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An ocean in a raindrop,

A universe in a grain of sand,

Beautiful treasures held in every hand.

A lifetime in a moment,

A philosophy in a word,

Bountiful secrets contained in silence heard.

A bloodline in a seed,

An education in a book,

Everything lost in an opportunity we never took.

An ideology in an image,

A brand in a name,

Civilizations lost in an imperialist game.

An identity in a number,

A legend in a sentence,

The grandest gifts cost less than ten cents.

A breakthrough in a thought,

A symphony in a sound,

Millions of voices oppressed by a golden crown.

A worth in a figure,

A theory in a maxim,

Societies to ash in the fission of two atoms.

An empire in a king,

A revolution in a peasant,

Enlightenment attained in the struggle of one second.

Filed under poetry original spirituality

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I don’t want to forget, so I’m writing it down


With the opaque clarity of hindsight

Shining like a blinding spotlight

On everything I never did right,

Forcing my head into frenzied flight


I dissect the broken pieces,

Analyze them with hopes of discerning

Calls for changes I never heeded.

How naive were we to make promises

That we knew were impossible to keep?


The truth is that all good things must end;

Time unfolds according to no one’s plans. 

Our duel solipsism envisioned two people in our world,

But it turned out to be a complicated web waiting to unfold.


On a lonesome winter evening

Lost in youthful dreaming

I stare at an old, dusty photograph

That embodies love’s inscribed epitaph:


The grey surrounding our feet

Matched the shade of my sleeves,

The tranquil blue in your eyes

Reflected unadulterated skies –

My arm carefully placed around your waist;

The shimmering smile that colored your face.

She resembled you in the wedding gown, glowing,

As pure white shielded your shoulders, flowing,

Beneath the revered Irish saints –

Miracles and prophecies depicted in vivid stains.


Days and moments that we clasped so dear,

Embedded in memories; mirages in mirrors.

Filed under poem poetry creativity original love reflection

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It’s hard to remain


When I can’t see the light that once


From the room in which you were


It’s hard to have that much needed


When I don’t have your ears to sort through

what happened.

Remember when I left you a rose and

you sketched it?

Sometimes I close my eyes and pretend that

you’ve kept it.

Remember when we were four people in one apartment,

sipping Belgian beers and

slipping under golden veneers?

Remember when we read more

maps that books

and train tracks took us to destinations

where our hearts

swayed and shook?

Remember when you drove over 500 miles

and I spun you around while

sporting the biggest smile?

Remember when you spent that string

of nights awake,

Strung out on caffeine and chemistry while we

begged you to

take a break?

Remember when you welcomed us into

your home,

Then we wandered around Cleveland to do

what we do best –


Filed under poetry creativity original poem friendship

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Dark & Deep

Where have you gone to, Robert Frost?

        Without your icy words I’m lost.

When I explore lovely woods sans you – 

            Puzzled, I muddle my way through.


Of running rivers and open fields;

            Of broken branches and flowers peeled.

A tempted bride, a darting deer;

            A thawing heart, visions crisp and clear.

Of lonely moons and speckled skies;

            Of autumn leaves and the darkest prize.


Downtrodden trails with weary feet;

            A secret place where we can meet.

Preying birds with sturdy wings;

            Glaring eyes with a pen that sings.

If you return to reveal the remaining truths

            From a chest reborn that softly soothes,

A promise to you that I swear to keep

            Will be achieved miles before I sleep.

Filed under poetry creative robert frost original

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Thanks to the prison warden for making you one with freedom. Thanks to the shackles for reminding your arms they cannot hug a tree. You write to your imaginary lover: “I wish despair for you, my love, that you may excel, for the desperate are creative. Don’t wait for me. Don’t wait for anyone. Wait for the thought; don’t wait for the thinker. Wait for the poem; don’t wait for the poet. Wait for the revolution; don’t wait for the revolutionary. The thinker may be wrong, the poet may lie, and the revolutionary may get tired. This is the despair I mean.”
"Journal of an Ordinary Grief", Mahmoud Darwish

Filed under Mahmoud Darwish poetry art happiness-when it betrays

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The Peacemaker

My father wants to be left alone.

