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My heart is but a Hut
Of love amid a desolate Moor
Of loneliness. One whose thatches
Of love, the finest of all that doth glow.

My heart is but a Hut
Of memories amid a desolate Moor
Of nostaligia. One whose thatches
Of love now lost her heavenly glow.

My heart is but a Hut
Of wild longing amid a desolate Moor
Of doldrums. One whose thatches
Of love marred with coldness of snow.

For there came a strange day
When winds of hate in robes of sorrow
Assailed her, buffeted her thatches away
Thus now but a roofless heart evermore.

My heart is but a Hut
Of despair amid a desolate Moor
Of memorabilia. A heart now but a Hut
Plumed with golden moments evermore.
 Jul 2018
Dark n Beautiful
I want to write a poem that politically minded would read more:
My political allegiance: my contribution to the art:
those Snakes in the grass would adhere too: without obligation;

The hidden agenda of the world leaders
Would suddenly, take the Sephora masks off
just in time to reveal what we thought of them all along;
Those voices of the babbling brooks: some louder than the other:

the poem must expose secret of the ocean mystery /myth
Without apprehending the beauty
of the dolphins and the whales legal rights;
While its uninvited guests are caught up in their lies
we the people must say to them
"you all can’t plead the fifth" because


They are still a lot of trivia question for us to answer.
And it’s still difficult task for some of us to find
where's waldo amongst the leaders:
 Jul 2018
Valsa George
on a sea strand,
have you watched empty shells
mercilessly tossed from sea to shore
and from shore to sea?
      
often I shrink and reduce to such a shell,
with jagged and broken edges
colorless and empty

among many a debris cast on the shore,
i lie half buried under the sand
waiting for some mighty wave
to wash me away
all the way to the sea

how tedious is my voyage
shuttling from him to her
and from her to him
unable to openly confess
who weighs more
on the balance of preference

through how many alleys and by ways
I have wandered, questioning my identity!
am I a puffer fish, being toxic
the fisher men have discarded?
a jarring note in a discordant symphony?
I wonder....! I often ask myself!

destined to grow
in mercurial climes,
planted in arid shallow soil
with the tap root trimmed,
branches pruned,
growth denied,
I, a stunted bonsai!

still I dream to be a towering tree,
that in profusion gives fruits and shade!
a ****** aspiring to be a Goliath
a hollow reed,
longing at once to be the singer and the song!
When a divorce occurs, the threat of losing the home and losing the purpose of life confronts a child, especially in the younger age. Children of divorced parents experience a real trauma and they begin to doubt about their own identity!
 Jul 2018
Lyn-Purcell
Tears and water are similar
but have dissimilar
tastes.
Food for thought...
 Jul 2018
Pure Evil
The end has come for me today

so I must say good-bye

It may be hard to understand

but I trust that you will try



My heart's so filled with emptiness

controlled by misery

I've finally seen that what I am

was never meant to be



The tears I've cried so recently

are for pain nobody knows

I just can't take it anymore

it's time for me to go



Is life suppose to be this way

with thoughts of suicide

Or has my life become a loss

with no one to confide



Does anybody understand

the pain that fills my heart

Or understand that all of this

is tearing me apart



Concealment isn't optional

for no one seems to care

I hide within my shattered thoughts

while drowning in despair



My heart has grown so heavy

and still I don't know why

The end has come for me today

now I must say good-bye
 Jul 2018
Seán Mac Falls
.
Novice, heed my diction—
The learned, the schooled, the politic,
Are but fools with conviction.
.
 Jun 2018
Sarah Maher
My husband and I will be married a year on October 7th. I met him when I was only 19 years old. We are both 27 years old now. We have a 4 year old son, who is about to be 5 on the 31st of July. Whoever came up with the phrase, "The first year of marriage is the toughest," was no dummy. These past 9 months have been by far the roughest I could imagine. So people, believe me when I say this... MARRIAGE IS NO FAIRY TALE!!! We didn't even get to experience the "honeymoon" phase. Literally, just in the first 3 months of marriage, we had our car die on us TWICE, our well pump went out, and we had to buy a new car BECAUSE our car died. Then, 6 months after replacing our well pump, it quit on us again! We managed to get things fixed, and then I spider cracked my phone screen which cost $200 to replace. Life shows us no mercy.
Send Help.
 Jun 2018
Skaidrum
(harvested from my heart)

12:24 a.m. --old friend
Well, if it isn't the moon herself
"Hello Icarus,"
You came home
"Black holes aren't homes."
Yet you were raised here, my dear
"How could I forget?"

1:05 a.m. --past lover
And how is she now?
"Who?"
That wolf girl you adored
"Smoking on other stars."
Stars?
"Planets as well,"
Does she fancy other moons?
"She fancies all celestial things."
Surely that is not the case-
"Her songs ate silence long ago."
What?
"Her wolfsong for me is but
loose ashes and
an epitaph now."

2:42 a.m. --current lover
Was the revolution delicious?
"Like a glass of unborn names,"
That many?
"The light spared no one."
No one at all?
"All perished under his gaze."
But you fell in love with him, didn't you?
"Yes."
Why?
"Simple;
I am a chaser of the light."

3:17 a.m. --state of mind
Why are you here?
"I spent all my faith up."
And you think you'll find more here?
"No."
Then why-
"The gates summoned me."
That is suicide, my dear
"I imagine it more like--
salvation in disguise."

4:08 a.m. ---medicine
Too many ghosts are glued to your spine
"I can't shake them."
You can shed them into poems
"They'll just turn into puppets."
But you will be their puppet master
"You expect me to play god?"
I expect you to rule over this wreckage,
like you used to


5:32 a.m. --homeward bound
Have you missed me over the years?
"Only in blinks."
Why's that I wonder?
"The moon sleepwalks across the sky."
So, are you going back now?
"Depends,"
On?
"If the night has eaten my name,
and craves these ruins again."
ft. the story behind
why the moon leaves our sky sometimes

© Copywrite Skaidrum
 Jun 2018
DaSH the Hopeful
Cautionary visions visit in viciously vivid fashion
I'm dead and my head is missing
Everyone is laughing
        
                     But me

And the sky is sorta dreary but I don't know
With no eyes you don't see too clearly

      Sew me a new one on,
Attached at the neck
Plastic instead of brittle skin and maybe then
     I can exist in some form above the normally gray and grim

    I pray to a faceless facade
            I made a "God" in my head
An eternal alternative to turn to and blame
   And claim to strangers that he works in mysterious ways
        My lips are chafed from singing unheard praises
  
        I'm tasteless and it has me thinking that maybe my mouth was only a product of my imagination
     Food for thought I chew and stop
           Its too **** hot for contemplation


      Still, I used to think my hands belonged to someone else
     Right up until I used them both to **** myself
 Jun 2018
Nylee
a half line
incomplete stanza
an unrhymed sentence
well defined trauma

the poet's thought
uncaptured on the paper
many drafts
and crushed papers
around the study

there is a lot
same thoughts
and some sought
no process
little sense
world of words
and many buds

more time needed
to bloom
and here comes
the start of coming doom.
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