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 May 2015 Belle Victoria
Alyssa
P.M.
 May 2015 Belle Victoria
Alyssa
even the moon
slumps its shoulders
in a sort of
deep despair
from your absence.





Copyright ©  2015 Alyssa Packard
All Rights Reserved
it has feelings too, you know
I'm standing in the dark
Held by chains, can't seem to go far
I'm breathing in poison from you
When will enough be enough
I'm not your slave nor will I be
You don't seem to see, what your causing
Broken mirrors surround you
Because you are afraid of you
You ripped me apart and let me fall
I was walking in gold, now I'm stuck in stone
 May 2015 Belle Victoria
Jordan
Have you ever noticed how birds seem to fly to a melody unsung?
That the eyes seem to speak a stronger language than any that we've known?
How the stars keep their shine no matter the time,
And no matter how much time passes, our souls stay young?

Maybe you've never noticed the story your face tells in between the seconds it takes for me to say, "I love you"
And maybe you've never noticed the way I look at you like there's no concept of time,
The moments you cross my mind when there's no reason or rhyme,
Yes, maybe this isn't the place or time but how much time are we really guaranteed?
No, you'll never understand how much of me you've possessed,
How little time it took for me to become obsessed,
You'll never understand how much beauty I see when I see you fast asleep,
No words to describe how much you already mean to me.
But the truth is, no matter how much time I have with you, no time will ever be enough,
Because time brings limitations,
And its endings are too abrupt,
We are bound to it, enslaved by the mere idea,
No, it doesn't matter how much time passes or how old we get,
*There will never be enough words or time for you to understand a love which has no limits.
Agnes McDuff collected strange stuff,
Or so the story goes:

There were old pots and pans,
String, rubber bands,
Boxes and boxes of clothes,
Newspapers, plates,
Books stored in crates,
And candlesticks lined up in rows.
Some mason jars,
Toy trucks and cars,
A model train with a whistle that blows,
Needles and spools,
All kinds of tools,
And shoes with holes in the toes.

There were tables and chairs,
Bookends in pairs,
A grandfather clock that was broke,
An old brass spittoon,
Some Sunday cartoons,
And a bicycle mssing a spoke.
Four or five hundred old wooden blocks,
Twenty-three pair of grey woolen socks,
A Christmas Edition bottle of Coke,
A board game missing directions,
A bat, a ball, a catcher’s mitt, two baseball card collections,
And a great big rusty tuba.  What a joke!

There was other stuff, but you’ve heard enough;
About what was stored in
The Attic of Agnes McDuff.

Part 2
Agnes’ attic was quite special
But not for the things it contained
But for how she had to get there
Please let me explain!

Agnes had a one-story house
A flight of stairs led to the attic.
When she opened up the door,
The light came on automatic.

It opened to a hallway
Where there was another door
Another light, another hall, and more stairs, which
Led back down to the first floor!

Where an elevator waited
To take her up again?
But it had just one button
And it was numbered “10”.

When she pushed it, it was crazy
The elevator turned upon its side,
Grew wheels and drove out on the street
For an amazing ride!

Across a long suspension bridge,
Then underneath a tunnel,
And then it went around and round
Like circling down a funnel!

It dropped upon a railroad track
Hooked onto the caboose
And followed to the roundhouse
Where it finally broke loose.

It turned around a couple times
And ran out toward the street
The elevator ran, of course
Because it had grown two feet!

It ran across an avenue,
Around a lake, and through a park
And then through another tunnel
Where it was very dark.

A mile later it emerged,
At Agnes’ house, by her front door!
The elevator walked inside,
And was on the second floor!!

So that’s how Agnes reached her attic,
Perhaps someday you’ll go there too,
Push the elevator button,
And you’ll find my story’s true!

Part 3
Agnes stood there in her attic
And smiled at all her stuff
That almost ends the story of
The Attic of Agnes McDuff.

But Agnes’ story can never end
Her smile turned to a frown,
Because you see poor Agnes
Forgot how to get back down!!
PwL  May 1, 2015
Some times I just need to laugh.  Happy May Day, HP!!
The thunderclouds circle the Valley.
Soothing sounds from the darkest formations.
Send me off shore, One with the Galley.
No one shall miss thee, let there be little doubt.

The waves have risen and lowered; Littered with evil stench.
My guts hit the Stain, never again to be the same.
Just trying to forget, curse this haunted skin.
Being unable to forget, I'm a *******, living life in pretense.

Blue, blue, blue; the one color I see or touch.
Feeling helpless until eventually, i too turn blue.
Only then, do I count my blessings. No use for crutches.
Treat every human as if they were the last hearts blessed.

Land **!!! Finally, everything I have waited for.
These sands are clouds.  My date with the almighty is here.
The one who stenches the darkness with Ammonia.
Does his best to keep those haunted souls at bay.

Fire is also Blue,
Thus hell might be too.
Fight for me, lord of Orion.
It's Heaven, I should have praised before departure.
Thank you all.  God Bless you all.  And if you don't believe in god, well he doesn't exist in your eyes.  I don't know there is a god, but something won't let go of me in the form of spirit.
Born into a world, where she did not belong
Her lungs were not developed, her heart was not strong.

Her body, so fragile, surrounded by glass
She fought bravely, but her little body couldn't last

The child was beautiful, she was named Heather Michelle.
The doctors were hopeful, but only time would tell.

As the surgeons and staff fought desperately for her life
Her mother was in pain and still under the knife.

This angelic child had to endure much more than the rest.
The family, prayed that God's will be done, whatever best.

Illness enveloped her and she became frail
Everyone had hope that their faith would not fail.

As the child lay lifeless in the hospital bed.
So sad, but true, the beautiful child now dead.

She will always be remembered for the struggle that she made.
And on her gravestone, white roses were laid.

Her mother, the addict, lives with regret and remorse
For she still will do anything to get her drugs from the source.
I wrote this poem in 1991.  I was a jr. in high school.  It fills me with such sorrow, that I had to share.
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