Of a broken system

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A long daily journey,
As early as the sun,
Together in harmony,
Boards the awaited train,

Wait at the same spot,
Stand at the same section,
View from the same window,
But is it the same train?

The repeating routine,
Of a broken system.

Why am I still fighting to move forward?

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There is nothing good will ever come out of my mouth,
Only deep numbing frustration like compacted powder of emotion,
There is no patience and solace except the happy finger anxiety,
And the words to let out are like knives and blades coated with poison,

What is kindness when they are the ones being punished?
What is patience when the world is filled with ignorants?
What is fairness when they are the ones being abused?
What is a family when they are bringing the home down?

Yet, I can never understand the main question,
Why am I still fighting to move forward?

Until the old soul can no longer hear.

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The soul yearns for sufficient fulfillment,
From the moving vibration in the air,
Slips into the tunnel to the eardrums,
Harmony of voices and instruments,

The slow-touching yet finely stroke echoes,
Accompanied by strong distinct voices,
The notes, the pitch, persistent emotions,
Swimming and swirling filling the vast air,

The euphoric moment all wish to last,
Until the old soul can no longer hear.

If I could scream

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If I could scream,
It will be loud,
Inhaling air,
Ballooning lung,
Letting all out,
Echoing voice,
Wild vibration,
Raising vocal,
Stressing chamber,
Straining the chord,
Out of breath,
With teary eyes,
Dry hurting throat,

Screaming the word,

A sigh withdrew

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A sigh withdrew,
The eyes jaded,
The mouth sealed,
The sweats broke,
The fist closed,
The knee dropped,
The feet nailed,

Yet the one none saw,
The depleted mind,
The greyed heart,
And the dried desire,
To feel the grasp of living,
The weariness of life,
Goes beyond the spoken word,
Of tiredness.

I do not hate love

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I do not hate love,
Though it was painful,
Like a sharp small blade,
Slicing the skin,

I do not hate love,
I have forgotten,
Once given to me,
Even from the one –
reason I am here,

I do not hate love,
Even when my world,
Did broke and shattered,
After all the sweet –
lovely promises,

I do not hate love,
Even when my mind,
Fallen to sickness,
To the lower depth,
Of the known abyss,

I do not hate love,
I, do not hate, love.

Of the life I had

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As I step outside,
They keep on asking,
Did you just wake up?
You look so sleepy,
You holed up a lot,
You should go outside,
You should do this,
You should do that,

The old house they saw,
Was freshly painted,
The household they knew,
Is the opposite,
Of the life I had.

And to live forever with

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What is a treasure?
Is it in a form of diamond and gold?
Is it the crown and jewelry?
Is it the long-forgotten family heirloom?
Is it the children in the family?
Is it the home to return to?
Is it the connection between relatives?
Is it a peaceful loving community?

Whatever the treasure is,
It lies in the eyes of the beholder,
A treasure worth to die for,
And to live forever with.

Only the sick lingering bitterness.

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In a bubble trapped and suffocating,
A persistent dark spot on a canvas,
A subject of drawing unwanted eyes,
Being the distasteful joke material,

Yet none understand the situation,
The daily deep layers of the struggle,
To live and breathe in the sickening plague,
Constantly clinging to the idea,

The idea and dream of a safe place,
Without days driven to insanity,
Without the thoughts of negativity,
Without the desire of jumping off,

Wars of arguments without a winner,
The nonexistent art of common sense,
The broken and failed communication,
The ignorant and self-serving circle,

There is no kind and caring words to say,
Only the sick lingering bitterness.