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Dark Jewel Oct 2014
In the mist of all,
The pen is thy sword.
To guide words to a page.

Scribbling words,
Phrases forming.
Metaphorically speaking.
Like an actor with much,
Or too much.
Enthusiasm.

A heart is guided,
By its words.
The mind forms the phrases,
Pasting it to the page.

In the mind,
Images are forming.
Figuratively dancing,
In the eyes of the reader.

Many forms used,
Many styles created.
Forming phrases of wisdom.

The creator,
The master of this piece of art.
Forms Metaphors, Similies.
To say something.

A las!
Thy master piece is created.
Words pasted to the page.

This piece of art,
Was created by the writer.
Who is not afraid to share,
Their life story.
A writer by heart.
A Shakespeare in the making.

Creating poems of art,
Sharing their integrity.

They post their poems,
Unafraid to show their life.
That they live,
Everyday.
TrAceY Sep 2014
the challenge is to be surefooted
steps soft and light weaving
through the house as it resists
my every move
to stop and kiss innocent cheeks
make sure the bodies are still warm
prepare the same rituals
of hot coffee and cold juice
while the dogs wait patiently
for fresh air, water
they exist only for my care
and hurried touch
this day like any other
you are here as well
asleep in the back room
i know this as certain as i know
the path i need to take
towards my favorite chair
also waiting for me
to take pen to paper
in the near light
in the almost day
the challenge is to create a life story
strangers want to read
Anne B Jun 2014
Sometimes, I think
I could have been that girl
At first I thought I could have been the popular, pretty, pretentious
…                                                    ­        
I could be the centre
I walk past you and you could envy me;
I’m the one on the corner – the grey mouse

But as a grey mouse,
I think my perspectives have changed
I think I can see the faint contours of truth
Now

I was always an unusual girl
Given the circumstances;
I should have broken down
Long, long ago
If I had believed in fate -
My aspiration date was due
long, long ago

And I
could have been

I could have been the girl who stormed out of the classroom, crying
I could have been the girl aching every day; every minute
But my sickness had holidays
I could have been the girl crying herself to sleep, every night
I could have been the girl making red art on her arms
I could have been the thin girl
I could have been the girl crunched over the toilet-seat

I could be the saddest face you have ever seen
But hope is my great illusion and my illusions
are sometimes better than life

So, I created another world for myself
to live in
So, I sold my soul for this
So, I gave up everything
But I lost nothing

When the sun sets
I’m still here

When the sun goes up,
I’m still here

An apple is still an apple,
even if it’s
eaten up;
Even if it’s rotten

A human is still a human being
with one less limb
But now the human is less of a human
You see,
there’s a scale
you can’t see
Step on the scale
Step off

I’m still me –
Even now
One less dream
One more forged smile

Sometimes, I think I could have been so much more
I think I could have been whole
Maybe
If I was allowed to break down and cry
If I was allowed
to be
honest

To be that girl, a little while
Maybe I too -
Could be saved
?

**25.06.14
Oh well.

— The End —