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  Oct 2017 wordvango
Elrow Swift
You who goes by "Lonely"
Yes you, who reads these rhymes
Please pause here for a moment
I won't take much of your time

You see my friend, I'm lonely too
In the dark with paper and pen
So I'm writing you this poem
and signing it "Your Friend"

Though I'll prob'ly never see you
nor ever know your name
I do not need to see your face
nor know your cash and fame

I do not care what color you are
how short or tall or fat
I'm weary of all these parties and creeds
So, for a moment, forget all of that

Yes you, dear friend, forget with me
Inhale this moment serene
where we are not opinions or castes
Just two humans with two glowing screens

Be human with me, simple and pure
For a moment breathe deep and feel free
then should you have the time, and a halfway good rhyme
Perhaps write a poem for me.

Signed,
Your Friend
This one isn't great, but I don't really care. I would normally throw something like this away, but the afterimage of hope made me wonder if maybe it would strike a chord with someone somewhere.  I promise to post more polished verse in the future, but all the same, thank you for reading. -ES
wordvango Oct 2017
It began rhyming
started out to be special
got so ****** depressing
I left it by the side

of  Highway 59
like a car
with a flat tire
and walked away

into the distance I walked
for years
and ten times
turned around

strode a hundred yards back
said **** that
and kept on trying to reach
Tupelo

I was in Arkansas
then
alone the cars whizzing by
the only constant

horns and bellowing
gusts of hot air
hellos
high approached

bariton-ed
away like a fog
horn
sad

and cars weren’t ever
the reason for my
soreness
as I looked up
at the sun
wordvango Oct 2017
Ten times last one ten hours past one
ten things to do before I pass on
or gain a new perspective
or listen to my sub-conscious' directive
to pass on to someone my knowledge
what I learned in the school of hard knocks
or just sit here give the world one last whirl
maybe get drunk run through
the cornfields again naked
play ring around the rosy
or pass out
spread-eagled glorious in the
morning on the grass
with full double visions
the sun peeking
over yonder past
the scrub oaks in
the distance
at last
I've found her
she glows
and the darkness
empties the world
like a toilet flushed
counter-clockwise
pure water and hope
now
  Oct 2017 wordvango
Meg B
I've scrapped the first
fifteen versions of a poem
I don't want to write or
maybe I want to write it but I'm
afraid I won't like it or
am I just afraid of what I might
say,
of what my subconscious will
convey?

Ink drying up like dried blood
while the blood in my veins
pulsates and my
head throbs as I try to decipher
how much of what has happened
to me is actually because
of me.

Is it me?
Are my experiences mine because
I made them so,
or did I happen to just
stumble into the darkness?

A sour mashup of
self-love and self-loathing,
it's like I have two minds intertwined
double-analyzing double helix
radioactive brain DNA

Am I great? Am I awful?
Am I even worthy of such extremes?
Where are all the adjectives to
describe me?
Can I write about it if
it changes daily?
Is it possible to know yourself perfectly and
also not at all?

Questions generating more
questions,
hypothesizing Eye
must seek before
I find.
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