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Your life is always on the painful edge of a needle
Between what's unfair and what's legal
What echoes in your head when you are all alone?
Tell me, did you lose more pens than people?
in all my years
ahead of me, if once
in that blue moon they
cross my mind, instead of
wondering what they think
about along long dusty roads,
or cute toes wiggling in the
cool, wet grass, or them
reading a good new
book with their big
red mug, or anything,
even seemingly mundane,
things that brought nothing
but the fondest memories,
should they ever cross my
mind, forgiven or not,
now i'll feel this awful
swirling of such
guilt in my guts
that i fear will
blot out and make
me forget conversations
and memories of a strange
sort of contentment & happiness
that should by all rights never
have been, where i'm not sure
what affections were borne
from weakness rather than
real love, but that's now all
just academic anyways...

i have robbed me of
whatever i had
left of them
https://youtu.be/R4dDgJ9aTEo
at wits' end
i scream at the
universe to release
me of my pains, and
it whispers back at me
in bits and pieces, of random
friendships that are of the kind
that go silent but renew at times
when one or the other needs it
to, until the puzzle-piece
message is completed
and the answer it
gives is, i've
been trying
to... but
you won't
let go of them


a giant hallucinatory
human heart full of green
thorns appears in front
of my mind's eye and
the number of them
is beyond counting
yet i still know
each one of
them intimately,
for they are the memories
i've jealously guarded and let
so fester, the grievances i have
let go of with my mind, but never
my heart, the ones that hurt almost
as much in the present as they did in
the past, but all at once, maybe
through just the knowledge
of this fact, the green
thorns age, whither,
and as they brown
they each one at
once fall to the
ground and
finally it no
longer hurts
edge of the ocean
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fjm_hBFOW8g

“Even a spineless anthropod sheds what's no longer useful and leaves it behind them. Are you not greater than they?”
sit down,
clear your mind,
remembering image
evokes emotion above
all things, a nice metaphor
evolving of its own accord,
conveying the image or idea
with so much power, and just
enough vagueness, that the
reader will project onto
a poem whatever they
will, and thus they
become engaged
emotionally,
and are quiet
enough to listen
to what the poet will.

the end
in all honesty, this is my framework sometimes, and it feels sort of manipulative, but then again, isn't art all about someone trying to share their POV with the world, using any way that works?
When you are standing at your hero’s grave,
Or near some homeless village where he died,
Remember, through your heart’s rekindling pride,
The German soldiers who were loyal and brave.

Men fought like brutes; and hideous things were done;
And you have nourished hatred, harsh and blind.
But in that Golgotha perhaps you’ll find
The mothers of the men who killed your son.

- Siegfried Sassoon, November 1918

Make war only on war.
https://hellopoetry.com/poets/siegfried-sassoon/

While I understand after seeing the worst humanity is capable up close and personal that writing about anything else would almost be a sacrilege, I wonder about how much insight the poetry of so many Post-First World War poets could have enlightened us or pulled our hearts in one direction or the other if so many great poets born out of that conflict wrote on a wider range of topics, but I guess they may have never become poets if not for what they experienced, either.

Having my great-grandfather and his and his spouse's brothers dying to a man in the First World War for Austria, and my opa, and all of his and my oma's brothers but one (and as an injustice he was in the Waffen-SS and likely a war criminal because he changed his identity) all died in the Second World War, drafted into the Wehrmacht despite not even being German citizens, and am old enough to remember a lot of anti-German prejudice as late as the early to mid-70s against my parents as war refugees and me and my siblings as well. all that makes out of all the anti-war trench poetry with so many to choose from, the one that resonates the most with me, remembering when we were told to keep it a secret that our grandfather died fighting for Germany in the Second World War by our parents, it's amazing how quickly things can change as generations turn over.
IF I'VE NEVER DONE A THING RIGHT















Then what do you want me to write?
To amend, correct, or make up for a wrongdoing or unfair situation. Other words can be used instead of "a," such as "the," "this," "that," etc., depending on context. The only way they can right the wrong done to me would be to fire the man responsible.
The stars shine, the sun rises.
The moon lights and the sky cries.
Even in dream, even in real life.
Even when the living is full of lies.
As day goes by.

—n.y
 Nov 7 Yashashvi
Andrew
Depression and anxiety they are side affects of living in an evil society. You get so far and they pull the rug. back on the bottom looking up. hardly having the fight to pull ourselves up. With no crack in the clouds seeing a light. it’s a cycle of nightmares and they don’t fight fair. Death in my eyes, happiness ran away with my soul. Who. In this world. Would want to live to be grey and old. These are the side affects from our evil evil society
is love such a delicate thing,
is your heart so fragile
that i can shatter it all
with a misplaced word or two?

i try to follow you through
this life, going where you go,
but sometimes it feels like you are
just impossible to keep pace with

you always said i'm the only one
who lives in a fragile world,
as i search your eyes for who
you used to be, but i can't see

ღ ღ ღ

i see her in the moonlight
dancing with her sisters
with a fervency to
undo the world

i have a life without her now
i'm stronger than i used to be,
but i still carry old feelings
from her arrival (ignoring all departures)

worlds between us, rarely face to face,
all souls' day still might make me
cold and scared, and sometimes i can cry,
and is it really so wrong to want her love?
yet so much continues to go unsaid, is it cowardice at the risk of loss, or least said, quickest mended?
 Nov 1 Yashashvi
G
Mask
 Nov 1 Yashashvi
G
I carry a mask in my purse
for special occasions.
Turns out
wherever there’s people
there:
occasion
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