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Ann M Johnson Apr 2017
When heroes are perceived as villains and villains are considered heroes our perception is skewed
Once too many lines are crossed and boundaries are removed. Then cauos ensues and is thus free to rule.Would this even be displayed on the 6 o clock news?
Or would it just be considered necessary collateral damage?
Who would still be left to calculate the final cost on all of us?
I recently watched a movie at a friends house in which the villains were precented as the good guys. That got me to thinking and writing this as a result. I would appreciate your feedback on this poem, my friends. Thank you for taking the time to read this poem.
goodtea Jun 2018
Maybe at one point
I would have written
Great poetry,
But
I lost something
Along my way.
I won’t get it back.
I don’t expect you
To return it.
Some things are lost, lost, lost.
Wordsmith Oct 2018
the wipers are tired
the screen a blur
my mind pleads for rest
for in judgement I err
Seb Tha Guru Sep 2018
Nothing is the same.
I don’t know where to draw the line.
Said I’d never love again, but gave another try.
Anything will bother me, they said it heals with time.
I know that this is temporary.
I know that one day, I will be fine.


Kissing isn’t the same.
No longer touch and to love, I’m blind.
Crazy how I use to think that you were so sublime.
Tried to run your course.
I even took detours on mine.
a hard place and a rock’s where I’m between, but I still climb.

So many prices I have to pay, to right my wrongs, correct these crimes.
Thought I’d never see these days, I can’t stay out my own mind.
Can’t seem to get out of my own bind.

I'm standing in the dark.
Somehow, I’ll find a way to shine.
With you and many other things, I wish I could rewind.
While you continue to get drunk off wine.
And no matter how I feel,
What I say,
What I do,
No matter what I try.
I’m wrong every time.

Tell me where I should draw the line?
David Hutton Dec 2018
Just imagine if I disappeared,
Would your memory of me be blurred?
Rusting away in your mind,
Leaving me behind.
A face you had known, a name you had heard.
Cautiously, we're tied together, but that doesn't mean I'll be scared forever. With blotted thoughts you smeared my logic, blurred my memories and mixed them toxic. And honestly, I'm dying out, you smothered me with my own doubt. And as I drown, remember me, for all the things I couldn't be. Copycat, I'm losing here, and all you've done is uncover fear, you made me evil; illogical, and now I know you don't care at all. Do you make the desperate cries, logical to my demise? Involuntary refracts this soul, can you place back what you stole
from me?
--------------
All feedback is welcome and appreciated!!
Spenser Bennett Mar 2016
I can't find focus
Lost and a little hopeless
Blurred moon sits quiet
jane taylor May 2016
life…..

a blank canvas

with blurred edges

and ambiguous spaces

thank you god

for allowing me

to paint

©2016janetaylor
I believe it was the sawdust of summer when I found your voice in a shadow of a song it reminded me of my past hurt. You sang so beautifully of lilacs and photogenic water, you build harmonies powerful enough to save angels in a storm.

Quickly I caught on and held tight to your butterflies you called lyrics. You spoke of love like you had a doctrine in it. I thought for men love was a learning curve. You proved me wrong. You did not just create music and magic you birth colors out of sound and called them stories.

You blurred the lines between reality and fantasy. I bet your music is similar to the way God speaks. I bet you discovered a guitar inside of a black deity and the piano inside of a white devil's broken heart.  

Prince, I bet you can play anything even the fossils of flowers.
Your music is an endless drug, a purple high. Listening to you made me feel like all four seasons cuddled up with a kiss.
Tell me when did you get tired of playing love songs?

When did balancing the moon and a microphone become all too much for you? Who choked the life out of your vocal chords? ****, I would give almost anything to hear you live again! To wear you songs in my ears like Heirlooms.  Oh Wait, I think I get it. Is this how you go beyond means of self to teach us dead silence is music too?
Jamie Riley May 2018
Spine clamped,
vision blurred
And a wheeze
From a choking man.

Brow furrowed
like a guilty dog.

A suicidal dictator.

Theorising misery.

Contented by paralysis.

