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Emma 9h
Scritch-scritch-scritch
To others, it's words on paper
click-click-click
To others,it's typed lines
To us?
To us,it's our whole heart
Poured out onto that page
To us, it's our whole life
In those few stanzas
To us, it's our words in a cage
Finally let out
Writing is magic to us.
What is left to say
About our humdrum daily lives?
Monday to Sunday all year round
In time manufactured by mankind.
Monotonous mazes of standardised building blocks.
Daytime TV all timetabled and scheduled
The Interweb
Media meditation
For brainwashed, mindless zombies:
Heads immersed in mobile phones
Or faces bathed in television light.

Crime ridden streets await us
When we venture forth
To pre-appointed places
In a world we call “Routine”.

Little wonder then
That Imagination soon takes over
At least for me.
Heading off to Planet Paul
For flights of fancy
Fuelled by Star Trek
And Battlestar Gallactica to name but two
Of my favourite shows.
For I love Space
And anything else that lies beyond
The dreariness
Of the Here and Now.

Why do you write?
They ask as if Confession is required.
I stumble on my words
Trying to explain
How I simply have to write.
For I never can stop dreaming
And once I dream
Then I simply have to share
Whatever I’ve dreamt
With all of you.

Paul Butters

© PB 18\12\2018.
On that affliction we call "being a writer".
Peeling off layers of humility
To at last reveal authenticity,
To exhibit my pride most shamelessly,
I accept this vulnerability.

To be who I am confronts irony,
As still letters mask personality.
The art form I love has complicity—
The true self hides inside true poetry.

To shed this self-loathing ability,
And be honest in rhyme’s complexity,
I create pages of pure fantasy
That speak the words I feel most honestly.

Words tend to survive mortal’s history,
Past their reflection of reality,
So they seem written with mendacity,
Though lies are beyond my capacity.

Today I acknowledge futility
Of a poem that lacks identity.
This writer makes no more apology—
I am written words and the words are me.
Instagram @insightshurt
Blogging at www.insightshurt.com
Buy "Insights Hurt: Bringing Healing Thoughts To Life" at store.bookbaby.com/book/insights-hurt
i can write
a thousand pretty things
yet still be left
with a thousand pretty
nothings.
When first discovering this
this site purely by chance
Hello Poetry became my savour I was at such a low
point In my life couldn't see a light
but through
the magic and power of words I started to see a light at the end of the tunnel I was In
found pleasure from writing so
much to the point l would
write all day long Ideas just kept flowing the power of poetry amazing
saved my life for
sure
Owe so much to Hello Poetry
and all It's poets who write they help so much bless you all
To change the world, if one can,
is to change the hearts of the mortal man.

It’s alright,
It’s alright
It’s alright.

To change the world, if one can,
Is to change the hearts of the mortal man.

Imagine just two, two lives,
colliding faster than the speed of light.

Imagine more, than simply two,
conflict is the child issued.

It’s alright,
It’s alright,
It’s alright.

Heart against heart, world against world—
Is there a difference?
Is there a cause?

It could all be a dream, a fantasy for just me—

Would I ever notice?
Would I ever bother?

It’s alright,
It’s alright,
It’s alright.
To change the world, if one can,
is to change the hearts of the mortal man.

No clear guidance for our cause,
it is meaningless, it all.

You are alone amongst thousands,
even in the arms of those you love.

It’s alright,
It’s alright,
It’s alright.

A war is a war; a man is a man—
a fruit on a tree that grows or will pass on.
With your smile
A sentence
BEGINS
In your smile
A sentence
COMPLETES

Feel the words

Now
Just do it

[Let me]
[Embrace you]
[With words]
Genre: Inspirational
Theme: Trust me, you can be a Poet/Poetess.
Author's Note: You just did it in the last 3 lines. Keep going.
Anticipating the absolute worst.
Needing to escape the situation.
Xanax isn’t a pure solution.
Isolation becomes worse with time.
Everything seems out of control.
Taming abnormal fear by recognition.
Yoga is very a therapeutic approach.
An acrostic poem.
This is not a poem
it is a thank you
that is breathing in my chest
as tears flow from ducts
that haven’t seen happiness like this
since the sun started going to sleep earlier
and settled into the sky with my heart,
this is my gratitude
as I look at the words that you say
leaving comments for me to read
that brighten my soul
as nothing has been able to
for at least five days,
this is my love
for the love that you feel
for the words that I shared,
thank you
for taking my tears
and making them happy again
I just logged on after a rough couple of weeks and seeing the responses that people have had to my poetry made me break down in tears. Thank you all for reading and sharing your love for words with me. I am astonished and so grateful.
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