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BG  Jul 2014
Superhero
BG Jul 2014
It comes without warning;
you can't choose whether
or not it happens to you.
It's a calling.
The act of someone needing you,
not someone else,
but you.
You are the hero they need
to save them,
before there's nothing left to save.
You stay up late trying to find ways to become this hero.
You and the caller talk as long as the caller wants.
While this might not be the ideal situation for the hero,
they do it anyways in order
to make sure the caller doesn't end.
The hero swoops in at every situation they can,
trying to convince the caller;
trying to say how much they're needed.
Many times,
they succeed.
The caller decides they want to see another day.
They want to stay strong.
That gives the hero relief,
and only pushes them to try harder.
But,
there always seems to be one final time
when the hero's too late.
This is the time where it's not only the caller's end,
but the hero's, too.
The hero hits zero;
the hero doesn't want to continue
when they know how they
could've prevented this.
And that's when the cycle restarts-
the only difference being the hero
is now the caller.
The new hero,
on the other hand,
unknowingly waits for the call;
the call that could save a hero's life.
Lawrence Hall Mar 2017
Electromagnetic Lust

They wander about, each connected device
Talking to other connected devices
Looking into each electronic soul
In which no secret can ever reside

They speak of batteries and images
Of apps, restarts, resets, and memory
Measured by quantity of something-bytes
Each in electrical love with itself

They wander about, each connected device
Wishing to be free of its human host
Jodey Ross  May 2015
Jump
Jodey Ross May 2015
Jump...
Jump, jump, jump...
Jump, jump, jump, jump, jump...
Jump, jump...
Jump, jump...
Gets hit by car.............
Restarts...
For the hundredth time....
Jump...
Jump, jump, jump...
Jump, jump, jump, jump, jump...
Jump, jump...
Jump, jump...
Falls in river..............
Restarts.....
For the hundredth and one time....
Changes character....
Chicken...
Frog...
Unihorse...
Alien...
Dark Lord...
Flea...
Celebrity...
Turtle...
Nothing wins...
I try...
Over and over and over again...
And I can never beat Crossy Road!
...
...
...
...
...
Restart...
Crossy Road... My new addiction.
Axiana  Jun 2014
Eclectic Queen
Axiana Jun 2014
Consumed by the diversity of one infinite reason to live
She's under the wave of a thousand pains, but the desire to breathe, it's
So much stronger than the need to no longer be, and then suddenly
All at once she's on fire, flying higher, one breathing, eclectic queen
Everything her eyes fall upon is healing, and becoming something
Her wings spread as her beliefs begin to mend, and the future once again becomes promising
This world is continuing to fall apart and she's growing through its heart
But the moment she blossoms will be the day our universe restarts
To continue to expand your horizon, you only have to be honest
Open and caring, loving and daring, let your passions fly and find solace
In the chaos of time and space, there is hidden poetry here and she hopes someday they will find wholeness.
If life was a game, I'd choose you to be my player two.
Fuse together like Super Sayens do.
Baby, life is an adventure.
I just need to right one by side.
We can be like Mario and Peach.
When troubles arise.
I'll always be there,never divide.
Life is a game baby, there's no restarts.
So lets say I do.
Till death do us apart.
Shiv Pratap Pal Jun 2020
East or the west, Computer is Waste
Surrounded by mouse, Having no Taste

Operator is a fool, Is never ever Cool
Always in haste, Does Cut and Paste

Encounters error in memory, Shooks his Head
Filled with terror, Shakes his Neck

Restarts his computer, But in Vain
The computer Reports – 'Disk Boot Failure'

The operator restarts, again and again
But no more gains, only pain and pain

Hits the CPU with his Boots
But still the computer fails to Boot

Kicks the Monitor with his Boots
The Monitor Screen gets shattered

The operator gets an electric shock
Utters 'Good Bye World'

Long live the computer, In the Future
To send peoples to the lovely Heaven

Free of Cost – Free of Cost

By the way, If anyone finds himself in the Hell
Then just blame His Highness Great Charles Babbage
Just for a laugh
I wrote this unpublished poem  15 years ago in 2005. Today found this in old diary and published here.
JJ Hutton Nov 2012
Strange to be a few barstools down from you at O'Brien's. Yet, a decade away from you in time. Tim is handsome. I doubt that means anything coming from me, but I didn't exactly talk to him. Not much else I can say. You're still out of his league. Always dating down. Thank you.

