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The spark of creativity
or genesis of thoughts
defined as an idea
coming from a void

For the word Man
is translated as Thought
and thinking in itself
is action of Man
Basically gives you the entire gist behind the myth without doing what I did which was to read dozens of books with small excerpts about it.
Danielle L Cook Aug 2018
believing a lie almost always feels better
than believing the truth

is that why when I tell myself he hasn't really changed,
I feel better then when I wonder if he had?
its scarier to put your trust into someone who hurt you once before, easier to believe they will do it again then to hope they wont and have your heart break when it didn't deserve to.
em Jan 2016
A steady minded person might tell you that everything can be measured, calculated and converted into a language of black and white, solutions worked out with sharpened pencils.

How do I measure my heart breaking?

Tell me,at what rate did my heartstrings snap when he told me he was leaving?
How long until all of my broken bones turn into dust?
Calculate at what speed the tears rolled down my checks.
How many doctors will it take to sew my heart back together?
Was it when he crumpled me up like a wasted idea etched onto a piece of notebook paper that everything started to bleed?
What part of my brain did his gentle hands touch that woke my monsters from their slumber?
How many days until this aching in my swollen chest turns into a gentle throb?
When will I be okay again?

Takes this pain and your sharpened pencils and rip the numbers from the dead hands of his name. Do away with the emotion like he did away with me.
I'm temporary.
regina Feb 4
It's not the breakup that hurts.
It's the fact that he is no longer there to fill your day makes it hurt.

You are no longer waking up to the sound of him sleeping soundly next to you.

He will not be there to comfort you when you need shoulder to cry on.

You will never feel the touch of his warm arms when he cuddled you close.

His goofy smile faded as he walked out of your room, without turning his head back.

Maybe this is why we said love is an idea.
I loved him, just because he is always there when I need someone to lean on.

Now I have learned,
Sometimes we just want someone in our lives,
Even if it is not the right fit.
i came to realization today.
Shofi Ahmed May 2017
Beauty is pure.
The idea is to be pure, too,
to see it through.

Life is short, is on the move,
never does the truth grow old.
Destination du jour is one not two.
Either end up with a thorn or a rose.

Read a heart, find the truth beforehand,
when two folks both tend to hide.
It’s worth looking closely, maybe
one is hiding one’s true self,
one is a pearl keeping inside the shell!
Lily Jan 10
~I wonder if you have even the slightest idea how I feel when I hear your name~
Ken Pepiton Oct 2018
Genau, enow, enough

after the confusion,

we all could make a sound, okeh,
yeah
and we still

knew a shaken head or hand or fist
had meaning beyond words and noise

my words, their noise, barbarians all, but my
loved ones, still,
my nana Even , none could say a meaningful word

Ah, papa Eber, eber he be waving sayin'

Shhhhlome. wow. a word, I was

re connected re tied re ligamented re tendoned
re nerved re *****
re bled
re breathed
inspire me, expire me, think me immaterial, no mattah

nomattatall we stick together, gone bealright

begrudge me not a bit o'livit ity, a st-utter here'n'there

words, in wars, we always win. We are war's
raison d'etre, as they say, its
rational grounds for existence, its
excuse for being.
words are the instigators, provocateurs

no wordless insult results in war,
words are needed,
otherwise

fugitabowdit, how long? Seven times? 490 times?

no,

once, each time, no more.
enoughs the evil enoughs enow.

the weapons of our warfare, how can I say,
watch

we see salient leapers trampling the vintage, seeping
from the heel wound in the beguiler's head.
That's results.

Angels sing and dance, they never tremble in the night,
the hope we never lost,
we just forgot, they remember as if it were the same,
yes, today, forever
they whisper,
go on,
there's more to living than meets the eye.

enough has always had a plural, ask Sam Johnson.
AH, short line prose or long line poetry, musing or not, I never knew enough had a plural, the knowing inspired me
The Toxic Bitch Dec 2018
I usually dream alot
Of the person i like
But you're different
In so many way
I never did dream of you
Except once
It was a nightmare

I think am too scared
From the idea of us
You're different
Than me
Am afraid
I will never be good enough
And you will never know how

