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Building bridges just to watch them burn . . .

burning match

We’re united in our division.
Someone has to be right,
so someone must be wrong.
Everything becomes a battle
too many are willing to fight.

We try to fill the gaps between us,
hoping one day we will learn,
but every time we build a bridge,
there’s always someone, somewhere,
who simply wants to watch it burn.

Yes, we say we are united
as we draw lines upon the sand.
We gather words as weapons,
forging them from facts we think we know,
then choose a side and firmly make our stand.

Self proclaimed, self -righteous warriors
charge forth with vitriolic indignation,
under the guise of what they believe is right,
without regard for who gets hurt,
their final victim will be our nation.

Us against them and them against us.
Arsenals filled with rhetoric, stats, and lies.
Angry accusations violently explode,
blinding everyone with shrapnel
till they’ve lost sight of why they fight.

It isn’t just about the politics,
It’s about how we think and what we speak.
It’s about how we parent and how we feel,
how we show our faith, and how we choose to live.
All this right and wrong only makes us weak.

What will be left, if it ever ends?

Why do we keep trying to build bridges,
if we’re just going to watch them burn?

Bleeding Ink

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Artwork by Loui Jover

I’m bleeding ink
with each beat
of my heart.
With every pulse
the words flow faster
than my fingers can
can guide them
to a page.
These words,
unlike so many others,
are mine,
mine alone.
I fear they will be
skewed,
twisted,
misused,
misunderstood.
Wasted on eyes
only looking
between the lines
for something
conveyed
without my intent.
Used to wage war
without my consent.
These words I spill,
I fear
will not be
what you hear.
You’re listening
for something
I’m not trying
to say.
I’m bleeding ink.
It pours out wounds
from words
you shot
like arrows
without aim.
Spoken daggers
flung in the dark
without regard
or reason.
Misplaced outrage
felling the innocent,
breaking their hearts.
I’m bleeding ink
upon pages
no one can see.
I’m bleeding ink,
and it’s killing me.

CRC

Sweet Dreams

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Tonight . . .

Wrap yourself in
moonbeams,
softly close your eyes,
listen to the stars,
they’re singing
whispered lullabies.
Let the night
embrace you,
let it hold you near,
and sleep, sleep –
sleep in peace,
the morn is drawing near.
Waltz through twinkling stardust,
dance amongst your dreams,
catch a shooting star
while you dream a little dream.

CRC

Dream & Dare – Ronovan Writes Haiku Challenge

 

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Dare I not, to dream
lest I see your face once more
as it turns away

* * *

I dreamt of flowers
of placing them on your grave
knowing they would wilt

Weekly Haiku Poetry Prompt Challenge

Ronovan Writes

Letting go – again – to start anew . . . 2016

Crystal R. Cook

Letting go

of fear,

of doubt –

(again)

of what if,

what was,

and what is yet to be.

Letting go of all the

things

I’ve let grab hold of me.

(again)

Casting off the shackles

I’ve somehow bound myself within,

shedding and discarding

them like forgiven sin.

Once more, again

the slate is cleansed

with freshly fallen tears,

of mourning,

rejoicing,

of hellos

and of goodbyes,

of memories and moments

falling from my eyes.

(again)

And lo, a new year dawns

when the last tear

is shed and wiped away,

another new beginning

ushers in a brand new day.

(again)

Crystal R. Cook

In the Empty Spaces

Alone

Never have I ever

really,

completely,

or even almost so

fit in.

I’ve always been best

at filling empty spaces

people have left blank,

hollow corners

in the dark part

of any room.

I like to linger

in the peripheral places

just out of sight.

By choice,

unnoticed.

Invisibility,

double-edged sword,

a price to pay

for my protection

because sometimes, 

only sometimes,

I simply want

someone to see me.

I cherish the ones

who caught a glimpse

of the girl in the corner

and didn’t turn away.

Crystal R. Cook

Calling to my words

15534501982_a64b4863c0_mLack of inspiration
words form
with hesitation
just beneath
the surface
longing
to spill
upon a page

Fighting
out of hiding
surely they will
come

Another thought
another try
another moment
passing by

Set them free
or let them be
I hear their silent
plea, it echos
too from me

I’ve no choice
they are my voice
It’s not my will
that keeps them
silently within
hidden from
my pen

I long
to feel them
flow
coursing through
my veins
releasing all
my pain
as they soak
into the page
as blackened
drops of rain

Long have they
been quelled
locked away
without a key
just out of reach

Slowly they will come
slowly you will see
soon the words
will soar
and again
I will be
me

Crystal R. Cook