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Poems about hope
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When I was a child, my home was not rich.
My clothes second hand and several with stitch.
My mothers poor mind was soon to unhitch,
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I look outside to see that, / Its raining on a tree / I climb outside / And look around / While rain is pouring on me / / I love the rain
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/ The years no doubt, my friend, have changed me less / Than those moments with you which nurtured my mind; / And so right now I feel I must confess / To unformulated thoughts now refined, / Distinguished and concentrated on you. / / You f
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What happened to you, my darling? / That I didn't see / To replace your laughter / With bitter tears / And pull you away from me / I saw
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My entirety, / Hidden within this life's mask, / Never fully seen, / Until the day my soul flies, / Then will I truly exist.
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Is it God, / Or Buddha, / Or Mohammed, / Or Muhammed, / Or Jesus, / Or Baal, / Or Yahweh, / Or Gaia, / Or Being, / Or Whatever, / Does it m
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September was a somber month, / It lingered in the past. / Still hung the constant memory, / like a haunting ever last. / We braved the try
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Saying good bye, / to old habits past. / It's time to grow, / It's time to change. / / When that time comes, / Each person knows. / It's d
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My complacency tears away my progress. / Layer by layer I see it all, / Falling and disappearing from existence. / / Sine-like my life wo
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Glory fills my soul, / God's mercy and forgiveness, / The flame for my coal. / / As if floating up, / High upon the ethereal palm, / I fee
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Torn between two loves, / yearnig for both equally. / Both give me such pleasure. / Neither judge me, / ignore me, / insult me. / One sooth
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Life is such an illusionary thing. / I often wonder about the things I dream. / Are they deep hidden secrets, / or things I have seen? / Wi
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The gastric gents in the old folk’s home / Cope with life to a tolerable degree / And the widows with sagging mouths of foam / Always looking out, but they never see / The end of the long and much winding road. / They’ve never been closer to it
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I walked to the edge again / To find my footprints in the sand / To a place I had once been / A place I could barely stand / I reached for
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Will you be the one
I write poetry for?
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English professors want lyrical ballads.
Zines want bombastic bitching.
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This is Leanne's little world, / Where the roses grow, / The sun always shines, / And up the thatched roof climbs, / Ivy and wysteria. / Bu
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It ends at the beginning / with promise mixed with pain, / with elation congealed with dispair. / Loss of dreams, agony to the core. / / Faceless features, formless life, / buds, lifeless buds of unformed petals, / Decaying, shedding, brea
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Mummy! Mummy! the sweetest words, / The present given on Christmas morning. / Your eyes sparkling, fixed on your toys, / Mine fixed on you, your delight my gift. / Mummy! Mummy! as you ride your new trike, / Daddy! Daddy! as he speeds you along.
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Dreaming, Hoping, Loving you... / It all evaporates, like a drop of water in Hades... / Cause GRAVITY... / Is working against me / It shrea
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Yes, that’s where it hurts / And no, it cannot be kissed better. / Sometimes pain / needs to remain / to keep one from being fettered. / / /
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Possessed by the Muse Divine
Ignoring housework, ignoring time
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My step of craft / and matter, / The steady tide / of lecture. / / Mast of sense / and skin, / The drift days / of binge. / / My gather o
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and your cherry blossom bare bottom,
sneaking to the kitchen
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Life is experience, hush or hue
The beauty of time you choose free
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Memories are all that's real, / Reality is forced to trade / and ever more from mind to fade, / leaving all there is to see / and touch within a memory / the flight of hand and heel. / All we gather soon is gone, / all w
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Oh, hey, it’s the snippy-snappies / Oh so hip and oh so happy / Quips so flip fly slipping lips / Would that I’d press fingertips / to las
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