Am too bad for you
I don't know if that's even a thing
You've never dated
I dated alot
But we're the same
We never felt safe
With our hearts
Not belonging to us
-Mik
.2.Nov.2018.
What were you expecting for
that always thinking somebody shouts in the wind…
in an empty frame, there are eyes under sunglasses,
May be
sad…
Anxious
or
Untrue
Nobody knows what is the fact.
.
.
in the  train station where you stand for an appointment
mass mess violently.
and
trains run hastily in
front and back of your memories strange.
.
.
A message from
Somebody may  
Bright the morrow…
Or
lost dandelions may scatter everywhere.
things rarely happen.
things you are expecting and things make you not to stay in one place or mood
where
trains move hastily... and
nobody knows what will happen to future, what will happen to you. what will happen to ....?
and
what will happen.....again?
Jeannery Feb 10
It's good reminiscing every night
Remember the good times we had
It became my habit, looking back to our yesterday
It's just a happy memory

I feel the other way tonight
I realized something
Asked myself
"What if you're just being forced by the idea of my love?"

Maybe our ideas of love won't just click
If we still continue this, we'll be sick
I love you, I want reasons to stay
I hope you still feel the same way.




--j.a




What if you're just being forced by the idea of my love? What if I'm just forcing you to love me more when you can't? Honey, help me. Those what if's are slowly killing.
Hussein Dekmak Aug 2018
My home is a,
Warm smile,
Sacred tears,
Loving hearts,
Delightful books,
Innovative ideas,
Endless acts of kindness,
Sweet murmurs of prayer,
A guarantee for a daily sun rise,
And a night sky decorated with shining stars.

Hussein Dekmak
Copyright
writerReader Apr 2015
i remember,
it was always like
that between me and
you
AG Feb 2018
maybe it was just the idea of you;
but you were an epiphany.

you woke me up
and showed me everything I had settled living without.

like a mirror held to the sun,
I gleamed with a seemingly new light --
you never knew my darkness.

you taught lessons in high expectations
and you seemed to be well versed in my deepest hopes.

you're realization was my awakening;
but,
all along it was just the idea of you.

a.g.
girl gonzo Nov 2018
girlworm, you grab a wrist like you've known modesty in the shyness of a bare feeling gripped tight on the one offering it
tightrope fingers falling into the spaces of unspoken territory, slipping into familiar qualms like the worn lipsticks that fits the grooves of my lips like an object of my affection
knowing the contour of what i'm never aware of
anxieties creep like an overgrown lawn
these fears personifying into antsy women invading my kitchen telling me that there's not enough ventilation and the stove is on leaking gas into the baby lungs of a young smoker
and when i begin to argue they give both a look of sympathy and disgust as they say "oh child you drown so easily"
so i sit chewing my nails as i count the birds outside flying back and forth from their post as if they can't remember where they're going towards or if there's something that could possibly pull them elsewhere
my mind swirls in the smoothie of a plastic cup that sticks to the coffee table, the rings of different bottles painting circles for me to memorize again
my paradise sits with the roughness of his knuckles and the ambiguity of eyes that could know everything and i would set fire to the stars inside because of the jealousy that grows from pretty things being smoldered under skin
when i begin to lose my person, pale and shivering i go towards it
empty stomached and ready to be buried in the clothes of her
that i can imagine becoming the consistency of yogurt in my lap
kissing back my tremors as i lift up her hair from curious shoulders
dry-heaving the importance of the cheeks that feel warmer as they settle on hands that are brought together as if in deep prayer and i know i will collect myself again one day
girlworm, you're a swarm in my chest and i am me
Evelyn Genao May 2018
"It's okay."

I can still feel it.
The way your lips touched mine.
Without meaning.
Without feelings.
I missed them.
Your kisses.
Your attention.

My heart.

I saw it.
The way your eyes drifted to others.
Never straying to mine.
Never filled with the same spark.
Always dull.
Lifeless.
Loveless.

It hurts.

You would say it.
Those three words.
Not to me.
Never to me.
To the others.
They always got your love.
I got your hate.
Your anger.
Always.

You don’t have to love me.”

You gave me orders.
Never to be near you.
Never to hold hands.
Not in public.
We did not know each other.
They would get the wrong idea.
“We are cousins,” You would say.
You were embarrassed.
To be seen.
With me.

