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 Oct 2014 Sari Sups
Zyrah Samar
Writers are brave
for every time they write,
they rip their chests open,
and let the world know
what is inside their hearts.
 Oct 2014 Sari Sups
Michael Amery
Few things touch a poet more than the pure beauty of a smile newly in love,

Or the tremendous pain seen in the tear filled eyes of a heart recently broken.

I can no longer see one without recalling the other,
And in that I find my poetic doom.
 Oct 2014 Sari Sups
Adithya Gowda
With a pencil you wait
Hand on paper
To behold and make still
That point in time
Covetous mind

Each stroke a bar in the cage: eternal vacuum
Each stroke a transformation; a window built
On your graying walls ; covetous mind.

You bear the child of perception; gestating
Each glimpse a sad caress; a plea
Asking every detail to stay behind.
Each birth of salient insight; a tradesman
Haggling with the ravages of time.

It's a wonder how
Each line, each shade
Is a mirror; reflecting

Cradles and tears; and
The miracle of learning
How to ride a bike
That first love
And the first child.

That full moon in a clear sky.
That mouthful fare from a mother's hands.
Those conversations of cuckoos
Hidden from those who pry.
The love radiated from parched land
When messengers from teeming clouds are let fly.
And a touch on memory bereft;
Of a lover's hand.

A collage of senses that flows
To the captive hand
Held by you; covetous mind.
And as I sit here, contemplating
On why we draw
I realize, what I do
Is a conspiracy lead
By mine own
Covetous mind.
 Oct 2014 Sari Sups
Annie
I see seasons come and go
But I just sit there
With my heart
So cold

Nothing's changed
But the time of fall
It's a journey
After all ~

Still sensation
But the varying despair
The flower of love will
Finally repair ~

And then it rains
With the blood of pain
For these seasons
Sing your name ~
Overlooked as if too good
Too sweet causing cavities
Borrowing glances never getting them back
holding hands, loose, and even lonelier
All you wanted to do was be happy
Chances don't exist for opportunity is everything
Burnt out stump left to die
In the forest I stand alone
If I had a voice I would cry
If I felt pain I would groan
Yet I am just a tree to you
You cut me down for your view
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