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Richard B Shick Jun 2018
Why do we self destruct,
When we're so close to our goals.

Some find it hard to interpret,
Why  others  seem to know.

We can be our worst enemy,
Our souls seem
filled with doubt.

We must continue on our journey,
It's what Life's all about.

Conquering all our emotions,
Conquering all our fears.

Sometimes for a brief moment,
While other times it takes many years.

Never giving up,
Always pushing forward.

Never losing hope.
Never being cornered.

Our journey will be long.
So always stay true to our self.

Never giving up on hope,
BY placing
our struggles upon a shelf.

Always keep pushing forward
No matter
how hard it gets.

And keep on living life,
With love and no regrets.


Written by
Richard B Shick
William Eberlein Feb 2013
Oh, how they war.
The small soldiers of Thought and Action,
in the dome of my mind.

Who will win the battle,
to go down in history?

All for and nothing more
than for a thing once said...
Or a thing once done.
sara Jan 27
I'm writing less
but posting more,
confusing what's
sure and unsure.
I'm missing windows
and shutting doors;
in vain, for all that's been before.
f o r w a r d
Whittney May 2018
open the door and lift your flip flop over the threshold
One step takes you to where you can’t look back
Snap off the rear view mirror like a pull tab on a soda can
and block out your peripheral vision
So you can’t Contemplate turning around
Or flashing your eyes to the side
The second step is easier as long as you don’t trip over your regrets
Sam the lynx Feb 14
Take me with you,
back to land of dreams.

Where you’re queen,
and I your king.

Your sweetest voice,
guiding me home.

Don’t leave me behind,
let’s escape our torment.

Together forever,
until we wither away,

my blossoming viola.
Kitt Jul 2017
The Wheel of Time continues on
the damning repetition of a spindling Journey
slaving away on the Wheel's unforgiving madness
caught on the Spokes of Eternity,
just a piece
an arc hardly arching in the grandness
hardly varying in the vastness of forever
your entire Existence contained in a Segment
of the Wheel that drives us
Rox Oct 2018
He lays
While the leaves sit underneath
the brilliance of sincerities tree,

and thinking to you
were all the things done by.

As it were
Pages left turned and inkless
What's left behind inside
the minds of an intertwining summer
a conclusion predesignated.

I saw to you,
just as I waved hello to goodnight’s moon.
As they touched along the surfaces
fleeting into the skin
A welcomed wound.

And didn’t you know,
That the pictures I stole
Of every point of you
Were etching onto sheets of heaven
into the reflections of the mirrors
that sit before your bedside.

While it rests
with mixed spirits,
the roses that I bore

Passing through glowing bodies
are the images you started to dream with me
while the silences burrow

A judgement left only partially bridged.
Melded with the manifestation of adoptions quest

And as the calls ring in secluce,
I still feel that this alley is ghostless
Lest this vase breathe the life
of unwilted flowers

where the flip sides meet
on the evenings tides
joined by charmed indifferences

in company with the character
of an old flame,
only tangible with
lights which lay ahead.

medleyed in to what's to be.

Thank you.
sara Jun 2018
I stopped waiting for letters which never arrived;
when it started costing me minute per mile;
per smile;
per song that I'd skip for a while.
Making it rain with my valuable time
-wearing a coat in the summer time.

Stopped avoiding my postbox,
to the relief of my landlord,
and happily paid the bills so long ignored.
Drank less, ate more,
much more- self-assured
with one less page in my passport.

I stopped "letting you know,"
popping up,
"just to say hello,"
and "wondering if you fancied coming
or going
to some place relatively unknown."

