Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Flynn Apr 2020
We have the best times
I’m so unhappy

We have the best days
I’m having an awful day

We’re so similar
You don’t understand me

We’re a perfect couple
We clash
Mystic Ink Plus Jun 2019
कागले छेरेको विउबाट
उम्रिएको रुख हो त्यो

अमिलो फल फल्ने
शैली : अवलोकन
विषय: विवाद
Desire Mar 2019
Our oppositions are subjective, yet
we're subject to our opinions
but differences deepened by
developing diversity is false dominion,
proving one thing to be true:
Neither of us get the final rule.
Human supremacy is a construct,
freeing me to believe in a higher power
outside of me and you...

If neither of us are supreme, then who?

@desire.is.dope
20190308
1712HRS
SUPREME
@desire.is.dope
20190308
1712HRS
Steve Page Feb 2019
PRAYER IS A TEAM SPORT

[In the voice of your favourite over-excited rugby commentator.]

We're inside the final quarter. We've seen a bone-cruncher of a contest today and there's no sign of a let up, the pray-ers gather for the next engagement, positioning themselves with practiced confidence, skillfully supporting each other, ready for the push.  You can see every knee and each hand bears the marks from this long muddied pray, red and brown staining every inch of their entwined limbs; - arms and hands holding fast.

Front row.
Second row.
Back row.
Digging in for the big push.

The opposition has played an intelligent game, taking advantage of any lapse in concentration, any sign of tiredness, looking for any weakness to exploit.  The pray-ers know they can't afford any slips now, they need to keep up the pressure, maintain their advance deep in the opposition's half.  Every yard of gained ground needs to be defended.

The pray-ers' Coach looks on - look at his smile! You can see the pride he has for his team, he's schooled them on every tactic of the opposition and now that training, that practice has paid dividends. This is a team of pray-ers that so clearly know each other well, supporting each other every step of the way. You can see their coordinated pray, their sustained effort and the sheer pleasure they feel when they are praying together.

The pray-ers drive on.  The sound of their groans and deep breaths merge into one. There's a rhythm to it, a cadence as together they push and PUSH. 

The opposition's footing is slipping, the pray-ers' momentum gains pace and, YES! the resistance collapses.  Oh, that must have hurt!

But there's no time for complacency, the pray-ers re-form their line looking for the next opening, the next opportunity to push forward.

This is a joy to see.  The Coach shouts his encouragement - this was never going to be an easy struggle; you can't dismiss the opposition - they are a seasoned though sometimes disorganised team and they can take you by surprise.  But as we've seen here today, the Coach knows that if his team of pray-ers keep to the plan and pray to their strengths, the opposition are surely in for a hiding. The pray-ers will triumph and they will take the winners' crown.
- Now back to the action.
Inspired by the Six Nations tournament
Louisa Coller Jan 2019
Your structure was tall like a tree in the night,
yet they shot you down faster than lightning.
I felt myself falling in this deep endless abyss,
while they stand tall above us in this empty place.
Nothing is clear to us.

One by one each payment is erased,
one by one each month is replaced.
the more we look, the more it hurts us,
as we sit here in a confused daydream.

Vulnerable people grasping onto what they can,
it sounds dramatic only when you feel safe.
They say their words represent our feelings,
yet every person I know never felt the same.
I never knew how to feel like them.

One by one each payment is erased,
one by one each month is replaced.
the more we look, the more it hurts us,
as we sit here in a confused daydream.

For you grew in a shell of a place,
I never knew from my experiences.
But, for the place I did know for years,
I feel the colours fade away.
Every hue, every shade.

One by one, each person begins to walk away,
one by one, they make out it’s our fault again.
Yet, instead of fixing what is broken in masses,
we find new ways to paint over it again and again.

For I wonder what becomes of us?
If I’m not enough, will we be enough?
Even then, will they come knocking,
for us to pay their debts?
My pockets are empty.
This poem was written to be sent to Hungry Hill Writing for their 'Poets meet Politics' competition; I have wrote three poems for this competition; The first poem I entered, this is to highlight that it isn't just the United Kingdom being in a Political disaster... America, or the USA, itself, isn't doing much better. Government Shutdown, the workers not getting their pay. It's just a disaster everywhere isn't it?

This is meant to be the worries conveyed from an American and English person in love.
Maya Oct 2018
Rue thy feeble fate.
Fear the day when thine own eyes
Fail to see beyond thy hand.
Requiem for the rest-easies such as Thyself shall not come as welcome
Praise, but as fire and brimstone,
Blood from the grimy grindstones of
The weary working, ready to rise
And crush all unworthy opposition
With their hilts of red-hot rage,
Raising swords of liberty to the heavens and cutting down the opression that has stilted their air.

Weep for this is thy fate:
Thy death means justice for those who Have been defeated countless times,
Under a blooming, burning sky defeats Pile up like stars, simmering, waiting to Become supernovas and take every puny Universe down in their own glorious Descent, like
Icarus to the sun, a sweeter fall could not Exist on this lonely planet,
Into the unforgiving waters of victory.

