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RedSparrow567 Jun 27
Whispers in my mind, voices in my head
Scattered thoughts turned to scratches of lead
What does it mean? What has it said?
It's nothing but words cold and dead
Scatters of verse tangles of meaning
Only time will tell what these thoughts are gleaning
Will the words I write do their part
To slowly heal my shattered heart
Ink flows on the page
Whispers of stories so bold
Time held in each line
Revealing past deeds untold
Words act as a guage
Of our thoughts, from young to old
Baring through the age
When gazing on words untold
By turning each page
Growth of ideas unfold
Structured as a 5:7:5 haiku, but I tried to make it rhyme.
CE Uptain Jun 26
The hand is slower than the spoken word
I write so slow, I’m barely heard
Each word is a careful choice
Each word my only voice

My soul in words I’ve written down
Quietly I rage without a sound
Baring ******* my pen to feel
What’s on the page, what is real
Any poets agree?
Can we be together,
On July 14th?
At the perfect palace park,
In some kingdom far away.
Six years from now,
We'll be in Boston,
Strolling down the shores.
Hand in hand,
I'll trace my finger over the ring,
I placed on yours.
Together forever,
Separated never,
The same word,
Written in different fonts.
I never want to be without her
Mélissa Jun 25
Words weren't always
meant to hurt this much
but men were always good at making
weapons
out of anything.
Sometimes after a long battle,
all you long for is soft.
Soft embraces, soft hands, and soft words.

-Rhia Clay
Be careful with your words.
Words are powerful.
We cannot reclaim them once they are spoken.
Words spoken take only a few moments to speak,
but they can destroy for a lifetime.

-Rhia Clay
Yanamari Jun 21
Please puzzle me this,
Words wither whenever
My mouth moves... maybe malpractice?
Message pieced together,
Hoping whomsoever hears - helpless,
In my attempts to untether
Sickly syllables sticking; Speechless
I become, my tongue bitten back like treasure,
Festering feelings funneled, forlornly facetious;
Drowning in all the words I've spoken into forever,
Pleas purporting prosperity, perchance preaches
That if I try just once more, try over an over,
Could comprehension come closer
Between me and anyone leftover
Near me in my attempts to keep myself sane
When no words seem to work, and meaning wanes into this bottomless abyss.
Bri Jun 18
I packed up my life
Uprooting all I had known
Loss like a knife
On a plane all alone

Only luggage I had
Harsh words in my mind
Not lovely, but sad
Unlike most words I find

They say time will heal
I’m not sure it will
I left, but I feel
I carry it still
Lee Holloway Jun 17
I ordered a blazing Bordellino and mescal
what's that you say, why it's an alcoholic drink made with the
fruit of a wild tree, typically flavored with orange peel

I was sat next to a Pilator
that's a person who guides someone or something
this guy was the father figure of political science
it's not the same as a mentor, no
his name was Mitchell, and Mitchell was his name

His wife was an Amarrat
in case you are not aware, that's a
woman who is an Honorary Dame, ranked above a
Privy Council or Baroness
Martha was her name, and her name was Martha

I must admit they both had
something of the Snarper about them
Pilators and Amarrats tend toward the snobbish

While sipping our Bordellinos we were offered
some Compugns which, I'm sure you know, are
small edible drums with antennae
found in tropical and subtropical regions

This alarming snack was followed by a
hearty slab of Terraea, the Argentine cheese
which derives from dried sambalaya

Mitchell and Martha, their mouths masticating the Terraea,
confided in me that they were Paulpaul quartees.
That was their Snarperish way of confessing
they had a keen interest in wine

They longed to impart all they knew
as part of their Praecological - 'it's more
than merely educational' - mission. Indeed they
insisted on being known as world class
Praecologicalists, even when they
were cross-eyed on Bordellinos and frothing with Terraea
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