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Piyush 8m
I have written thousands of letters,
I have written hundreds of nights,
And I have seen two lovers fight —
But they’re not fighting with each other,
Still, they are lovers in my story.

I have watched them talking,
A few lies and a thousand truths.
I have written their story,
I have decorated their glory.

That’s all I have given to them,
This is all I would leave behind.
But that’s not all they deserve,
And I will try again for them.
I will write their story again for them.

I would burn all the ashes for them,
Without paying any mind.
I would try to write their names together,
But I know I can’t spell it forever.

Still, I would continue writing their story,
I would write it like a song,
I would sing it like a poem,
I would say it like they’re gods —
In the hope that somehow, they can be together.

But they can’t be the same lovers,
Because, as I said before,
They’re fighting, but not with each other.
They’re complaining, but not about each other.
They’re crying about their lovers
Who left them halfway.
I wrote this poem for the lovers who never got their ending — for those still holding on, even when love slipped away.
There's a little
boy that hides in
the dark corners of
my soul.
He doesn't want to
be hurt anymore.
I spent eight years
with Beth.
For the most part,
it was hell and
constant pain.
She made nightmares
look good.
I heard the
little boy cry
late into the
silky night,
while snails got
smashed on the streets
of Ventura.

When I drank, which was often,
the little boy seemed
at peace for awhile,
while swans were
murdered in Venice,
and I tasted the ashes
of Neruda.
Years flew by
like seagulls;
up
down
and darting.
The little boy
continued to
hide in the
dark corners of my soul.

He wanted to
come out and be loved.
He was thirsty for it,
but there wasn't
any around.
It was dry, like the
deserts in hell.
It's too late for
sorries here comes
the plow.

He began to see
the pattern of life.
Some monsters walk in the light.
Vulnerability equals pain.
The little boy got mean.
And now he carries
a knife.
Here is a link to my latest poetry reading on you tube.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xSKnZMnMlTw

I read from both of my recently published books.
It's Just a Hop, Skip, and Jump to the Madhouse and Seedy Town Blues Collected Poems, both available on Amazon.com

www.thomaswcase.com
The copper bells glisten
Swaying in the sunshine
I pause as I listen
To the tinkling
Of the wind chimes

In the distance, they ring
A gentle melody -
I hear their songs
The unsaid words they sing

How sweet is their music
Sweet the joy they bring
Such is the wonder -
The magic of little things
"Take a break everyday,
Grieve what burdens you", they said
I chose my tea time
One hour in the evening, everyday
But I do not know why
It never seems to end
When one ends,
The other starts
The sun rises, the sun sets
Day ends, a new day starts
But I have a tea break
That just never ends
Misstic 9h
I wrote about
Heartache
Not following your
Past mistakes,

But, what about
The girls or boys
Getting *****,

Losing innocence
As such young age,
Not even
Knowing
What they lost?

Gained horrors
For a life range
Used
As toys for
A meaningless
Exchange,

Monster intoxicated
With lust
Roaming these streets,
That’s the real issue
No my clothes
You pin,

What a bad joke
Life is?
Instead being
Kind
We being stripped
From our
Dignity.
Misstic 9h
I wrote about
Heartache
Not following your
Past mistakes,

But, what about
The girls or boys
Getting *****,

Losing innocence
As such young age,
Not even
Knowing
What they lost?

Gained horrors
For a life range
Used
As toys for
A meaningless
Exchange,

Monster intoxicated
With lust
Roaming these streets,
That’s the real issue
No my clothes
You pin,

What a bad joke
Life is?
Instead being
Kind
We being stripped
From our
Dignity.
In the depths of closure almost immediately, why do we feel that life and death are still impatient on the threshold of existence?! From here, every time of every spiral circle closes early until you are confused about it. We can't even start with a breath of breath, as our daily cumbersome days have become more and more counts, so they can be measured and measured when, where, how much they made a mistake for us.

The roses in the depths of the heart were called twilight, which, if they thought, was deliberately blocked in the coronary tunnels, the molecular networks of free oxygen flows in the coronary arteries. At a bus stop, it is almost palpable not only a manipulative tool for massed psychosis, but a silent infarction that grows as an atomic bomb, calling for almost always late attacks as a diving bell.

The mucus bile in the stomach, as if it were to give birth to kaleidoscopy over and over again, and on mirror pieces, infants should learn to understand once and for all: their lives will never be a romantic fairy tale or a nice foam cake. The wreaths of heart -shaped gingerbread may not have been really crumbs - they were digested by uncertainty that medication or durable food should be purchased.

In the brain -era of nonsensical phrases, one would become more and more desired towards an unparalleled life, as a sweet -sad, childish nostalgia, because he feels and knows -perhaps -he can hardly be a second sans. Now, we are struck as a fish in intentional subordinates as a fish for another forced time!
Adedoyin 14h
I was at the mosque a few days ago after Iftar.
After prayers, I unknowingly said, “Hallelujah.” Heads turned, and some faces displayed disgust, shock, and disbelief.