I can’t.

I was your puppet.
You pulled the strings.
And I obeyed your commands.
You never loved.
Not me.
Never me.
I was your toy.
Something you could throw away.

Take it.

It’s all a game.
Of feelings.
Of pain.
Of love.
Of hate.
You are the king.
I’m your ****.
Just a piece on your board.

I’m done.

I loved you.
More than anything.
I let you use me.
Hurt me.
If I got to be with you.
Nothing else mattered.
You didn’t feel the same.

No one ever does.”
I saw a prompt and this poem came to mind. I hope you love it and be sure to comment what you think. Check out my other works!!
Caloris Nov 2018
From clearest dark and silent night
A bolt does flash of searing light.
The thunderbolt engraves up high
A newborn star into the sky.

And as the healing rain falls down
To feed the pursuit of the crown,
At once it soothes our eternal grief:
We are to strive but never to achieve.
Sara Kellie Jun 2018
I wake up in the bath
after a day on the wine.
Fat ******* arrives
at mine around nine.
Friday night and it's too much,
the temptation.
******* powder with dehydration.

Back into town,
bouncing around like a clown.
Absorbing attention,
I'm the star of the show.
I'm cloaking my secret,
the one they can't know.

I'm out of my mind
and I've no Idea where.
I cannot go back,
'cause she lives in there.

I've been running for years,
purge after purge.
Yet I know come tomorrow,
I'll again have the urge.

Because I need her
and I love her.
I am her!

Poetry by Kaydee.
Running from my destiny but I couldn't run from myself anymore.
Kia Aug 2018
in a world without hate
we all have a clean slate
and no grudge is held against you

no foul and no lie
no reason to cry
no want for redemption too

so we pick up ourselves
to store them in shells
knowing they will always love you

but without hate is no love
no divine blessings from above
no need for kindness and grace

no laughter no smiles
no need to be riled
only a long empty face

so it festers and kicks
against the realm which it sits
a body of unmatched pace

through a ***** it slips
because hate, it chips
away at an enclosed cage

and it lingers and smells
and breaks up all shells
in bouts of fury and rage

through barriers comes forth
a mass on no course
to nothing, no where, no aim

no place to be hateful
no need to be loved
no want to play life's age old game.
Angela Liyanto Sep 2018
My vision was to create a new language for literature-
But now not only is every solution nonsense & every poem agonising,
I am a child reading too many of today’s poems realising I’ll also be writing long sentences with the purpose of deconstruction & decoration.

I rest in between my own letters of ‘a’ & ‘n’, where I can sit I peace.
Because when I’m doing that, even the spaces will become part of the essence of the work. Say, (if you calculate the movement of this earth on its axis you’ll see its beauty equates to something like the beauty in poems) It is in the essence, we have beauty in the first place.

You see: seeing patterns is the only way around this world. This idea is as flaky to me as a chocolate bar. I’m gonna write and drop my laptop two times before I get it right. I will fail but they take me as naive anyway so I'll laugh at myself because I want to be polite.

Take love, it takes many forms, but the essence remains the same.
Take books, it has variety of plots, but some meanings stay the same.
Take poetry, we can destroy form, rhyme, meter, but in its essence, the feeling remains the same.

We should write to construct a new language of unity, with a clearness to our imagination, and rely on the essence of the work to make its way to the heart.
Go back to sleep!

If you can't hear nature's song playing the music of love every new day, with every new dawn, new sunrise and a fresh moon smile,
Go back to sleep!

If you can't make your heart a Mecca for the freedom seekers, your spirit a temple for the suffering souls and your mind a spring well of innovative ideas,
Go back to sleep!

If you can't hear the cry of the iconic figure of the starving Yemeni child 'Amal Hussein', as she was shedding her last tear, taking her last breath, and whispering her last prayer,
Go back to sleep!

If you can't spare a holy dish to fill the empty stomachs, if you
can't spare a kind word to help sooth other’s pain and color their lives with the rainbow hues of hope and happiness,
Go back to sleep!

If you can't be the soul of your place, the tsunami of positive change and a part of the spring of humanity that will blossom
with a new future full of hope, love and inspiration,
Go back to sleep!

Hussein Dekmak
Copyright
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