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Maria Etre Jul 23
I wonder
if I surprised life
with the things I've done
or if it's vice versa
Rosie Mg Apr 2
Hoarse and devil-like.
He was blue.
Charming and flew;
a shooting star,
but below earth.
Below observable boundaries.
Not real; made-up.
Ocean huge,
blue, not fire.
Burnt, patched-up
by tears flowing high
away from the stars.
The sky lit up
with solitude's abyss.
It wrapped him up
with social boundaries.

Close-winged angel.
She was velvet-red.
Hopeful and greedy;
catastrophe struck,
enveloping their home,
bounding her sight.
SHE,
VELVET RED,
full of life; un-wanting of it.
Her soft heart
grows dark.
"Look" - "She wants it".
She cried; blood - pain.
A hole she dug with society's help.
Tied her down - with social boundaries.
Written in 2025.
Lee Jul 21
Don't **** the pheasant
As the cruel core can
keeping dinner all to himself

A hunter, a man, a driven idea
Has not eaten what is in the pan
With no material, a harsh life itself

A fib is spoken aloud from his lips
"I would never shoot that bird"
This bird is my friend, a part of me

Yet her wings make a blur to tasty to look at
without him saying the word
"Shoot" he shouts as I die
Somewhat derived from "Pheasant", by Sylvia Plath. Same symbolism's! © Sep '22, Lee
Limes Carma Jul 21
They argue in threads they barely read,
Just dopamine and capslocked tweets.
No questions asked, no space to try —
PEOPLE READ, NOT TO UNDERSTAND BUT TO REPLY.
© Copyright 2025 - Limes Carma
Michael Shave Jul 21
My mum used to pause her reading now and then.
Rustle the paper. Give a sigh.
Then, looking over her glasses to us kids at play,
“I don’t know what this World is coming to”
She’d say.

Of course, we never used to listen.
What child ever did or does?
Which probably explains the reason why mums still say
I don’t know what the World is coming to
Today.

I mean, Black Lives Matter, of course they do.
And Social Distancing, it ain’t much fun.
But gracious me, with all that stuff on social media, eh?
I don’t know what the World is coming to
Today.
Mitch Perito Jul 19
You try your best,
to stand out of the rest.
Little did you know it had a cost.
Learn to find your way or you'll get lost.

When they start looking up to you,
they'll keep asking you what to do.
Don't get too attached, our you'll be their answer tool.
If you fail to give a satisfactory answer, you're no more than just a fool.

But who truly is the fool?
The user, or the tool?
The giver, or the receiver?
The puppet, or the master?

It all depends on how you perceive it.
People do not realize it one bit,
realize that you're the same as them too.
But their ignorance made them unable to.

Sugarcoated intentions,
are like cursed potions.
Angel in disguise?
gamble, to meet your demise.

Whispers sweet nothings to your ears,
will make you reveal your fears.
Once you start talking to the demon.
And you enjoyed it after talking for an eon.
The next time it talks to someone,
It'll use your voice to fool everyone.

What did you do to deserve this kind of treatment?
Infact, all you wanted was to get an achievement.
Now you're bombarded with unexpected expectations.
From people you barely know, saying congratulation.

Pick your choice,
stand out, but lose your voice.
Or compress, for your skills to be overshadowed.
Pick wisely, for your reputation takes years to load.

Your choice determines your reputation.
Shine, to be used for the wrong intention,
or hide, for your skills to be shunned in one swift motion.
Pick, or do it wisely as this is real, not fiction.
Syd Jul 17
Peasants squabble,
the homeless freeze,
repeating the mantra:
Spare change, please!
Magazines for bedding
The Big Issue, Forbes Rich List...
Maybe we should eat the rich.

Billionaires in ivory towers,
snatched milk,
now turning sour.
Poundland Tories,
in desperate hours
“Five more years!” they stubbornly hiss...
Maybe we should eat the rich.

A 2p tax cut
up their sleeve,
while children starve
and pensioners freeze.
So out of touch
those pompous ******...
Maybe we should eat the rich.

If monkeys exhibited
hording behaviour,
they’d be studied
to see what makes them tick.
The thought of watching others starve
makes me sick...
Maybe we should eat the rich.

We could solve the energy crisis
in two quick flicks
render blue fat
for candle wicks.
No point in playing
Champagne socialists...
I think we should eat the rich.
A rewrite of an old poem from a couple of years ago.
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