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when chaos commands
we unbalance scream and seethe
what remains of truth
is bruised and muted
what survives of beauty
is shattered and bleeding


who are we?


sometimes
the greatest courage requires
stillness

sometimes
the greatest strength requires
staring
into the raging face of fear

unblinking
 May 18 Simon Bridges
Breann
I said I’d stop,
but silence felt safer than truth.
Lit it up just to let you go,
watched the hurt fade with the smoke.
One breath,
then none.
Now you’re gone—
or maybe I am.
It Was Supposed To Move My Land
From First Breath To The End
Brought Down The Mountains
Bring It Tabular There Is No Lines
Your Feelings And Mind Are Mine
Blue Becomes Black
And Red Becomes Dark
Go Beyond The Level Of Fear
Lit With A Passionate Fire


It's Was What I Wear
It Was My Only Tear


I Asked Why The World With That Silence
Sad Creatures and It's All About Your Absence
Nor Butterfly Can Fly
Nor Bird Can Stand By
The Words That Comes From Your Mouth
Make It Happy From The North To The South
It Sets My Poor Heart Aflame
When You Was Just Playing That Game


It's Was What I Wear
It Was My Only Tear


The End Of EveryBody Under The Ground
And Every Shooting Star Coming Down
And The Moon Changed His Look "Unknown"
And Life Chose To Make It Alone
The Seas Becomes Quiet
While The Ice Was White
No Water Reflection
No More Construction
No More Flame
No More Blame


It's Was What I Wear
It Was My Only Tear


It seems Unfair, A Target Lies !
Between Its Shoulder Blades !
And Another Wisps Right Back !
A Drop Of Blood Would Pin Back !
I Am Not What I Have Done !
I Am What I Overcome !
Never Forget Your Love
Never Forget What Make You above

It's Was What I Wear
It Was My Only Tear

Author / Aladdin
FB / Stay-Still Stay Strong
Sometimes I write poetry
most times it writes me.

Showing me things 
I need to see.

Things I need to acknowledge
to be a better man.

Not to change the world, 
but to change what I can.

Most often times
it's a change in me,
A reflection of a man 
I don't want to see.

Sometimes I write poetry,
most times it writes me.

And the more that I write
the more I'll like what I see.

And maybe someday
if I write well enough,

The man in the mirror
will smile back at me.
She does this thing
a subtle imperfection.

She puts her hair up,
and lets it spill out
along the edges.

Framing her face in sunlight,
diffused just right,
through locks of gold.

Her eyes smile in unison
with the curve of her lips.

Her blue eyes pierce my soul.

And then she laughs,
the sweetest little laugh.

And my heart is no longer my own.
It's her subtle imperfections that make her perfect to me.
Hear a reading of this on my latest You Tube Video
https://youtu.be/SpjmQBOlK_Y?feature=shared

video is time stamped if you want to skip the vlog and just hear the poems
Thanks
I have no purpose any more.
I’m a painter who’s gone blind
And a singer who’s gone deaf.
There is no call for what I sell.

I still daub colors on a board
To smell the Linseed Oil again
I hear the music in my head
And mouth the words in silence.

There is no surgery or cure,
What’s gone is lost forever.
And I must find a way to live
In silent darkness, if I can.
              ljm
Another of those dreary tomes I wrote when I was depressed. I'm better now.
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