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A string of summer days strung like pearls of valor
it is hard to be sad when the sun appears like a coin  
dazzling us inside a bright blue sky that we adore.

Decorative fragrant white flowers, lily of the valley
sweetly scented bell shaped beauties that grow
in the meadows, what fragrant Grace we tally !  

Nothing gold can stay or so they say, but whos to say  
that if you string up one happy moment ...
those pearls of valor your clutch to your heart,
may take your breath away, and never go away.

A string of summer days filled with laughter and such joy,  
close your eyes and smell the flowers, sweetly as they coy.
 May 24 Zeno
Crow
Paginae
 May 24 Zeno
Crow
a poet's heart
is a thing of ink

pigmented with equal parts
hubris and anxiety
rage and hope
passion
and tears

narcissists filled with self loathing

composed of shouts inarticulate
and whispers of intricate craft

our thoughts and words rushing
through us
barely legible

defining our days
with explosions of fathomless obscurity
or flashes of visceral clarity

our nights consumed
in communion with paradise
while teasing secrets from the abyss

couplets and quatrains
providing us the space
to live
or to die

running breathless in free verse
we grasp at perpetuity
yet find ourselves doomed
to ephemeron

like the sky
we are rewritten each day

yet as the sky remains the sky
so do we remain
what we are

pages
in a book we can barely read

remaking and trimming

editing ourselves

to fit within the margins
of our paper souls
Every time i think I’ve hit the bottom there is another hole in the floor. Searching for my way out but i cant find the door.
Unstable and unsteady again and again i fall, i am worried when its over there will be nothing left at all.
Crumbling all around me so much that needs repair. Do i keep on  holding it together not giving into despair.
I long for peace like a desert longs for rain, but here i am falling through chaos and pain.
This grief so heavy rising is a chore. Half afraid of /half longing for the day i wont rise anymore.
Just the honest truth my insides feel like a battle torn waste, but on the outside i pull it all back put a smile on my face.
Like planting roses for a structure that has been condemned. Trying to protect something precious but not equipped to defend.
Living in this pattern of hold it together, cry out, crawl, and fall. Nothing that i do seems to matter at all.
Left wondering why i keep fighting when it seems to all end in a mess. I don’t want perfect i just don’t want Aching emptiness.
they say when life is over to heaven we will fly
from our life on earth we must say goodbye
to heaven up above a million miles away
where we can rest in peace where the angels stay

to a land of love safe for evermore
side by side together with angels we will soar
waiting for our loved ones when they are angels to
united once again in the sky so blue

safe forever more we will always be
united with our friends and our family
in heaven up above a million miles away
at peace for ever more where the angels stay
 May 23 Zeno
collin
parallel
 May 23 Zeno
collin
i know she’s more than capable
she left me at the table
the lines we drew won’t intersect
it’s probably best we never met
 May 23 Zeno
Chandy
Clarity
Truth of the mind
Does it foster love?
Or does it foster chaos?
Lateral truth
Lateral violence
How many have died
Fighting for lies?
 May 23 Zeno
Maryann I
I cradle aches
like heirlooms—
not mine,
but remembered

deep in the joints of memory,
where silence once slept
in rooms with hollow lullabies.

I press cool cloths
to fevered skin
with hands that once reached
into shadow
and came back empty.

Now they are full—
of bandages,
of borrowed grace,
of tenderness sewn like stars
into every rough seam.

I stir soup
as if it were a spell,
watching steam rise
like ghosts of things
I used to need:

a steady voice,
a soft no,
arms that didn’t shake.

To care
is to time-travel—

to give the child inside me
what she never received
by giving it
to someone else.

Each thank you
is a stitch
in the tear I carry.


Each healed wound
in another
is a whisper to mine:
you’re not forgotten.
“You like taking care of people because it heals the part of you that needed someone to take care of you.”
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