Everyday we go through
Heaven and Hell.
It's a constant battle:
Good versus Evil.

We go through so much
Pain and Heartbreak,
Joy and Excitement
But we're overwhelmed.

For every positive feeling,
There's a negative feeling.
For some of us, that
Negative becomes too powerful.

We become flooded by all
The could've, should've, would've,
The maybes and what ifs.
We forget the little things.

We lose our friends, but
Depression and Anxiety.
We feel dark and cold inside
And we isolate ourselves.

Don't get too close to us
Because we're contagious!
Every second we fade
Deeper into our minds.

We want the world to
Stop so we can relax
And clear our minds
But it just spins faster.

We become so overwhelmed
By negativity that we push
Those close to us further
Because we don't want to hurt them.

Our minds become a whirlpool,
A black hole, pulling us
Down faster and further
And there is no escape.

The only way to stop this,
In our heads, is to say
"The end"
Maybe then it will end.

But it doesn't have to end.
As writers of our lives,
We can end it
Or we can pause.

We can end it with
An "!", "?", or "."
But instead let's pause with
A semicolon.

A semicolon let us
Breathe and gather our thoughts.
It tells everyone that
It's not over yet; just paused.

As writers of our lives,
Pause and rethink our decision
Because our stories are not over yet;
There's so much more left.

Regret nothing from our past.
Rethink no decisions made
Or decisions that we didn't make.
Live in the now and for the future.

We owe it to our friends,
To our families, and
Most importantly to ourselves
To not end but pause.

We all crash and burn, and
That could be the end but
We can be the Phoenix and rise
From the ashes stronger and better.

There are times when I
Felt like giving up and saying
The end, but I remember
My friends and family and the good times.

I could've ended my story
Making it into a tragedy
But instead of ending every sentence,
I paused and carried on.

My story isn't over yet
Because there are no much
That I want to do in life:
Medical school, marriage, kids.

My story is not complete
And I don't want to
Leave a cliffhanger for
My friends, family, everyone.

Out stories are not over yet.
We have so much to live for.
We have so many goals:
Graduation, Job, Love.

Insp;re each other and
Everyone going through the same thing.
Be the warr;ors we are determined to be
And f;ght hard like your life depends on it.

Insp;re!
Be a warr;or!
F;ght on!
Our stories are not over yet.

Robert Frost said,
"Two roads diverged in a yellow wood."
We have two choices.
Pick carefully; it'll make all the difference.

Pick left and end your story
With an "!", "?", or "."
Or pick right and pause
Your story with a semicolon.

**Insp;re!
Be a warr;or!
F;ght on!
Our stories are not over yet;

Fairfax, whose name in armes through Europe rings
Filling each mouth with envy, or with praise,
And all her jealous monarchs with amaze,
And rumors loud, that daunt remotest kings,
Thy firm unshak’n vertue ever brings
Victory home, though new rebellions raise
Their Hydra heads, & the fals North displaies
Her brok’n league, to impe their serpent wings,
O yet a nobler task awaites thy hand;
Yet what can Warr, but endless warr still breed,                    
Till Truth, & Right from Violence be freed,
And Public Faith cleard from the shamefull brand
Of Public Fraud.  In vain doth Valour bleed
While Avarice, & Rapine share the land.

On The Proposalls Of Certaine Ministers At The Committee For
Propagation Of The Gospell

Cromwell, our cheif of men, who through a cloud
Not of warr onely, but detractions rude,
Guided by faith & matchless Fortitude
To peace & truth thy glorious way hast plough’d,
And on the neck of crowned Fortune proud
Hast reard Gods Trophies, & his work pursu’d,
While Darwen stream with blood of Scotts imbru’d,
And Dunbarr field resounds thy praises loud,
And Worsters laureat wreath; yet much remaines
To conquer still; peace hath her victories
No less renownd then warr, new foes aries
Threatning to bind our soules with secular chaines:
Helpe us to save free Conscience from the paw
Of hireling wolves whose Gospell is their maw.

Vane, young in yeares, but in sage counsell old,
Then whome a better Senatour nere held
The helme of Rome, when gownes not armes repelld
The feirce Epeirot & the African bold,
Whether to settle peace, or to unfold
The drift of hollow states, hard to be spelld,
Then to advise how warr may best, upheld,
Move by her two maine nerves, Iron & Gold
In all her equipage: besides to know
Both spirituall powre & civill, what each meanes                    
What severs each thou hast learnt, which few have don
The bounds of either sword to thee wee ow.
Therfore on thy firme hand religion leanes
In peace, & reck’ns thee her eldest son.