My brother wants what he does not own.

My sister wants to flee from her home.

What I want is never completely known.

When I’m gone and nearly forgotten

Who will be there to intervene and stop them

From descending into conflict all too often?

When my sorrowful song is foregone then

Who will absorb the pain from their sobbing?

My mother refuses to put it to rest.

My sister fails to see the ways that she’s blessed.

I’ve got this sinking feeling in my chest.

Can’t take sides, caught in the crossfire—

Those who don’t survive are the ones I admire.

If she’s honest then he’s a downright liar.

Enmeshed in the discovery of me:

Lost in the woods all I see are the trees,

All I have is this weathered hope for peace.

Filed under poetry creativity family

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Your Way

To laud you with praise,

raising my cup, I ask you to join

rejoicing phrases –

abrasive words

worthy of worlds I treasure,

retreating from ghosts

throughout mazes.

Amazing talent pours,

propounding from your pores,

evaporating –

supporting my senses,

sending signals,
ignoring past tenses.

Censors erased,

eradicated from

romantic places.

Lacking inhibition,

exhibiting wisdom,

freedom of expression

caressing my heartstrings

cathartically –

acoustic chords plucked

elucidate your struggle;

ruggedly you dance,

abundant piercing glances

blanket your mistress,

distinguishing your repertoire.

Permanent scars

carry wounds

found in distant stars –

targeting emotions,

motivating feelings never

verified in times before.

Forlorn actions evade

promenades in your dreams,

increasing progress,

prognosticating contentment indeed.

Deeming dreams seamstresses

trembling with unseen,

immense promises.

Mistakes matter less when

comprehending them

chemically supersedes 

sedating them.

Therein lies the charm of you;

youth taken to learn,

garnering insights evermore true.

Filed under poetry creativity wordplay friendship

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60 Plays
With God On Our Side

the left was fighting the right,

and the right was fighting the light,

and the light was blinding the night,

and the night woke up in tears.

when my fingers went to wipe them

they became a poem, but to write them

they would have to speak tears in another language—

that would take years.

Filed under k'naan bob dylan with God on our side chimes of freedom poetry

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Every Night, Okay?

Lily’s Love

I miss sleeping in the arms of my lover, sprawled out beneath the covers in dorm rooms and sofas in small towns.

I miss the sound of clenched teeth in the night and rubbing her forehead softly, assuring her that nightmares are not always foresight.

I miss waking up only to lay there for hours, running my fingertips

     along the nape of her neck and the swell of her hips.

I miss spending whole days cooped up in our own bubble with no reason to leave; residing inside a dream.

I miss discussing our hopes and fears; how they all subsided into serenity as she inspired me to persevere. 

I miss gazing into her eyes and seeing the reflection of the man I want to be; certain that wrapped in her arms is the closest I’ll ever get to liberty.

I miss her scathing glances and the particular gleam which initiated my romantic advances.

I miss transcendent touches when her body moved with mine, cresting and crashing like waves spread out across a shoreline.

I miss moments following heart-shattering calls, becoming the pillar of strength to support her during depressive falls.

I miss how her mood would change; occasionally turning to rage, showing that passion doesn’t depart with age.

I miss bright letters expressing deep love and affection, filled with the promise of future and a healthy dedication.

I miss how simply and naturally the pieces fell into place, as if something greater blessed me with her grace.

I miss futile fights, repeating the same arguments daily then reconciling with a round of caressing reflecting our collective frailty. 

I miss the ease with which the words would come, demonstrating unequivocally she was the one I loved.

Filed under poetry creative moving on reflection i miss the zoo

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my KD rewrite

The district has left me alone

In a U Street bar at three AM

Too restless to head home.

When a sweet girl with warm whiskey breath,

And a charm that night can’t hold

Slurs, “good evening, why a face so miserable?

Are you tempted? Are you taken? Are you sold?

Leave the tip atop the table, boy, let’s go.”

Filed under kevin devine the city has left you alone poetry DC