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Shofi Ahmed Oct 2018
What's in sight
is a perishing lie.
To see the truth
Save the eye!
L B Apr 2017
And the emptiness now
lets the memory howl
and bang its head
off the sheer walls of never—

Engulfed in consequence as it rolls in
fog or smoke?
In any case—


looks like this--
numb and cool and slow-moving
grayish-white fingers
reaching for molecules of air
while the reign of suffering comes like fine drizzle
springtime over....

Desire perishing in a crisis of will
In the thickets of panic—
bronchial spasms expand seconds
at an open window
Choking, congestive, failure of heart!
in the face of what it means to be...
not being I came into this world
breach and not breathing
to my mother’s horror!
Scrapping, gasping, grappling for breath

I love life
I LOVE--   life!

inexpressible, inessential fool of a child

Love ripped apart at the v
old one
anaphylaxis-- to an antibiotic
Jack Oct 2018
I wilt
Slowly perishing under my mask made of smooth silk. Grasping for control
To make peace
And let my ashes settle.
Condemned beneath my skin
Scorched by boiling blood.
Eager, yearning for acceptance.
My timid mind plastered by paranoia,
Ingulfed with fright and pitiful confidence.
Head spinning
People looking
Thoughts crazed.
The silence outside settles
And begins to deafen.

Seasons pass one after another
Hope leaps like the grass that grows sweet and green
Shaking the earth beneath the flowering plums of spring

As the sun conquers the sky,
Its eyes wander the heavens with pure apathy
My life is all dried up in midst of bustling summer

While the wind stirs whispers to the trees
Autumn walked the earth with rage, perishing the colorful leaves
It withers and falls along with my hope, cries of annihilation howls the skies

Winter has impaled the world with its bare fingers
The silver hue dominated the sky, crystal snow falls silently
The world grew colder, so did my heart

Dear, my repugnant past, I bid you this poem of farewell
For in the next season, a flower will bloom to tell a poem of hope
But it will never die out, even if it is starved of sunlight
A poem of farewell
Derrek Faraday Oct 2018
By the 1960s, a disillusionment with Nationalism and war was permeating within the public consciousness.

Man: jazz. Jazz! Everything sounds like jazz when you lend your hears an oscilloscope. You know what j-a-z-z sounds like? Well, it’s sweet, serendipitous or nonsensical, nihilistic. Modern in stainless steel or anachronistic in brass. Jazz! So what? Jazz sounds like anything that’s everything and vice versa. It’s a limb of that omniscient looker up and over: the tune itself. Oh, the tune? It’s what lies between your fingers when you’re writing, forging, loving, giving, perishing. You strut with the frequency of a conduit, but an unaware one at that. A change is gonna come in mere years, I know that much. Everyone will be deloused in the pain of the world; Mother Sympathy for all, even the charlatans who hide behind their crimson fur! All I’m saying is, whoever brings it ought to be from this place. I can’t fathom a recalcitrant extraterrestrial handling our own business at the expense of their planet’s water supply. I’m excited for whatever comes, believe me. So long as it ends me and with me.
If I stood very still; lightly on the soles
of my feet
head tipped back, eyes drinking in the stars
cheekbones swimming
in splashes of silver moonlight
the milky way would continue to sway,
and the universe might swirl
to swallow me whole.

Even after perishing,
I would strain to let every fragment of light know
that I have already experienced
that intense feeling of overwhelming loss,
the sense of being swallowed whole by a greater entity

that I have already experienced those phenomenons
in the daily life of a small, insignificant
human being
one of 7.7 billion on this earth

being swallowed by the fast paced conventions
of society,
being sunken further in the soles of my shoes
by the heavy weight of expectations
and burdens implemented by others' judgement,

being cast to the shadows
as an outcast
from the group of uniform peers, moving in unison
marching to a rhythm found in their interior systems,
one that I lack

being utterly alone and drained of light,
laying like a corpse on my suffocating bed in the stillness
of the dark night,

so, there you go.
After all of that mess that I am supposed to call my life,
you surely can't be surprised
by my indifference to being swallowed by the universe
as melting stars run down my cheeks
like the tears of my soul,
as it begins to sob
throughout the night.
The floods are violently rising
against the glory
The clouds of adverse winds
blowing war in boom
All hope perishing in perilous

Rising in glory the King of kings
who is mightier than the voice
of many waters
Rebuking the enemies, swallowing them in victory as my soul magnifying Him who is more than sufficient!