Justice for those angry folk who by merit Have earned their own place, not by Some system that hands it to them, but By grit and toil alone,
By the fierce madness that is
Existing and not completely
Giving in to the ruin of being human, Following the words that
A wiser man than I spoke, that life is Struggle, that the only constant in this Life is the pain that all of us try to ignore In the futile attempt to block out the Tragedies that haunt us daily.

Face thy fears, coward.
Thou miserable wretch can't look thyself In the mirror, but can claim that we as a Species have hope for peace on Earth and Goodwill for all.
What dost thou know of goodwill? When didst thou give a single moment of thought to the happiness of anyone but thyself and thine selfish  avaricious interests?
Thou shan't claim to know what is holy and just, yet scourge the very pious people that thou imitates; thou shan't slaughter the devout on a temple whose bricks are molded from hypocrisy and deceit.

Rue thy feeble fate,
Because thou deserveth every blow, every cry of mockery, every disgusted eye and every hideous pitiful moan that thy gravestone will inspire, and even Dante himself could not have imagined the flaming of the hellish unredeeming pyre that will be thy afterlife;
rue thy fate for no morals, no intercessions, no pleas or entreaties to be spared from the filth and maggotry that thou hast built thy very house upon canst save thee now.
please correct me if my grammar is wrong, dramatic effect called for dramatic language, and modern tongue has lost the drama that is thine, thee, thou, etc.
Samuel Canerday Sep 2018
Foe
A sun settles over chasing dawn
Looming fate approaches drawn
By carriages of hate that ramble
Reprobate to wander willing of that
Which elevates soul to levels
Thrice unknown by the deep
And whitish bone man is able
For a while to disable that
Which smiles in the pit
Of sorest bind and fires lit
Matching each the others wit
Price for enmity, judging fit
Michael Briefs Nov 2017
You and I are opposed.
We are like disparate species,
Serving an inverse purpose.
Our strange essence seems
To set us on polar paths:

You are the flight-stream of "SHE".
I am the fight-stance of "HE".

You wing in the breeze,
Brilliant and inspiring,
As a Bird of Paradise!
Your feminine charisma
And intuitive self-expression
Looks to all the world
As an affirmation of freedom --
Freedom of voice, freedom of velocity,
Freedom of line and trajectory.
At once so sharp and aerodynamic
And again jubilantly hued!
A flash of sun-lit feathers,
Racing on the wind!
Your air-borne voice is a
Canto of melodious joy!
And your brilliant laugh…Ah!
In truth, I swoon to the
Hollo of your untethered
Celebration, connected, as you are,
To your clan of heart-wise purists!
Your levity (you levitate!),
Your choreographed costumes,
Your graceful pace,
Your soul-evanescence,
Your radiant face!

Yet...I stand opposed, it seems,
In my direction.

I am the Sentinel and I am at war.
I stand watch: raised up --
But by a wall atop, not by wings.
I see a world of trouble,
A world fearful in its enmity.
I look only to the perimeter,
Scanning for our enemy.
I cannot relent from the struggle.
I must stand vigilant as I have sworn
To protect you and all my tribe.

I fight to return to you –
To my friends,
To my family,
To my lovers,
To my neighbors –
A world inspired by hope;
One committed to the healing
Of our many wounds.
A world grounded in the
Recognition of our core
Dignity and our highest lights!
This charge keeps me on task,
Through the dark and cold
Silence, before the clash.

We see the world from opposing perspectives…but we are tethered
To each other by the chains of shared
Endeavor:

You, with your joy and brilliance,
Bringing happiness and creating
Family bonds -- bonds of friendship,
A shared sense of play and
The wonder of human beauty –

Me, in sober wariness,
Standing watch, atop the wall.
I look to the horizon to discover
A vision of lasting safety,
Justice and peace in our time.

It is my duty to serve our people,
To serve you, my love and
My friend.
I serve the hope of a
Purposed unity and work to
Build a shared prosperity,
For our tribe.

We are opposed but we also support
Each other, as we look above,
To and from
Our highest (deepest) selves.
We scan the heavens for the path
To an existence rich
In love, wisdom and harmony!
We stand together in search
Of a place
Where human joy
Is lived and expressed,
For all the world to see!
RW Dennen Jul 2015
Life is a fighter's ring
        your opponent
is life's most downs
        with all its fury
forever challenging us most prevalent surely...

What type glory
         do you choose
when failing your fighter's round?
Do you pick yourself up
            after crashing
                           to the ground?

What glory in rising
          your situation
                   newly found?
What invention
              of yourself
in your up and coming round?

Do your cheering crowds please you
               your real friends know
your need?
Will you rise yourself up
          in a thunderous quickened speed?

So, your fighter's glory in rising
       each bout that you take
Will you rise yourself up
      for your honor is at stake...

-This is why i think that most average are heroes no matter what country-
RW Dennen
CommonStory Dec 2014
Longing for an intimate connection

But I don't have patience for emotional misconceptions

Hording what you call love

At the pinnacle is just numb

A mental blockage that needs a shove

To cooperate with the blind, deaf, and dumb

When you can see, listen, and communicate

Can darken what you're try to illuminate

Fickle misunderstandings dwell in physical connections

They oppose the facade of mental perceptions

Which lead the spirit to deceptions

If this is focusing because of the poetic logic

I only love you physical so you can put it mentally behind you
Next page