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Somewhere,
I've lived you.
Enjoying
the lensing of solitude,
the breeze, the trees, figures surrounding
the dark grey moisture-laden clouds;
All of these ingredients,
must've been tasted before--
For you to rinse the sweetness in them
Again.
CK Baker Oct 2017
they’re pouring out of the
woodwork
those pretentious machiavellians
in ailing albino frames
eccentric masked figures
milling about the glow light
like night moths in a london fog

lunatic gazers
with seeping moles
pinned by frogmen and twine
spider climbers
in hell fire
splitting seams
on the fading
and hideous ink

guards of the perch stand
on hades hand
devils and demons
with severed limbs
taunting the condemned
and wanting
souls of the damned

cauldron fire
in blood red sky
silent screams
hack and wheeze
gas lines broken
words unspoken
teetering backward
on the dark shadows
of the phantom abyss
Inspiring Needle, pierce his fresh Leather,
Inscribing Earth's Totem into his Birth
Mum was Happy; What else could be better
For such Achievement as well as your Worth
So what if you Ascend?! Can you improvise
Those Loyal Customers who bought your Face?
Good Lord! Just on the lower-arm-set's Tripe,
Crypted to prevent another Disgrace
Envy? Me? Please! Not on my Word's Best Site
Will I even Dare to take such Sour Note
As I once reminded myself in-spite
For every Storm there is a Shred of Hope.
Three Figures picturesqued on certain Price
That Midnomer then showed his Biggest Size.
#tomdaleytv #tomdaley1994
jo Aug 12
i wish i had the courage to say
the acidic words i mumble under my breath,
like a coward
(like him).

i wish i could throw them in his face
watch it melt.
watch it burn.

the scarred figures of a snake
remain recognizable,
and it is all i can do
to hope i have not gleefully razed
a mirror image.
for he who cares for nothing and no one.
don't let me be him.
Dimitris Sarris Jul 2016
Victorious or defeated makes no difference.
Rising from the dirt, rising to fight on.
A village in dust,
a city in ruins,
a nation's weep.
Victorious or defeated makes no difference,
fallen on both accounts.
Faces and figures from another era,
unkown but familiar somehow…  
Hopes and dreams in ruins,
with vengeance in their hearts and
compassion lying within their souls.
For hope might rise again, a beginning of another era.
Fallen watching from afar, war does not determine
who's right or wrong only who's left to remember...
On the canvas of the Sky,
As high as can see the eye,
Two figures hung: a cowbell
And a sailing boat as well.

On the canvas of the Sky,
As far as would reach the eye,
Bell on bell, boat on boat, high
They linger for a moment,

Then they all wave good-bye,
Like a choir of echoes.

(C) LazharBouazzi
Wade Cook Jul 22
I found you here, asleep
Listened to you breathe
Air reeled in, caught in the chest
Blackening our shapes
Two figures quiet in the water
Could that have been love?
We found here in the forest,
Curled around my neck
I've inched forward to see
To hear your breathing
A foreign touch folded on the cover,
Feeling the same thing
J
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