Avoiding
the past and future
tsunamis of failure
That crush
me
in every sense
and tense.
Troy Feb 2018
All i feel is time passing.
Just Moments ..
Blurred images..
Memories
Of my life..
Where did it go.  
Im Lost in a sea
Of  Turquois dream,
Waiting drowning
In its Color
Hopeless against it's
  Current's,,
I'm constantly being
Pulled against the tide
Swimming to stay alive,,
My mind is not my own.
Like most
My heart ripped and torn.
In my
Moments of  Clarity
I See the beautifully  Cruel
Sculpted hand of God
In everything.
As I drift alone in my turquoise dream
Cindra Carr Nov 2011
The fatigue flows through me
As if it has invaded the marrow of my bones
Leaking out into the flesh
Rendering me paralyzed in an unfocused state
I sleep to live and wish only to end the dulled mind set
It’s crushing to find that shard of thought
Urging me to get up
Do not sleep, it whispers
There is too much to do, the insidious trails of ideas speak
The words taken down seek to undo the restlessness
The blurred vision of the time slipping past in red numbers
Sleep, my body cries
Wait a minute more, my mind calls back
Sleep deprived with burning eyes
A single tear breaks the tie
I cannot go on
Sleep calls me back
Pulling me down to the place I cannot ignore anymore
Sleep, my body whispers
Sleep, my mind sighs

cc111911
Jordan Rowan Jan 2016
The light beyond the windowpane reads like the lines of a poem
And the headlights crash into streams on their way home
The lampshade brushes your arm and crushes you like a stone
You're still there but over here you're all alone

The streets are all black or maybe it's just the night
The day was long but now it's time to make it right
But when your memories are wrong and blurred out of sight,
Do you really have the strength to put up a fight?

You light your cigarette and close one, ****** eye
"Don't bat a lash" says the woman who last made you cry
And she follows you down to the depths of your mind
She complicates your soul and then she just hurries by

Somewhere down the alley, towards the church bells of dawn
You hear a voice that slowly carries on
Like a lost whippoorwill still whispering its song
A feeling comes over you and you wonder why you waited so long
Debbie Brindley Nov 2018
Woke up last Sunday
Vision slightly impaired
was my eye playing tricks
thought it was nothing to be feared
But my eye did not correct
Straight lines wonky
Vision blurred
My head feeling slightly giddy
a little nuts
It was absurd
4 days in
off to the optometrist
I went to see
Not Retinal Detachment
But Macular Degeneration
My first thought
"oh ?#[email protected] me"
So off to the hospital  
It was so hard not to flee
My eye ball was numbed sanitised
injected into
So hopefully
It will be fine
Because if it doesn't work I'll end up legally blind
Scary
If your eyes ever play up go have them checked.
Had to write this with my left eye closed.
Hope White Sep 2018
My youth was short and blurred.
I imagine it felt like the last few moments of Kurt Cobain’s life;
All light and no color.
Though I was born a winter baby,
Summers irrevocably held my heart.
They tasted like the sunscreen that dripped
onto my chlorine-damp lips
And smelled sweet like the honeysuckles
That strangled the Forget-Me-Nots,
Whose roots twisted between the cemeteries
Of our once-pets beneath.
Livaille Oct 2017
flowing river, crashing rain
together troubles sow,
       yet do not mend.

a silent sorrow,
sullens sour solitude.

light mist envelopes autumn,
west wind waves the water,

wind follows blade,
blade follows rain,
rain follows clouds.

soundless slashes scatter clouds,
blossoms fall on flowing water.

memory of spring dazes gaze,
alters flow as whirlwind dashes,

summer's sunlight sets,
dual waltz of lotus leaves,
in memory of cherry blossoms.

blurred shadow forms a phantom,
menacing mist chases hurtling haze,
snow sinks deeper than a dream of snowy winds.
Noah Dec 2014
Blurred images
Hazy edged pictures
Images with burn holes 
Things to see behind
Clouds of lingering sleep
This is the first time in awhile
I've actually felt okay
The world is still moving to fast 
And me too slow
But my mind has a window
So I can see and hear 
Though my throat still 
Struggles for sounds
My hands form letters
That form words
That form phrases
My thoughts on pages 
My feelings on paper 
My soul wrapped into words
That will never be spoken 