“Princess, why would you say that?” my friend nudged me by the shoulder.

It wasn’t intentional to say that in the mosque—it’s just a praise word I use. It’s a habit, a good part of me.

But…

I keep thinking about this and similar situations from the past. Is religion a bond or a division?
Do we not serve the same God?

I believe Muslims just pray in a different language (Arabic), while Christians pray in English.
So why is there no unity?

Was religion created to divide us?

Why have there been killings, hatred, and war?
Why is there always debate?
Why are there numerous religions that claim to worship the same Almighty but refuse to believe in one another?
Why does it seem like religion exists to separate the world?

What is the beginning of a belief?

I am a believer, but it’s hard to distinguish between what’s real and what’s not.
Why do we have one God but different religions?
How do we know what is truly right?

My family practices Islam, yet we still practice Christianity.
I don’t choose between them, and I don’t want to.

“You’re still young. As you get older, you will choose one.”

Am I insane to wonder why I must pick a side to please both God and society?
Why is there an expectation to choose when we have learned that God loves and embraces His children equally?

I thought I would vent, write—but these 26 letters can’t contain all my questions.
There is so much I want to ask.
There are beliefs I want to let go of and simply continue communicating with my God the way I always have.

“You need to read the book.”

The books? The Bible? The Qur’an?
The books that tell different stories?
The same religions that believe in different things?

I have so many questions.

If I mention this to someone, they will say I am questioning God.

LOL.
I want no religion, i need spirituality.
We built our love on fragile ground,
Too young to see, too proud to bow.
We held on tight yet let it fade,
Both too late, both afraid.

We spoke in riddles and taped our cracks,
Got lost in echoes with no way back.
We needed more but feared the cost,
Each unsure of what we’d lost.

The weight of silence and words unsaid
Turned love to pain, to regret instead.
You turned away, but so did I,
Too weary to even question why.

We sought out space and stood alone,
Yet too stubborn to survive on our own.
We fought our battles side by side,
But never once as unified.

You said you left to find your way,
But were you ever going to stay?
Or was it just a softer end,
A way to leave and not pretend?

Was it easier to walk away,
To tell yourself we’d had our day?
Did love dissolve, or did thoughts betray
The part of us that begged to stay?

Or did you outgrow the life we knew,
Or maybe outgrow the me with you?
Yet now I stand, a different man,
The one we needed, heart in hand.

You lit the spark that set me free,
A fire you may never see.
You pulled away but left behind
The very strength I had to find.

You told me once to face my past,
To fight my demons, make this last.
And so I have. I’ve bled, I’ve tried,
But did you ever step inside?

I see it now. You needed space,
But also a hand you wouldn’t take.
You left to find yourself, and yet,
Are you searching? …I forget.

But what if we had stayed, had tried,
Faced the storm instead of hide?
Not just alone or side by side,
But hand in hand, as unified?

Or did we need to break apart,
To lose it all, to face the dark?
To fall so low, to drown in pain,
Before we both could rise again?

You shattered me, but I see now,
I let it happen, still, somehow.
I hope in breaking, we both grew,
Despite leaving behind what we once knew.

If we had fought instead of fled,
Faced our fears, spoke words unsaid,
Would we have found what now is mine,
But shared it, side by side in time?

You shaped the change you’ll never see,
Helped draft the blueprint that’s made me, me.
And though I’ve built what we once dreamed,
It belongs to me alone, it seems.

And now I have the love we lost,
The kind we needed, at any cost.
Yet the cruelest truth remains unspoken:
We never tried, we left it broken.
I am discombobulated,
like a riddle unsolved by light,  
yet, I have a smile that glows,
but hides at night;
and when joy spills from my lips,
it is a warming display,  
but, pain still lingers,
only a heartbeat away.  

I am as bold as the dawn,
as I step into the fray,  
yet as shy as a whisper,
I often quickly drift away.  
I love with a consuming fire
that burns through the cold,  
and sometimes I smoulder,
overwhelmed and old.  

I am healing and hurting,
I am an emotional embrace,  
gazing into the mirror,
as I search for my place.  
So fiercely I strive,
with my dreams in sight,  
yet I am caught in a spiral
as my wishes ignite.  

I am a walking contradiction
of heartache and grace,  
as I chase fleeting moments,
searching for space.  
I am more than a peacemaker,
and I am willing to fight,  
to find peace in the turmoil,
where my weakness meets might.  

So here in the stillness,
my thoughts fill my head,  
as I think about my life
and where it has led.  
I have been a whirlwind of beauty,
a wilting rose of strife,  
and I’m learning to grow
within the chaos of life.

©️Lizzie Bevis
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