped
in an iris?

the last words you said to me
right before you left

had already been spoken
you told me you were leaving far before you did
TD 7d
It is not in the words we say
but in how or when we choose to speak them
that creates an impact.

What do we see behind our testimony?
Are we giving lip service to ideas propelled by fear?
Are we compelled to cater to a narrative that belittles one and uplifts another?

Has the source compelling us to change
created movements that perpetuate change
that crosses the divide?
Or instead, used pain to destroy all chances of hope for some,
and stirred dissension in others.
Power cloaked in repentance,
weapons of warfare laced
by silver tongues in pursuit of personal salvation.

Loud speech only covers sins,
it does nothing to heal the sores
the beleaguered mouths
that wretch in open spaces.
Are we corruptible pawns or warriors for peace?

Are words a means to an end, or a bridge to give light and joy to all?

Words do not have souls, but humans do.
They are broken more easily than they are built up.

We cannot bring truth to the past and change it.
We cannot hide the shame of an ancestry steeped in mistakes.
We learn from them,
but do not dismember the voices of imperfect people
who discovered truth beyond their errors,
beyond the angst and hatred
and strove for change.

We are weak
imperfect,
all of us.

No one is only singled out on their merits
they are bound by them
propelling them to further understanding.

Words are freedom fighters.
Words are oppressors.
Yet they are what we make them
what we imperfect label them.

The present is here--at this moment.
We cannot waste words on ideals that shift with the tide.

Our freedoms came by a hope for shared freedom--
not singularity.
Not an ill-begotten desire to pick and choose what cause we seek
for a sense of purpose.
Our souls are our great equalizers
and they've existed since
before ideals became ostentatious trophies,
before preying on the weak became a sign of strength.

We are generals of generalization,
some sourced from the darkness,
others based on sad truths.

Sad truths that can make us bitter,
or create impactful reflection and change our hearts
so that we can love others until they long for light as well.  

Are we soldiers joined by a brotherhood
blood that transcends our histories
that encompasses a compassion
which goes deeper than our mistakes?

Or are we driven to be vigilantes
enacting our own form of justice?
A justice that gives no one a chance to truly live
but only to survive?

Think--imagine--every word uttered is a future changed.
Deliberate before delivery.
Our tongues enflame hearts or
are welcome salve on open wounds.

Thought-filled silence
is more impactful than
haughty speech
and heated blood.  

A genteel action is far above a violent storm,
it is the eye and the storm
combined.

And words are a beautiful rapport

when we embrace our faulty fellow man.

Before sharing becomes a self-serving display
and truth a little less important than lies
let us remember that lives begin and end

on the weightiness of words.
TD Aug 2020
It is not in the words we say
but in how or when we choose to speak them
that creates an impact.

What do we see behind our testimony?
Are we giving lip service to ideas propelled by fear?
Are we compelled to cater to a narrative that belittles one and uplifts another?

Has the source compelling us to change
created movements that perpetuate change
that crosses the divide?
Or instead, used pain to destroy all chances of hope for some,
and stirred dissension in others.
Power cloaked in repentance,
weapons of warfare laced
by silver tongues in pursuit of personal salvation.

Loud speech only covers sins,
it does nothing to heal the sores
the beleaguered mouths
that wretch in open spaces.
Are we corruptible pawns or warriors for peace?

Are words a means to an end, or a bridge to give light and joy to all?

Words do not have souls, but humans do.
They are broken more easily than they are built up.

We cannot bring truth to the past and change it.
We cannot hide the shame of an ancestry steeped in mistakes.
We learn from them,
but do not dismember the voices of imperfect people
who discovered truth beyond their errors,
beyond the angst and hatred
and strove for change.

We are weak
imperfect,
all of us.

No one is only singled out on their merits
they are bound by them
propelling them to further understanding.

Words are freedom fighters.
Words are oppressors.
Yet they are what we make them
what we imperfect label them.

The present is here--at this moment.
We cannot waste words on ideals that shift with the tide.

Our freedoms came by a hope for shared freedom--
not singularity.
Not an ill-begotten desire to pick and choose what cause we seek
for a sense of purpose.
Our souls are our great equalizers
and they've existed since
before ideals became ostentatious trophies,
before preying on the weak became a sign of strength.

We are generals of generalization,
some sourced from the darkness,
others based on sad truths.

Sad truths that can make us bitter,
or create impactful reflection and change our hearts
so that we can love others until they long for light as well.  

Are we soldiers joined by a brotherhood
blood that transcends our histories
that encompasses a compassion
which goes deeper than our mistakes?

Or are we driven to be vigilantes
enacting our own form of justice?
A justice that gives no one a chance to truly live
but only to survive?

Think--imagine--every word uttered is a future changed.
Deliberate before delivery.
Our tongues enflame hearts or
are welcome salve on open wounds.

Thought-filled silence
is more impactful than
haughty speech
and heated blood.  

A genteel action is far above a violent storm,
it is the eye and the storm
combined.

And words are a beautiful rapport

when we embrace our faulty fellow man.

Before sharing becomes a self-serving display
and truth a little less important than lies
let us remember that lives begin and end

on the weightiness of words.
I used to believe that my words didn’t matter, but as I age I’m learning how the tongue can be wielded a terrible weapon and yet when seasoned with truth and love a beacon of light. One of my biggest regrets has been the damage I’ve delivered when I lived vicariously through a false sense of who I wanted to be and was caught up in my own insecurities.
Sanko Feb 28
Sweet silver tongue
Builder of hope and of Nations undone
Whispers of light against the darkness beyond
Oppressive dictators, shackles of freedom with the tune of a hum

Hum sweet silver tongue, do you tire to be a rudder
Sailing your ship through the cracks of instability, tearing down a sister, or a brother
Setting up systems, to rob child from their mother
Foreign lands now discovered, shackled hands, the nations dollar

When you’re sitting in your palaces,
Sipping blood from your chalices, made from labour of your educated salve, indoctrinated ways, disseminated lies- made to believe these shackles are made to save

Sweet silver tongue, do you blame the throne or do you blame the song, do you blame the culture gifted from generations gone
Do you blame the man upon whom this title is on,
Or do you blame the nations lalaby to the newborn, “live for today, tomorrow may never come”

Price of admission
Mahima khatun Feb 28
Love you
More than I've words to show
Love you
More than you could ever know
Love you
Not just for now
Love you
Till the end
And it's a vow
love you
Right now and forever
Love you
This is the truth will change never
Love you
More than the ocean has shallows
Love you always
More than yesterday
And less than tomorrow's
I wrote this for someone special
And I really love him more then anything
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