These are my own words written by someone else, hope you guys enjoy my first poem in a while, things are actually improving. If im lucky i'll survive -Andy
Another Aug 2018
Life is always too long,
but it’s moments are constantly shortened,
to a few scenes,
recollections;
memorable without
most of its landscape attached
blurred around the edges,
odorless,  
clocks without their usual cover—
refinement at least to a bare minimum,
left you of whatever pieces
that decided to remain
for forward
—reminiscing
something to remember: no matter how difficult a sudden shift can be, look beyond that to where you could find amity somewhere in the ambiance. whereas for some the opportunity to is forever lost, loathing behind a foreignness.

‘never take the moment to seize an opportunity for granted. you will live out your life with utter regret.’



we’re (merely) prisoners to our own demise



*title given from an ambient piece.
Bryce Jul 2018
Amid the verbose magicians
Seeking kinships
And sailing deep into their arduous mists
Watching them peddle their afternoon
To a handful of smiling children holding their breath
Amazed in gentle body trick

The older men of age
Leaning deep into their creased chins
Stroking the grizzled fat
Blinding light of soul
Staring down the barrel of life
Striking the enemy one last time
And yet smiling
sober,
Met of match,
taking care of their kids.

Then there's the cold-clocked dudes
On the phone pushing buttons
In a button-up raglan
Lost indistinct
the promised land
The golden shores swept away by
inconvenient time
Left shopping in an auto mall
"Won't you look at the time?"
7.07 APR
Boy what a steal!
And Steve maddened and screamed
As the lines blurred instinctual between opposing teams
And the oven dinged a great alabaster slant
Leaning towards the new millenitants

Rise up!
***** the wheel
Turn the axel from pistons
To alkaline metal
And doubt with great monumental
Quality
That the machine borders all
And we cannot retreat

And while I sift bouyantly between the waves
Searching the puzzle piece within the molecules
Reconnecting with the things
And representing
dreams on a 66 hertz screen
I call rather failing
Towards a black rocked shore
Towards the sweet Dorigen
Of my dreams
Finding an integral of time
And space

And calculating the intangible *****
Of my desmise
With the imaginary constiutent
Of that lighted mind.
Andrew Durst Nov 1
Most days, I want to get away.
Most day I do not know what to say.
Still, I try.
Sometimes I even
do too much.
The line is always blurred to me.
Maybe that is why I am always
crossing it.
I respect people's boundaries.
The biggest problem;
I do not respect my own.
I give,
a lot.
There are some pieces of me
I will never get back.
They say you live and you learn.
I would like to say that the lessons are
sticking.
And as that big hand keeps on
ticking-

I realize that there is,

still,


so much time.
It gets better.
My indifferent shelf of admonition
Sets a precedent for a series of irrational
predilections,
Particularly, drops of consumable poison

This poison, you see, induces tranquility
But instills aggressiveness into your
psyche
My words are incoherent and
blurred like my deteriorating mind

My indifferent shelf of admonition
Sets a precedent for a series of
broken shards in the glass of life,
Particularly, drops of poison that
kills us to make us feel alive

One bottle of blithe at a time



Melody
3/6/19
Keep those bottles up on those shelves.
Molly Nicole Feb 2018
Loving me
Is like a funhouse
After the maze and work
There is merely
A blurred image of yourself
Documenting my first love.
Unfamiliar face, with your touch that melts so warm.

Foreign bodies with the same intention, wanting more.

Exchanging breaths instead of words,
No expectations to be heard..

Lines blurred.

Asking nothing but a moment of euphoric selfless bliss

Just thrusts of lustful passion
with pain and pleasure in its midsts

  Subtleness.

As we continue to succumb this yearning, pure desire..

this stranger doesn't feel so strange,
like a flame amidst the fire.


-Bobbie Leigh
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