The NY Literary Magazine

A Distinguished Selection of the Finest Modern Literature

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Deep Poems

Ode to My Body by Natalie Swain

You carry me.
So heavy is my
Soul,
A burden on the
Soles of your feet.

Your curves
Flow like a
River to the
Sea of
Becoming.

How I have abused your
Unassuming welcome –
Ravished receptacle for my
Loss of
Faith.

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The Balanced Book by Marie Hanna Curran

In an over-produced world
Of populous populations,
Supply is often halted beyond the womb

And should a child make it
To the densely packed production line,
There are no lifetime guarantees
No best before, or after birthday dates

Supply outcries demand.

But demand increases should you move
Within the factory floor,
Be placed onto the packaged line
“First World”
Or stamped and wrapped:
“For Family Wealth”

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Here We Remain by Winslow Des Totes

We may breathe the same air
but not the same lungs
hold the same blood
but speak different tongues

we cry the same tears
and wash the same pains
but we are not one
and yet here we remain.

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Figments by Druppels

Figments
in a boiling sea.
Moments
of a coiling me.

Roots finding no soil
A mind lingers in turmoil
An endless journey
Unable to flee

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The Ghost Inside by Akshat Thakur

I’m not a doctor, I’m not your cure,
I’m not the medicine that you long for;
I’m not a lifeline, I’m not the boat,
I’m just the salt that’ll keep you afloat.

I stare at the noise, drawn to the void,
Conversations that I’ll craftily avoid;
I’ll walk off the earth, dying since my birth,
Keep running till my bones hit the dirt.

Under the shower, let the hotness devour,
And the water sink into my eyes like a rotten flower;
I’ve got the deadest face, I’m just a waste of space,
I’ll let my heart run free as my soul loses grace.

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Sands of Time by Tate Morgan

We meet many men of sorrow
oh much deeper than our own pain
Wisdom and strength they all borrow
washed by waters of life’s own rain

Each of us ponders life’s reason
looking deep within our own soul
We follow each path and season
that vainly we seek to control

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No Longer by Theo

He could no longer remember us.
The disease locking away his memories.
He no longer remembers the stories he once told me.
The stories that made me smile.
The stories we all remember, all of us but him.

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Falling Down a Tunnel by Camille Sharon

Falling Down a Tunnel

I’m falling down a tunnel
it’s slippery like a slide
it’s way too dark in here
there’s no light from outside.

There’s no way to get out
there’s no way to get back
the walls are wet and cold
I’m frightened of the black.

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