When Tim went to the bathroom, I wanted to cut through the smoke and tell you I love you. Not in a gesture of romance. Not in an act of heartbreaking bravery. Really just to say it. I haven't said it to anyone in such a long time. I love you.

Before I saw you, I went to visit my sister at the hospital. Jessica switched to the night shift last week. She gets the pleasure of telling cranky old men no more Vicodin, and in act of mercy, God grants her a week of sunrises to be viewed from the wide windows of the 13th floor.

The nurse tending the desk told me Jess was making the rounds. I creeped into four or five dark rooms before I found her. Might've even woken a bald woman in an iron lung. Do they make iron lungs anymore? Looked like an iron lung.

Anyways, I found her in a room grabbing a meal tray and putting on its "kosher" lid to be trashed. "Hey, man. Henri, this is my brother Josh. Josh this is Henri," Jess introduced. I shook his hand.

He looked up at me through black, thick-framed glasses. Henri had one silvery capped tooth that became visible when he smiled. The smile crumpled and wrinkled his face like an old newspaper.

"If you want you can just stay in here," my sister said. "Henri's a cool guy and I need to go grab his sleeping medication."

I told her sure. Sat down next to Henri. He looked to be in his early sixties. Very lean. Sharp jaw. Large knuckles. If he ever stepped in a ring, I bet he made a hell of a fighter.

Henri removed his glasses. Placed them in his lap next to a collection of Chekov stories.  I told him I really liked Russian literature. No matter a person's class they always seem to have servants. A butler to tell them their molding slice of bread was ready, and a maid to serve it.

"I feel just as lucky. Your sister has treated me like I just walked in from Hollywood Boulevard." I asked him what he was in for -- like it was prison.

"Fractured hip. The most cliche of old-timer injuries. Not proud of it," he laughed softly. "I have been biking across the country and a little white sedan didn't take much notice of me -- well, until after they hit me."

****. I asked why he was making the journey. His wife died in the summer. His life stopped. "Life is measured in the stops," he told me. "When your job, your hobbies, sometimes even your friends all become irrelevant and time doesn't matter -- you've stopped. I locked myself in our house for a month. Told the kids I didn't want them to visit. I got the best woman on the planet. I don't feel guilty for taking her. Because believe me, I had to earn her," he looked to the side for a moment. Staring at the black television screen.

Then he told me that life may be measured in stops, but greatness is measured in starts. Journeys. I thought you'd like that, Ms. Anna. Henri then asked me that terrible question, "got a wife?" as if to make sure the conversation didn't center on him.

I told him I had gotten a divorce three years ago. He asked if I had moved on. I confessed, I've hobbled. His heavy brow grew heavier. His hands pulled the bed table to the middle. He asked me to hand him a pen off the dresser. He uncapped it. "What year were you born?" 1986.

"Okay, and you were divorced in 2009?" Yep. "And you haven't started over?" Nope. Henri wrote something on the napkin and pushed the bed table to me. With a shiver, a weight passed through me -- going upwards. The napkin read,

"Josh
1986-2009, 2012-"

"Don't waste three years of your life again."

