Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Aaron Mullin Jun 2020
My tribe is a
mingling of adjacent hues
finding harmony
complementary

My tribe is a
facet of you and me
a mashup of science and art
an education of the heart

My tribe is a
wisdom bringer
a lighthouse singer
over crimson shoals

My tribe is a
ghost dance partner
a symphonies daughter
a shield for fodder

Cause my tribe is peace
like a captainless ship
like a philosophers quip
like a
"I don't know but I'd like to get it right"
kinda trip

My tribe is yearning
curious and learning
rumbling with vulnerability
spilling over with capability

And every time we think we are there
we go a little deeper
because it isn't complicated
as my tribe is love
Written June 8, 2020 in Lethbridge, Alberta

it is not the how, it is the who and the who is you.
Cole Hood Jan 2022
Did you know?
The emptiness that would follow
The tears failed to be swallowed,
Dark storms sailed captainless and rudderless while our gallows hallowed

The emotions that you caused
Happiness paused
Future dreams torn at seams like your vests and jeans my thoughts shadows taken over what your brightness gleamed

The wake you left
Shoulders you gave heft
The tissues you wrecked
The fears of death

But

Do you know the lives you touched
The songs you crushed
The love not rushed
Our emotions crutch

Do you know what you inspired
Me back to trying
Dogs being loved from desire
Stories of laughing not crying

I guess what I am trying to say
Is did you know what you meant to us, did you know what you meant to me.....did you know?
Me reasoning with my dead bestfriend
The Dedpoet May 2018
Defunct lowriding
While a day is cruised without ship,
Captainless like syringe
Layered concrete boats,
Bliss of the broken dreamer
While content pan handled,

Alas the talons sink deep into
The core of lonely fathoms,
The taco house with corn tortillas
Aplenty thrown locked trashcan
To alter the hungry vain,
The barrio abuzz with no
Glory but the flirt of hope,

Too many to count hopeless
Whilst the few made good,
Labeled traitor for success,
Dream smaller past the thrift store
On sale blue tag Tuesday's
And neary a vagrant to shop
For what once was theirs.

— The End —