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Marie Mar 2019
Crazy, that's what they think of me
I tend to laugh so hard
I coat my true feelings with a smile
Funny, coz they dont know how I turn my feelings into words.

Words woven with metaphorical phrase
A phrase that leaves them some illusion
Illusion that answers why poetry becomes my passion
Passion that I'll wouldn't leave for

Just judge every piece that I weave
It wouldn't matter to me that much
'Cause I'm just a penless poet
Who writes the thoughts that seize me all day long.
Andrew molder Apr 2022
Sitting here in the darkness trying to scream in a atlas. Pen with no pad is penless.  Cut my wirst so deep call it witness.  Let me scream till I bleed out please beacuse I can hardly take it.
Cocain in my system i I don't take it
Codeine in my system I don't take it
I stay down true
I don't ride rule
I'll always be true to you
sheila sharpe Oct 2020
There, in those final moments
I could say at last all of the things
that I could not say before
His eyes were closed,
his chest unmoving so it seemed
I could not tell whether he heard me
whether or not he listened
or simply dreamed

Gone was the smile that often
around his mouth would play
gone was the twinkle in his eye
gone the long words he'd often,
teasingly, whilst chuckling, say.

I had not known him for so many years
he was just a word in a dictionary
Father, Dad, Papa, call him what one may
I never really knew him
there were few chances
yes, there had been cards, letters
but sometimes he seemed
like just another person
distant, and far, too far, away

But, years later, I really got to know
this man, my Father,
the one I so resembled
as my Mother would often say
I learned that he, like me, loved words
how, again like me, he loved drawing
how, with puzzles, with riddles
he would often play

And, in those final moments
as he slipped into that distant, far off land
that was when I kissed him on his forehead
and held, for the first and final time
his flaccid, for once penless, hand
for my Father

— The End —