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1 " Each timewe bow to thefeet of anythingwe find riveting,the mind rises tobe surprised withnew crowningdiamonds ofcreativity. "
― Curtis Tyrone Jones
2 " On the great canvas of timeWe all create our own masterpiece.Choreographing our steps across minutes and hoursDancing over the daysPainting pictures over months andWriting our stories on the years.Singing our songs that echo across eons.We are all a thread in the talent tapestry.A snapshot in the cosmic, collective collage. "
― Michele Jennae
3 " This poem is very longSo long, in fact, that your attention spanMay be stretched to its very limitsBut that’s okayIt’s what’s so special about poetrySee, poetry takes timeWe live in a timeCall it our culture or societyIt doesn’t matter to me cause neither one rhymesA time where most people don’t want to listenOur throats wait like matchsticks waiting to catch fireWaiting until we can speakNo patience to listenBut this poem is longIt’s so long, in fact, that during the time of this poemYou could’ve done any number of other wonderful thingsYou could’ve called your fatherCall your fatherYou could be writing a postcard right nowWrite a postcardWhen was the last time you wrote a postcard?You could be outsideYou’re probably not too far away from a sunrise or a sunsetWatch the sun riseMaybe you could’ve written your own poemA better poemYou could have played a tune or sung a songYou could have met your neighborAnd memorized their nameMemorize the name of your neighborYou could’ve drawn a picture(Or, at least, colored one in)You could’ve started a bookOr finished a prayerYou could’ve talked to GodPrayWhen was the last time you prayed?Really prayed?This is a long poemSo long, in fact, that you’ve already spent a minute with itWhen was the last time you hugged a friend for a minute?Or told them that you love them?Tell your friends you love them…no, I mean it, tell themSay, I love youSay, you make life worth livingBecause that, is what friends doOf all of the wonderful things that you could’ve doneDuring this very, very long poemYou could have connectedMaybe you are connectingMaybe we’re connectingSee, I believe that the only things that really matterIn the grand scheme of life are God and peopleAnd if people are made in the image of GodThen when you spend your time with peopleIt’s never wastedAnd in this very long poemI’m trying to let a poem do what a poem does:Make things simplerWe don’t need poems to make things more complicatedWe have each other for thatWe need poems to remind ourselves of the things that really matterTo take timeA long timeTo be alive for the sake of someone else for a single momentOr for many momentsCause we need each otherTo hold the hands of a broken personAll you have to do is meet a personShake their handLook in their eyesThey are youWe are all broken togetherBut these shattered pieces of our existence don’t have to be a messWe just have to care enough to hold our tongues sometimesTo sit and listen to a very long poemA story of a lifeThe joy of a friend and the grief of friendTo hold and be heldAnd be quietSo, prayWrite a postcardCall your parents and forgive them and then thank themTurn off the TVCreate art as best as you canShare as much as possible, especially moneyTell someone about a very long poem you once heardAnd how afterward it brought you to them "
― Colleen Hoover , This Girl (Slammed, #3)
4 " Sour MilkYou can't make itturn sweetagain. Onceit was an innocent colorlike the flowers of wild strawberries,and its texture was simplewould pass through a clean cheesecloth,its taste was fresh.And nowwith nothing more guilty that the passage of timeto chide it with,the same substancehas turned sour and lumpy.The sour milkmakes interesting & delicious doughs,can be carried to a further state of bacterial actionto create new foods,can in its own rightbe considered complicated and more interesting in textureto one who studies it closely,like a map of the world.Butto most of us:it is spoiled.Sour.We throw it out,down the drain-not in the backyard-careful not to spill anybecause the smell is strong.A good cook would be shocked with the waste.But we do not live in a world of good cooks.I am the milk.Time passes.You cannot make it turn sweetagain.I sit guiltily on the refrigerator shelftrembling with hope for a cookwho dreams of waffles,biscuits, dumplingsand other delicious breadsfearing the modern housewifewho will lift me off the shelf and with one deft twistof a wrist...you know the rest.You are the milk.When it is your turnremember,there is nothing more than the passage of timewe can chide you with. "
5 " We had scar-tissueromance and ours wasa relationship of sayinggoodbye—every timewe fought, every timewe fucked, and every timewe called it quits, beforepicking up our knivesagain "
― Phil Volatile , Crushed Black Velvet