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alfredo-jacques
American Single parent that loves to read and write poems.
I have heard backhanded compliments, lubricated words, empty promises. Politics. Liquid crack In every corner store. It gets weirder, our government plotriffic thriller heavy on the story line. Nations’ history, strings of violence. Ancestors. Mocking my dreams shedding tears of joy, unlikely. Within my dreams, as one, we mourn together for that day, our way of life taken.
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Jul 20, 2011
Jul 20, 2011 at 11:15 AM UTC
Echoes
The wind whispers a cold tune, A sense of loneliness fills the air. The unkindness of the world Echoes through my mind. I hear people starving, Forgive me, for I am not I am awaken from this Sally Struthers Commercial, Wanting to ride my bicycle One more time, before questions Of heaven and hell arise. Into the sun we will walk One day, past the clouds. Are we in hell searching for righteousness? Do we seek that staircase To enlightenment? Do we follow the yellow brick road To wake from this dream Called Life. Departing this world is no dream, Shadows of an unforgivable past De-illuminates your destination And St. Peter utters “ Sorry we reached our limit”
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Jul 17, 2011
Jul 17, 2011 at 2:02 PM UTC
Whispering Winds
Over excessive society, Underdeveloped minds. Grouped groups, linked Produced in modes, suffocating In their consciousness. Fear Of the self righteous, The many Determine the one. Social disorder Conjured By a thought, felt by all. I have seen chivalry beaten and left For dead, “sleepwalkers” corrupting Youths, scared to look back, a time of Deadbeat parents and lost Souls. I know more than I care to admit. This world that beckons, Euthanasia.
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Jul 17, 2011
Jul 17, 2011 at 2:00 PM UTC
Matter the Essence of Consciousness
I see under myself, In the acrylic mirror. Expressionless portrait Of sorrow and wonderment Artistic beauty of self expression. Picasso-ish, Contemplations of self Breathing out obsessions Unspoken words being heard, and Thoughts being felt. Between the lines I see A façade of Truth Contrast and color, Painting the knowledge within. Withering traditions, Confessions tell Of being strangers to ourselves.
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Jul 13, 2011
Jul 13, 2011 at 1:43 PM UTC
The Stranger in me
A thought of you Brings happiness to my soul. I close my eyes to paint you In my dreams, but I am sadden knowing, I will never hug you or Hold you. We are worlds apart and In two different times. I know you would draw me the world or write my happiness, if I asked. You live in the land Of The cross forest, a sacred land For our sacred friendship, I may never meet you But I’m forever yours.
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Jul 12, 2011
Jul 12, 2011 at 2:10 PM UTC
A Thought of You