The triumphant King rides in victory on the swirling flaming contours of the world gyrating circles.

Praise the triumphant King of glory my soul and forget not not His greatness which tamed and put to rout all adverse winds.

Magnify the immortal God O my soul with all within and without walls of my existence.

Praise Him!
Praise Him in His power!
Praise Him in the praise!
pluto Dec 2018
We were dying stars, 
broken with all our scars,
seeking serenity in the past
with light that could no longer last. 

We were fading stars,
lost and dead ***** with cores of carbon
then nitrogen to silicon to iron, 
perishing as we conquered what we thought was ours.
"You lied" he pointed out.  

"I never did" she replied slowly. "You were too blind to see"
Yenson Sep 11
Divide and Rule
the heinous ploy that saw The Boston Tea Party
and made the loss of a continent to the crown
divide and rule
and leave the legacies of war, corruption and death
millions perishing and nations and cultures ruined
Divide and Rule
The Raj came and went and left a prosperous Nation
split in two
At war today as when lines were drawn and poison sown
Divide and Rule
and today in next door land of Sea and Leprechauns
a divide still rages as brothers and brothers set to war
Divide and Rule
everything from Religion, race, gender, ***, creed, minds
hearts, nothing is spare
and they glorified and did as they could and took as they could
and they sold it into the hearts of their own and called it
blue and Red, poor and rich, black and white and put it in their water
and rabid Hate became a gene in all of them in mindless throes
Now the Hens are coming to roost
Europe is aflame and trenches dug again
At home brothers are fighting brothers
neighbours are at war and businesses in panic
the Nation divided, the people divided
we shall reap what we sow in re-visitations
And in the little picture of little minds
a ****** wakes up propagating divisions
between two ordinary humans he knows not
who neither harmed or offended him and he has never even met
And sadly and pitifully
He knows not that he is very sick in mind, body and soul........!
Someone's got it, the glancing star is at bliss
You stuck around and it showed in your dancing in the petrichor of sudden starved preaching and feeling
Thy say I shorting my way in the life for winners of the immunity pin
The reality showed me peace, the passersby were eerily in the indolent about immolating themselves in burning risqueness
In your treats with cotton candy and the pulses of the pleasure drops
And the rapacious circus rang the bell of the repeated ensemble
Of raucous laughter, everything has to be political when you make bellicose blondes in the visions of curtains in your room
Clowned in the foolish day, the sun still how to reach me in disease
Pretention is the greatest presentable symptom of miscommunication with self was winding up for a start
I fly like bilingual, and prying into the side of the lull of the power of the fool in the tangled feud, I need a girl for loving my laugh
Pleasantly, certainly yours and of course, I used a little too much force and I resigning fighting my way through this crowd
You probably understand that I embued some love for the faltering remorse
Looking for someone lost in a crowd
Poe said you're black as the cat
Crossing the street
This is no regret
Plausible deniability and the billing is so clear, and the reading is so pompous and overrated and the laces of childish shoes
Get the milk from the next door south
I went with the bullish look in the *****
And the rage in her countenance full of misery
The spilled milk meant that it was a news boom
Went in pilfering all the newspapers under a lone streetlamp for movement of moving tears
Your people are suffering, but, still don't know how to preach
You reap the education of the sold out, and the mending ways and weltering of the piped hot iron
The compost was full of iron and gun powder
The seed germinated slightly tasteless on my mind
And the singing windy signs took away the cotton cotyledon in the breeze
The success is for other people leaving you in the worst of your times
For the next vacation, you can have a good life without my memories
Tumbled by boiling blood
The flesh and blood, stuck to the bones to the lord
The feet of the lotus, and the getting in the mud
I live my life with never thinking about the most eloquent book of poems
Although, I live in the belligerent era of poems of resolve and truly jaded and delinquently dusted and kept on reconciliatory idiot's shelf
You're left on the frescoed streets of wandering like a nomad selling the storm its gain and living in his stride and rabble and babbling in the fall of the era
Of a fallen human, and a fan no more, and the grimace of the stoic solidarity rang in his soul
Hell, felt alive
Better to arrive lost
That's freewill
The blows and I still did not die
In life often of honesty, there are some cutting you
And sometime's a place of a tainted phlegmatic nature
Cashing out his oblong church clergy, and the existential philosophy might be breaking down the altruism of Buddhist and Christians in a bar together
Too bad, none of them drink, but, they grew closer over the agreement that alcohol was meaningless
