Poetry Blog by Hannnah

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Hannnah on Being Human (1 day ago)

mona s on Being Human (3 days ago)

AVISHEK GHOSH on Words (Sun, 26 Jan 2020 02:59 pm)

Andy N on Recall (Sat, 11 Jan 2020 10:00 pm)


A million moments.


to a picture,

mortality hung to an aged nail

wearing those seconds in coated amour.

a relic to all those too quick to cherish...

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Being Human

Rubber scrapes the soil

orchestrating a path

with feet.

Watching tread copyright nature

with a flawed melody,

a percussion of leaves crunches beneath,

touching gales with a verse of words-

before the chorus fades.

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human naturelife

The Thought

Its dark.

perception shades a retina

eyes charcoal grey.

A blade poised to close them

and stopper a heart.

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drops of a thought

bleed, binding to thick paper,

soaked by restricted flow.

swirling in circles,

trademarking the page,

a hyperbole of constants

too damp to dry.

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Syllables paint the walls

a coherent mess

fumbling from corner to corner,

eroding my haven.

Skin scraped by sharp rhetoric’s

that bounce from surfaced stone,

hard and beating.

I want a smothering of hard plaster

to heal the wounds.

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The Light Box

Filament burns,

fingers touching static glass.

Drunk with self-depreciating guilt

as eye's tap dance

in unison to a scripted feeling.

Ink tracing those familiar lines

cliched by experience.

this time with a heavier hand...

forged through fear,

now's the time to be brave...

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#mindpoetry and mental health




The ropes pin down,

tight iron

to expression,

boundary below the scale.

An overdose of space,

left to the mercy of one’s thoughts

mind restricting quota,

left wondering when it decimates.


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#blooming #feelings #mind

Two Thousand And Eight

A book.

Those paperless pages at hands of fingertips,

turning, as ink scattered the first few,

a pen let lose intoxicated. 

Three pages fabricated history.

 a prologue to the priceless beginning.

Page four chapter one: two thousand and eight.


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It is only now I choose to remember, 

Kindled happenings, a painting, 



Brushstrokes, sixteen, 

alive and dancing on the canvas.


turned dynamic.

Colourful memories,

reflected in the candlelight.

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