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Madeon 3h
We are but sand upon the waves,
sliding slowly until the night arrives.
But every step we take together
leaves footprints that can live for centuries.
I went looking for revenge
I only found the edge
Of good and evil
Teetering on the steeple
What side will it fall?
That's anybody's call
The victorious write the history
So moral is pointless, the loser is the enemy
But how often does victory align with the righteous?
Glory is told despite this
The innocent pay the price
Propaganda paints it nice
And the average can sleep easy
But what's that mean for you and me?
Simply put we all fall in line
Regardless if yours starts or ends in a different place than mine

©2024
I've given real life
Forty plus years of my time
I'd rather just exist
In this altered state of mind

©2024
_

No longer do I feel the urge to weep – as I lift my gaze to behold an
endless ocean; I navigate a life woven with threads of self-doubt.
Plucking at my mind, a bloom with countless petals – eager for
growth, yet the nourishment of my spirit, is drawn from the parched
earth of this world.

These days unfold like a mirage, trapped within a grotesque nightmare, spiritually and morally barren at times – when I lose the art of dreaming.

I place my hopes where echoes linger – casting my heart into a fervour,
wishing it ricochets off the walls. Drifting through life with a hollow checklist – an existence devoid of meaning, yet I persist, sustained by
a God who still believes in me, and in the essence of my soul.
The last breath
The last death
The last phone call
The last fall
The last funeral
The last burial
The last roll
The last poll
The last smile
The last style
The last flight
The last rite
The last crap
The last stop
Alas! Somewhere
There is a last
That we can bear
We need the past
To move on in life
After a barmy gaffe
We weep and we laugh
As we sail solo on the life raft.

Copyright © July 2022, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poetry.
Mahta 1d
People die, don’t they?
Most of the time, you don’t know them—
so you don’t hear about it.

But sometimes, you know who died.
You receive a message,
you read it,
you don’t digest it.

You send some messages,
not because you want to,
but because you have to.
You make people sad,
you make them relive that moment—
not because you want to,
but because you have to.

There’s the you on autopilot,
following what must be done.
And the you in the coffee shop,
reading a book,
sipping hot chocolate,
as if no one died today.

No one you know.
Not yet.

The sweetness fades.
The weight arrives.

You wonder if you truly knew her favorite color,
Her favorite moment,
What she would have wished for

Perhaps not this.
Not like this.
Not today.
In memory of my cousin, who passed away today after battling a brain tumor for nearly two years.
I was the blossom on the vine, warmed by the sun. Awaiting my fruiting.
I was the grapes smashed beneath your feet. Left alone in the dark, waiting.
While time ate away at me, while forgotten, I became desired.
I am the wine in your cup.
Dark and drying, your senses dulling.
Creating a world unknown to you.
Drink slowly, can you truly handle the poison you created?
The pen was in your hand!
You carved your way through the pages,
dancing through the exposition.
You reveled in the confrontation—
unaware of the impending ******,
unafraid, you read along.
But you’d have never guessed the resolution.
So tell me, oh author of fate:
as you bury your friends,
is your curiosity satiated?
Rise — like the Sun — that wakes the Sky
And spills its Light — on Earth and High
Wrap the Hours — in gentle Bliss
A quiet Grace — no soul can miss

Ignite the Flame — within your Soul
So vast — it will — the Heavens control
And as it burns — through dark and bright
Let Destiny — fall at your might.

The World — will bow — and kiss your feet,
For Passion's Hand — makes Fate complete.
And in that Fire — the Heart shall see
That all the Earth — was made for thee
The Flame of Destiny 20/12/2024 © All Rights Reserved by Jamil Hussain

Let the blade
run its course.

Let the fools
be devoured.

Let the unkind
shriek in despair.

For too long,
the world has been ruled
by belongings.

Let the threads
unweave,
and the night
crash into the days.

Everyone for themselves—
that is what’s on offer.

Lest we survive.


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