I want to be kissed.
Not by a stranger.
I want to press my lips against yours,
And place my hands behind the bend of your neck.
I want to feel you pull my bottom lip in slightly.
I want to pull apart and lean my forehead against yours.
I want you to tell me I did a good job.
I want to look into your eyes and believe it.

I want to tease you about that God awful hat,
And tell you that you can't steal a kiss unless you take it off.
I want to see the smile escape your lips as you get playful.
I want to fill the presence of your giant hand enclosing my small one.
I want to have meaningless conversations in my truck late at night.
I want to drive to your house and hear your dad tell you that you messed up,
That you shouldn't have left me,
That I was the right girl.
I want you to agree with him.
And I want you to mean it.

I want longer than what I got with you.
I wish that I could go back in time and stop myself from stepping back for her.
I thought you'd be happy then.
I thought that was all I needed.
I wish I could find comfort without you here.
I wish I could find comfort in myself.
I wish I could forget about the lists,
Of things you wanted,
And if the things you wanted for us.

I pace the room and get no answers.
Every message I type,
I erase.
Every call I dial,
I hang up.
Every comment I want to say,
I keep inside.
Because you don't feel the same.
I'm not what you wanted...

I just want to kiss you until my lips fall off,
And have you look at me the way you look at any other girl.

Elizabeth Warr was the woman next door,
They called her a witch and a hag,
We lived in a lane that was called ‘Little Payne’
Though what there was lived in her bag,
She carried a hammer, a sharp bladed knife
A corkscrew and two leather twists,
The corkscrew she carried for putting out eyes,
The leather for binding of wrists.

She’d been more than sane up until the back lane
Had revealed that her daughter was courting,
Who’d never told anyone who she had met
Till they found her the following morning,
But she had been ravaged, her body was savaged
Her skirt was pulled over her head,
And blood ran in rivulets down to her ankles
Elizabeth’s daughter was dead.

And that’s when she swore that revenge would be hers
As she haunted the back lanes and alleys,
Carting the murderous tools in her bag
And noting who dillies and dallies,
‘He’ll try it again, and I will be there,’
She announced to her friends and her neighbours,
‘They always return to the scene of the crime
And the place of their murderous labours.’

The months had gone by with barely a sign
He’d ever come back to the midden,
With no-one attacked, he hadn't looked back
So guessing the culprit, forbidden.
But then on a line in the communal yard
A scarf fluttered high on the line,
Elizabeth saw it and reached out and caught it
And muttered, ‘I know that, it’s mine!’

Her daughter had borrowed that scarf for one night
The night that she’d thought to go courting,
And then in the horror, the fear and the fright
The scarf wasn’t there in the morning.
Elizabeth watched who collected the scarf
The mother of Alan John Sidden,
Then carried her bag to the rear of the park
While she waited for dark, to be hidden.

They say there were screams and loud howls in the dark
On that night in the early September,
And smoke in the trees that would waft in the breeze
Along with some foul smelling embers,
When Sidden was found, what was left, on the ground
In the morning, his throat cut, it’s true,
They said that his eyes were a gruesome surprise
They’d been taken by some sort of *****.

David Lewis Paget

I feel a great disturbance
Trudging up this landslide disrupted road
An uncertain urgency
Little quips uttered by missguided half witts
Im loosing my penchant for diplomacy
My pupils so undialated my eyes
Are black
the nerves are like hairs on my back
Im backed into a corner like a feril cat
I have sojourned with peril
Encompassed about by the enemy

i bring 2 you the warr the epic **** a very dumb warr nonetheless

after 12 years of warr in no wARR noww

Sometimes I go to Bexhill
on an Ironhorse
and visit Cooden Beach
with the occasioned tar in the sand
I recall the De La Warr Pavillion
Thought I was smart, smart not going

Train rides from Eastbourne
I Look for shipwrecks and Amaryllis's
Every day is a beckoning one
the one that got away
in deep water

its all very obvious so i will just say n o more off the warr

very dumb warr nonetheless

i just gott a major insight man hate always leads to genocide its been proven time and again hate always leads to murders warr

the warr is over man its just societies noww i m alive and  free more than what i can ask fo

the warr is over man its just societies noww i m alive and  free more than what i can ask for

those who can not do math do everything else like warr hate list goes onn