Cleaned out my head;
cleared out my lungs;
wrote once again, for myself, just for fun;
listened to every song on the album;
all whilst lying *****
underneath the summer sun.
About 10 months ago I moved to Thailand for my studies- had such a massive year this year and learned so much about self love and happiness  ^.^
This piece is from the second journal in my trip
Arke Aug 2018
do not read this poem
it is not made for you
this poem is a secret untold
of a memory I rarely think of
that was resurrected today
and I am the only one who knows it
and this poem is for me alone

I was maybe 5 years old and I both
do and don't remember her falling
spilling out of the giant porch window
like a slippery black fish out of water
and I do and don't remember seeing blood
on the snow and sidewalk and the sound
first of the fall, then someone opening the door
and I didn't understand where she went
instead, I stayed with my grandmother
who told me it was my fault she jumped
she didn't love me any more and I was bad
that she wouldn't be back for me
and I believed it, of course, it made sense
some of us are just born wicked, I knew
I have always been wretched, inhumane
she said she first noticed the evil in me
when I was very little, behind my dead eyes
that it was always there inside of me
so I knew the only way to rid myself
of my own evil was to do the same thing
she had done, all those years ago
so I wrote a letter and labelled it
Do Not Read
the last letter I ever thought I'd have to write
and it's a sad sort of irony that I would be
paying homage to someone who hated me so
but the black fishes and spirits from beyond
never came for me, and I wondered if
the worst punishment of all would be
to continue to be haunted and survive
just as she had all those years ago
CK Baker Jan 2017
I can’t wait
to be a hundred
turning over the thoughts
and plots
of Caledon
on zimmer inserts
and dusted florsheims
three steps forward
in a dream woven
summer afternoon

through the
barn doors
and bee keeper flats
assimilating voices
from Sachems
and Forbes
and Hope Healers
coming and going
as the countryman
and goes

you can feel it
in a place like this
the 3 in the tree memories
from Allis Chalmers
to combine parts
of Sundrim poppers
to shallow carp fields
the patterned lawsons
and fading caulk
(with ripped and rolled
frontier seats)

it’s a wishing well
for the peddler
and bold hydrangea...
both peeking their way
the rusted
grinders wheel
Poetry comes at the end of the day
When the lights are turned low
And the sun goes away

A poet writes best in the mid-afternoon
With birds in the trees
and mud on the boots

A poet rises in the morning
Even if it might be storming
Oh we write in the rain, if it be pouring

A poet thinks in the evenings
Because we write better when dreaming
And because sometimes
it's better than sleeping

A poet cherishes every part of their day
Beacause each one is never the same.
Writing poetry means you can leave the ground
And never have to come back down
Sam Jul 2018
|A sequel to 'Firefly days'|

Now it seems to me
that there's nothing I could be
if going back to past
is something I would dream.
I miss all those days
and forever it will stay
as memories in my head
to comfort me
in times of gray.
Today isn't just another day
this is a new day
to create a history
along with the mysteries
that leads me to a victory.
I should think of today.
Though I lost many
back that 'days',
I realized that things
do change
and forever will be.
Today I will work hard.
Today I won't be sad.
Today I'll ease the pain.
Today I'll do things right.
Today I will be change,
but still I will be me.
Today is a new start
to ****** the brush
and paint an art
This is the golden age
of living bright and free.

Noises in Mind, Copyright © 2014
Sam N. de la Rosa
All rights reserved.
It's not wrong to reminice but, still, focus on the things in front of you. There you'll find bright ember.
Julio Salazar Mar 2018
You always hated doing the dishes
But I didn't mind
Now I'll probably never wash them again

But I don't mind...
A lie to myself
CK Baker Jan 2018
who lit the candles
placed eloquently
behind purple rock?
the sculpted radiance,
chapel grace
wound in a chosen
defined way
down the spiral
stone stairs

street cars dawdle
in the packer slew
biding merchants
and frontmen
shuffle their wares
as the madman
and pock face
sing their
holy blues

cut jazz echoes
over the accompanying
gabble and drone
incense and haze
pour from
a lower trap door
sack fish, truffles
and splendid crafts shine
inside the stained glass fronts

a wide mouth
with a bloated tongue
greets the
morning tide
(not camera shy
in the least!)
the fish traps
and beaneries
bring life
to the flourishing causeway

hula hoops
and ballers
join the
cobaine stage
favoured rogues
and mac jacks
speak easy
of the big daddy

beth’s triple by pass
taking firm hold on
tricky ****
and the nutcracker
maze ways,
taggers and
lost tunnels
of cu chi
strike a
nerving blow

a poised finger man
belts out his tune
(with a sniff sock
and iterating glare)
his nosey neighbors
cut artisan bread
(with a white wine
and jelly spread)
midwives push forward
for an afternoon
toddle and stroll
Blissful Nobody Aug 2018
I lay under the sheets,
Undressed and yearning,
Famished and waiting,
For a taste of ambrosia.

