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I think it quite strange living here walled by this house
when I was wilder than now I lived in nature
stalking birds and pollen laden things
always my toes in sands or hot footed in summer.
I was in love with the sky, no matter the weather
in storms I hid beneath branching cedars
sleeping on mossy pillows, in the woods of my backyard.
I never gave much thought to houses then, I only went there
to sleep or eat and waited to leave again
waited for an inkling of sun to warm the cold grass
spent days climbing trees, red plums and cherries
I imagined that's how life would always be,
living outdoors under the sun or clouds
wet with rain, always picking flowers.
I wander through
the days now
waiting
I am becoming
purpose
All of the other things
are slowly
dropping away
Surreal machinations
move things closer
Inching day by day
In the meantime
Life speeds by
without me
Blinding lights
speeding traffic
and all I can do
is wait
wait
Until I can wait no more
There is something so distinctly vulnerable
About the naked trees in a winter forest
Hugging tight as one againest the frosty mornings
Whilst the christmas robins sing out their chorus

Scars exposed, out in the open
Pain not hidden but highlighted
Through the beautiful intertwining of branches
Their freedom no longer blighted
Be soft. Do not let the world make you hard. Do not let pain make you hate. Do not let the bitterness steal your sweetness. Take pride that even though the rest of the world may disagree, you still believe it to be a beautiful place.
Kurt Vonnegut, Jr.
I have left the imprint
of my body

on your wild grasses
under your wild hedges

I have slept the sweet
sleep of an embering fire

in your arms
and known

your lips on mine
as a sweetness of the

dancing rain on leaves
your soulhands have

blended me together
like the scent of meadowflowers

sweetening the air
and I have been embraced and

enearthed
in the ground of your sweet being

been received by and have received
your sweet soul Love

you have made of me
a meuse

an imprint in wild grasses
under wild hedges

in your generous and generating
heart


c. 2017 Roberta Compton Rainwater
Parched lips
Breath of gin
Sipping to an aching heart
Past mistakes regrets can't take back
If only...
Words could of said
But would it make any difference
From this wasted breath
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