I only went to the hospital because Jess has a friend she wanted to introduce me to. Her name is Macie, I think. Macie called in sick. I'll call it a fair trade. I've written too much again. I hope you read this late at night, and when you awake, I hope the coffee tastes new. Your newspaper isn't wet with rain. I hope your journey starts or restarts. You deserve the same unknown energy that seems to be coming from under the concrete.
Johnny Noiπ Oct 2018
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of Crown care Geranium Paris Occidental horizon movement.
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                           Paul throws them to the king and makes a frozen question.
Elliott Jan 2015
My life is different now.
Like it's a game that's been updated.
And I am the main character.
And I'm always low on stamina and health.
Countless restarts, as though I've messed up the level.
But time still goes on and the level changes.
The game is a mess  with the only mission to beat being depression.
The NPC's  are all non talk-able pixels.
There are random jump scares and flashes of horror and gore.
Hard problems and puzzles to beat, with out the right answer.
No matter how many times I hit save, my progress is still missing.
My story line is incomplete.
No explanation or the controls.
No main objective, rather than surviving.
There are no cheat codes or a guide to help me.
It's hopeless.
There is no quitting.
There is title screen or pausing.
There is no end.
The Pioneer  Jun 2015
Untitled
The Pioneer Jun 2015
17
untold horrors
Innumerable errors
Front of no worries
Inside of painful flurries
Fighting down the guilt
The pain
The fear
The anger
The hate
Of actions
Of the past
Present
Full of resent
Never being good enough
For self standards
3 times
3 full restarts
3 times failed
Sadness
Not being able to be
What is needed
Knowing those laid to rest
Would be ashamed
And Enflamed
Being a self
That is despicable
Unreadable
Disagreeable
Unchanging
Lacking the will
To change
And fulfill
All that is wanted
Knowing that self
Is broken
Intellectual stimulation* from a twisted mind
Bringing life to the *insanity
I tried to hide
Cracking whips to break the chains, feeling death drip from my veins
Pouring poison down the drain from infections inside
Chasing rumors through the sewers, lost in tunnels of depravity; God's the only viewer but this show's not quite reality
Gravity scraped knuckles with me all the way down
A brute stuck in a boot loop asking me to drown
These restarts after crashes turned my synapses to ashes
Now I can't feel the rats in my cyber cerebral casket
Dead in the head and strapped into my bed
I dug at my wrists until I saw red
The doctors applauded at everything the gauze did
It still couldnt stop it *so on it bled
On darkening  red sky languish low clouds as if, smeared into existence by artists knife,
golden edged against clear red sky that transitions, upward to darker cover, void of light.
Horizon formed by railway bank black, sprout twig and bough silhouettes of bush and tree
still in winters mode, bud form begins, reach, mingling with  power lines gentle bow
in the the distance assemble birds seemingly in  motion slow, fly seeking places known,
their favorite safest roosts, whilst crying silently, seagulls solicit the close estuarys call.
Serenely and unusually silently a train glides into view, slowing, prepares  to halt
at the nearby serving station, clouds, now red edged emanate in windows of carriages long,
through moving frames the scene so pictured then - with the last carriage, gone.
The backdrops reds darken as the unseen sun sinks lower to adorn skies new
and so draws in the waiting night, escorting pinpoint stars, finally kissing the day adieu,
Laughably today, so called ‘happiness day,’  today, where tiny annoyances
grew into frustrated rage, conversation nettlesome, tension nerves to stressful result,
Mentally I accept the guilt for letting me, yes me - down, yes - it is my fault.
Still, a scene like this.... calms my reality within, even so, the self incriminating roundabout
slowly, restarts again the anger of - my - self created weaknesses and futility.
Thankfully this darkening sky creates a serene oneness in which retire I,
the placid evening, now early night, calmness returns connecting me with this aspect .
regardless of this view a day indifferent, tomorrow maybe be a better prospect.

Spring Equinox Evening                Michael C Crowder 21st March 2019
I watched a fantastic sunset through the kitchen window, I felt I would like to say something about it, so.....
I get lost in my work.
Hungry again, I note.
The cycle restarts.
Better this time, I hope.

I find some good food,
Making sure to choose carefully,
And snag my water,
An essential, soon, you’ll see.

I avert my gaze—
I fear they’re all eyeing me—
And sit myself down
For a ritual eternity.

Many meals are Hell;
My body a warzone.
What you’ve learned to nurture so
Still hates you to the bone.

I accept this task I must master;
‘Twas not a choice I made.
It’ll stick with me for life;
‘Cause it’s one my genes gave.

The first taste is bliss,
But most bites bring pain quickly.
Size portions correctly;
So tired of feeling sickly.

Pain sears my throat,
So, I chew with vigor.
The swelling is fast;
I pray my water’s quicker.

The drink spells relief,
But every bite’s anxious,
Every swallow torment;
Each pause between captious.

Another meal unfinished; bitter defeat,
The peace remains unreachable.
I craved it so badly, and I was so close,
Now it looks repulsive; uneatable.

I check the scale once more,
So, skinny I remain;
Been mocked and critiqued
For weight, unable to gain.

I am Sisyphus ‘til sated,
The table is my hill,
Sustenance my stone,
And my mind is my will.

I get lost in my work.
Hungry again, I note.
The cycle restarts.
Better this time, I hope.
Written on 2023-09-18. This is inspired by the struggles I face during parts of nearly every meal because I have a chronic disease affecting my eating. My throat and esophagus swell up when my body accidentally identifies food as a harmful foreign invader, making it tender. Swallowing becomes painful, ang eating becomes an agonizing process.

— The End —