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Ottar Oct 2014
skip through my meddled,
alpine wash of flowers, watered-
down disarray of colours, smattered
on the rocks, that don't roll.

does the mind squander,
what the heart believes,
are there desires that deceive?
does the lone wanderer,
forever court disaster receive,
                                 a reprieve?

prostrate find me, let love unbind me,
unbind my tongue, my words, my speech,
is anything free anymore, anymore,
have i got you ravin' for more and
is it fuelled or fooled by passion
                      in what you believe,
                           it is right to write?

Anybody could slap these words around,
                 non-violently, and be better at it, see?
                  heart be brave while lunatics rant and rave
                      about right and wrong, challenge them
                        to make lyrics and put legalism in a song.

Tomorrow will be a bad day, I am not in a place to say why,
or how I know, I too often have let my emotion show,
in abject humility, I am an embarrassment to all who know me.
Sorrow will fill my hours, and my eyes, there is not enough space
around me to breath, suffocates my ability to communicate,
I cease to exist and lose all hope, dreams like steam evaporate.

The yellow brick road lies, if the truth be unrolled
rusty spike in the last railway tie,
childhood dreams scream of deceit,
even if you have had the best mother,
two boys could ever have.

while i skip down the aisles of
grocery stores and the tears of my
life seep from pores so small they
make up for them in numbers like
ninety-nine and the one,

am i a lonely sheep for the slaughter
or in want of a lonelier shepherd,
have i fallen with no will to get up,
then let me die...
what do you mean carefreely is not a word, it is actually two... assembled together this, one time only.  This is a dark place, next time bring your flash light.
Yitkbel Mar 2018
I tried to water your love
The fragile dandelion
With droplets of my warm tears
To shield you from the
Scorching cold rain
The needle sharp pain
Of harsh words and unsaid things

I tried to carry your pain
The untouchable seeds of living
From a distant plain
For fear of shattering
Your soulful wings
If I breath too closely
With my unkempt wind
of gathering dreams

But, I only see you withering
Your heart shriveling
Your souls escaping
With the dust and rain

So I finally decided

To set your dreams free
Unbind the tightening blue strings
Of my own butterfly dreams
Let them spread their reluctant wings
And carry yours along the wind
Towards the land of forsaken things
As our souls dance and sing together
Carefreely unseen.
πŸŒΈπŸ«€πŸŒΊ

WE TOO SHALL WITHER

Like all living beings, (just like flowers),we too shall someday wither away

As buds, on our stems we bloom carefreely; happily on the stem, we sway

As youth us envelopes, colourful n perfumed become we, but that too is not, for many a day

When bloom we fully, n are, at our best; worried we are not, about happen what next may !

But remember this we must all, NO ONE LASTS FOR EVER; we all have to turn back to the clay.

In the meantime, a few deeds good, let's try to accomplish; afterall that's what will, us pay

Remember, we too shall wither away someday; we are not here to permanently stay.

Armin Dutia Motashaw
Life itself survives on the grid we call the brain.
Yet we can resurrect carefreely.
But in the end, if my jolts aren't there,
Am I still me?
When I nearly die,
And my jolts go away,
Can I still be free?
Despite these eyes still being mine,
Will I still be me?
This, I fear, is my query,
Something that makes me be,
Depressed beyond all natural belief,
That I just may not be me.
Part of these older poem spams from me. This one was written while I was having a bit of a crisis. People often felt drawn to it due to its odd use of words. I don't know, meh.
Brannigan Nov 26
A Sunday afternoon

Filled with possibilities,
The blue Cape Town skies radiant with beautiful possibilities,
The air is crisp, moving in tandem with a sweltering sun
The streets are bustling
The gardens in full bloom

Then I see her, her Zambian skin
What I can only presume,
in its mesmerizing splendour, as her face beams with sincerity,
Her smile sings a heavenly song through a dreamy gaze.
And time ceases instantaneously,
As I catch a glimpse,
Envisaging a future along the winding roads along a sunny cove,
Letting our hair down
Living carefreely
Together

But it's merely a glimpse, as her ravishing beauty remains my
silent outcry
Because I fail to disclose what lives true in my heart, and stay silent
And optimism sours to an irrevocable regret;
Not knowing what could've been.

A Sunday afternoon;
an early, pensive, rainy Tuesday morning
Under the sheets
Regrettably wondering about what could've been...
To the African lady I've seen, but never approached, to my regret: I hope the third time is a charm for when we do meet again. Maybe on a Sunday afternoon...

— The End —