Unless you hadn't observed the entire human race intoxicated by the beauty of the thirteenth-century poetry brought you in this dust of more words
Then have a lack of people to oppose it at the very last, filibustering the argument of the blowing wind in the gestalt of this
Words are barren, as the winds that blow in dusty forests
Likewise, the specs of time fall through these lifeless particles of mankind
Hindering and calling someone an idiot, and the perfidy of all the hellish doubt
The talk went down on the south of the majority bringing forth talk of real changes
And the predeliction of prepossessing promises of probable chaotic causality,  circumstances are for indemnity from the prisoner's dilemma
We will never have that pelican of possible doubt
Petulant about the food all around
Picking up on those signals
As a simple man, I saw the ligature of the sculpted eyes
Of the niggardly picking up the leniency through the signed autograph
Head in the cloud left my limousine, stepped on the gasoline
And the peach diesels are all across the streetlamps customized for the stolid heaven of riding the roads which are meant for a moniker taking the molly out of your ecstatic pockets
Your drugs are under your eyes, and let's not talk about the brunt psychedelia of this crimson red Andalusian theology that makes half our rain in Spain, like the linguistics of pronounced verbs
We are lacking the grammatical error of our ways
And writing in the wrong notebooks
That cause suicide
Studying is like a debt to society
Penury by the following of snipers looking at you with the simple complicit exchange between a warrior and underdog soldier
Is the perfect affair wasn't it, heavy breathing in life as a boy
We cry when we're born, and the laughter comes when the breath is gone
I ain't talking about dying, it's just freeing your passions
The perishing pretentious old presiding rhyme of reasonable doubt, these are the words of fire (pleasant devotion)
While I heed my time and the poetry you wrote for your own lazy humor and nervous curiosity.
That's why they rhyme, and the possibility, for your time is an era
The zeal was everywhere furthermore
For, the present time I like to stick to meters and I'm imprisoned at my loss for words, and the ice of life lit by contrite tridents of doctrines for this life to full of the determined profession of love, and it just becomes indeterminate of how we are really
That's how we usually described literary Zeitgeist, pockets of crumpets falling
In the presence of mind to have ideas better for other poets with a brimming a half-empty cup of tea
With the ponderers had sipped without looking at it, it's good times for the winning ride, what if you don't take one other with you, really?
On the tray, the road had the natural and peace of the streetlights of the modus operandi of the chanting of "Nyum Myo Hum Renge Kyo"
There was some truth in the protest march that woke me up
But, I realized that person's need and spent my religion on the
for righteous life with kindred spirits here in the preferable deposit of penned writing
The darkness on fighting it with darkness in the dingy library of human knowledge in metal brother with ubiquitous knowledge
The hopeful the epiphany is healed by knee-deep kneidel, and the bread we shared with our mothers was the love is to share
Hopeful, the benediction creates some dream, I like the long poems, and I feel for the science that touches
The flow of the person next to you with the same DNA, and manipulates information like you
That keeps me interested, and the verses come from the person inside and precocious teenager in you was a bit of a cry-baby
That likes talking, that's why like haikus as they speak about the Edo-era Japan, you determined people read about the island beyond the land of doubt and the exploration, and the free-flowing verse is linked seamless thought of philosophy
And the 1600s of the Restoration period had some simplicity in lovely complexes
Antediluvian powerful lord in the wide trees in thee hillside, singing the song for the life time
The vital spontaneity has because is in the underweighted children in the valley
A song for the sowing and germinating lackadaisical surmise
The thing that I must ask of you, is how much you like philosophy and life, and you fall to a poem for my fellow writer, how much respect wondering about your coveted convivial feelings I could gather from a pack of sisterhood pacts
Existentially, I am in a place that is metaphorically alive
The life and the religion and the spotlight breaks when a spoken word has shadows of God's metaphorical musical called ballad, poetry is just an essay on song
Don't write it twice, you're sad and done
It's alright, I'm on the darkness on the side of the road
A painting is complete when it has the shadows of God.
Eve Jun 19
Every second of the minute hand
My mind wanders, a utopian land
Desiring, yearning, grasping for more
Granted my wish, yet seemingly poor
Insanity grips at my head, wrapping
Itself around my body
Sanity slips from my hand, falling
My angel, perishing abruptly
Tranquility, once familiarity
Morphed, confess one of oddity
Soul perceiving solely that fixation
My euphoria high, taking on fiction
Still, engrossed I am in this addiction
To my significant other

— The End —