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my mind is a wasteland of negative thoughts
self-pity, resentment, and fear-- they bury themselves
deep in my mind slowly decomposing, but sometimes are
reborn when I feed them

I would be consumed by dark self destructive thoughts
that would eat me away from the inside, if it was not for my heart sorting and purifying my negative thoughts into good intentions that grow into thoughtful actions to help others

I always thought I could think my way out from the hell I created, but what really freed me is allowing my heart to sing

I needed the help of others who survived their own wastelands
to believe my song was worth singing, their voices carried me
until I found my own melody bubbling inside of me

my heart sings to remember not to loose hope, and reach out to others
 Aug 2014 Audrey
r
Dune days
 Aug 2014 Audrey
r
Years disappear
under shifting dunes
of days and endless nights.
A quiet cloaks
the ticking house
as summer falls
slowly on the crystal coast.
Evening tide is running out.
Days get shorter by the day;
moonrise comes early
above the straight blue line.

Through the faded curtain
a lone ship far out to sea,
a gull floating on a breeze,
driftwood on the shore.
A young boy casts his net
and pulls it back once more.
Catching memories
discarded in the sand;
another dune is born.
He turns his back upon the ship
and wanders home.

r ~ 8/5/14
\¥/\
  |      ~~~~=^=~~~~tiyiyime...
/ \
may your song break through
the darkness of the night
and welcome the dawn

may your song give hopeless hearts
a taste of wondrous beauty
that touches even darkened souls
 Aug 2014 Audrey
r
Her crayola box lacks
all but two colors
-red and black-
mustn't go outside the borders

r ~ 8/4/14
\¥/\
  |     doctors without borders
/ \
 Aug 2014 Audrey
Sjr1000
Blessings they speak
In many ways
On any given day.
There is of course
The sun's return
After darkness reigns
There is that first
Breath the infant takes
The last breath
The old man shakes
And takes away the pain.

The each moment
Each ocean wave
Each snowflake
Each lovers look
Each gentle touch
Each sun at noon
Each son and daughter too.
Each child's laugh
Each joyous room
Each innocent mistakes
Which go right anyway.

Each moment of peace
Each moment unique
Each moment of hope
Each moment of you.

The freedom to choose
The freedom to refuse
It's within our attitudes
That's a blessing too.

This life is short
There is no doubt
The birds they sing
And though our lives
They probably don't mean a thing
The many generations
Come and go
Don't I know.

But in this moment so fleeting
It is blessings I am remembering
And in the many shapes
And sounds of suffering
That we can't deny
It is easy to miss
The traveler dressed in white
In the blowing snow
And so it is with the
Blessings
We need to remember
To
Know
 Aug 2014 Audrey
Meghan O'Neill
I sit at a piano
and at the right hand side of the orchestra
or maybe the left
I'm not sure
You sit there too
you sit on your high horse
Mr. 2nd chair
oh i beckon in the good days when
When you play your violin
Like a Stradivarius
And fill the practice room
Like a concert hall.
And i sit and listen
like a desperate girl
mourning the moaning
of cellos
and the loss of a good friend
maybe more.
I still sit on the right side
of the orchestra
with a hollow piece of wood
raised to my neck
where i want you to kiss me
and i drag bow across string
and make noise
and make music.
i refuse to believe
that this was a coincidence
but we are musicians
it's an occupational hazard.
maybe...
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