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 Jul 2017 Dr Zik
Mishael Ward
Black and white, day and night,
The city suffers, yearning for light
hundreds are dead, it doesn't seem logical,
One has to wonder how is it possible
The powder keg of racial prejudice,
Creates explosions destroying the best of us,
Fortunately, the dawn would end this time of fright,
A world tired of darkness, yearning for light
Hearts capable of evil, and mortal sin,
A new light would form in the hearts of men
The answer is in the goodness of God that weaves all
Yes, indeed, the future is bright, hope has put beauty in myopic sight,
Hope is the power that drives us on, hope is the beauty of the yearning light.
In our modern world it seems like the compassion for people has truly dimmed. We are no longer interested in other peoples lives, The only interest is what they can do for us. Not truly knowing a person creates assumptions. which is one of the foundations in racism and all stereotypes. Last year was a crazy year socially, a year I will never forget. I encourage you to pray for our nation, and get to know people's character for yourself. Don't assume who they are based on what you hear about them from someone else. Our society today loves to create things based on assumptions and lies. However, we don't have to be that way, walk in love and truth, be that beacon of hope in your community, be that yearning light!
 Jul 2017 Dr Zik
Star BG
Past Love
 Jul 2017 Dr Zik
Star BG
And maybe below moon,
we shall rondevu in dreams.
Re-hashing moments so grand,
where temperatures rose with passions.

Or drift in hearts to know our real contract,
where fantasies met in a kiss.
Perhaps we'll look in each others eyes
and find excitement build once again.
Until morning light comes to echo.
Farewell my love,
as I must tuck you in my heart and move on
As...what once was does always lead to what will be.
Inspired by a poem by Medha
 Jul 2017 Dr Zik
Star BG
Perfect lips did match,
Dancing like a flame in sun.
Love made time stand still.
 Jul 2017 Dr Zik
Jonathan Witte
The weather only makes it worse.
Cicadas sounding off at dusk.
The flowers blooming in reverse.

Your hand in mine.
Pour yourself another drink:
bourbon, *******.
Her hand in mine.

Our backyard has gone black,
the summer’s vestigial fireflies
devoured by limbs and leaves.

Lie on your back
and listen to me,
decode the blades
of grass that tickle
your ears and neck.

Love or silence.
Which is worse?

We pull at words
like dark threads,
composing curtains
for the windows
of a waiting hearse.
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