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avery-ballotta
avery-ballotta
American I am a composer and musician who loves poetry as well.
The smiling faces are getting me through this life, full of sleepless nights.
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May 8, 2013
May 8, 2013 at 12:25 AM UTC
Haiku, The First
The time has come, Night must fall. A softened chill, Sweeps over all. The stars come out, And start to glisten. Silence rings, For those who listen. The Flower sits calmly, Closing to rest. Just as the Moon, Reveals its crest. An uncanny connection, The feeling of Love. ‘tween the Flower below, And the Moon up above. With beams of light, The Moon does proclaim. It’s love for this being, Fragile and tame. But no matter how thin,  The petals may seem. To this sweet Flower,  ‘Tis but a dream. I can tell you however, though the Sun offers kisses. It is the Moon, dear friends, The Flower truly misses.
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Sep 1, 2012
Sep 1, 2012 at 2:43 AM UTC
Like the Flower misses the Moon
In the park sits the Man with his box in his hand The Woman draped gracefully next to him Frail they may be his fingers sing three Of the songs from within his heart. The Woman wriggles and dances and calls out with glee To the passers she says "Have you heard such a thing?" The Man hears her sighs with a gleam in his eyes He plays his three songs for She.
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Aug 24, 2012
Aug 24, 2012 at 10:35 PM UTC
On A Summer Afternoon
Nothing. Blank. Unwritten. For now. All that is seen is unreal. Or perhaps unrealized. Shadows in the forefront of my forged habitat do not reflect the foreshadowing of my future. Being so heavy on my heart, like an elevator car hanging wildly from my bruised shoulders. Home. The serene canvas that cradles the impetus of all my sudden impulses of comfort. Now. Trusted by the heart to hold itself, the frigid sound in the air surrounding, grips tighter than imagined. Unable to catch a breath, but unable to fall out of reach. Pushing up with hands, so much my own, they are hardly recognizable. The world trembles while I stand. On my knees, and as always, on my toes. Balancing on the cracks in the Pavement as if I was but a child. Alas. For now, a child but I am. Unwritten, a man. Blank, a new canvas to count time. Nothing, will stop me. -A.B.
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Jul 27, 2012
Jul 27, 2012 at 2:11 PM UTC
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