Knock knock knock!
Come now and come in,
Embrace your desire,
And ravish my senses.

Don’t tease me,
I am at my peak,
Mortally enraptured,
By my physical form.

Come lay beside me,
Put your hands on me,
Take me whole,
I surrender in flesh.

Caress my *******,
Moisten my urges down,
Hold me tight,
And feel me now.

Hold me down now,
Watch me sizzle,
With fierce intensity,
Burn my passion out.

I need your body,
When mine takes over,
Come in and take it all,
Out ; when I simmer down.

Come again when I desire,
Hear my carnal call,
I want you in me,
A taste of ecstasy.

I lay here now,
Bare on the bed,
Ceased by desire,
Free me now.

Restless feet bother,
Kiss them and in between,
Soften the bridges,
So you may pass.

Forward and backward,
All leads to ecstasy,
Touch me whole,
Touch me now .
Experimenting with erotica;)
Keyan R Oct 2018
What kinda flowers would you like to have?
besides my own tulips, I have
I honestly don't know much about the garden or the seeds
I know not every day is greeted by dandy lions
Or as fertilized in the fruits of its daily labor
No one owes your favor
We're all petal pushers
Waiting to blossom from the buzzin'
Not everyone has the will to stem tall
Some may wilt away; Some may brighten the day
But, I just want to floret
And never look back
Dancing on the breeze like a leaf
Forgetting the roots
What a relief
Helping me
Helping you
I write to feel less blue
I write so that you can stay brand new
Letters for you
Lessons so you can’t feel like me
Lessons so you can stay like you
These lessons are put here so you don’t follow me through
These lessons hopefully make you become stronger than the current you
Maybe I can make peace with myself this way
Maybe I can feel less haunted knowing you’re okay
I teach so that the people reading these can feel better and have positive days.
I wrote these poems each time I felt alone, broken or in love. I have a lot of evil people in my past that I run from everyday. Think about my poems, learn so that you don’t become like the evil people in my past or become depressed like I was, I wrote these so whoever reads these feels less decayed. The world is a sad place nowadays, move forward with these poems. I used to feel hopeless and sometimes I still do and I hope these poems help you understand my sadness.

My other reason for writing these poems is so that other people can be heard. People in the foster care system, hospitals, nursing homes, bars. These people tell stories, if you listen to my stories/poems you might be able to understand other people as well. My poetry is a series of lessons on life, decay, old age, love, loneliness, death and yes murderers because I’ve met quite a few.
cherry blossom Aug 2018
it's kind of funny how we let the past, our loneliness, to present itself as a tool to let go, when every step forward creates lines of words that bury us deep, further into the  same hole we were trying to claw our selves out.
when will we learn to mourn a little bit and go.
K Wolff Oct 2018
I took a walk down memory lane
Through moments of  happiness, fear and pain -
To look back and see how i've arrived -
Spurs me on with a stronger stride.
I feel that I've owned every mistake -
And healed moments where my heart would ache,
To view life through the objective lens -
Pulls me through days where it feels like the end
Echoes of the past follow me through life
To remind me of much kinder times.
Sometimes i feel really sad about the crazy decisions i've made.
Tomorrow never comes
Today is always yesterday
Time is forever on the run
Becoming lost; Wasting away

Surrounded by the void
But darkness not why I am rattled
From this question, can't avoid
Do I belong amongst the shadows?

Back and forward I will peer
While staying blind to what's ahead
I am engulfed and filled with fear
Unsure what's real or in my head
Written: June 10, 2018

All rights reserved.
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