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 May 2015 Crushing Love
Poetic T
-Life-

Was the *cruellest
of gifts It gave us
Hope, but it is a coin tossed too often,
For within moments
Breath,
Beats,
Blood
Coursing through this vessel
To keep it upright, motions of every fibre
Never one without the other. But *breath
is
Fleeting, one stops then another moments
Now becoming less time life now evicted stops.


-Reaper-

That exhalation that signalled the end, taken
From you, stolen by this hand of bone
And kept like a trinket, something
That he has held to many times,
Lost,
Forgotten,
Dammed
Ones who he misplaced in that darkened place.
He was just one of the keepers charged with
But the flow from their to here. but all
Things have a purpose and so
This existence now claimed by another.

-Soul Keeper-

Was the cleaner of what was  before,
Life's distractions, deaths fingerprints,
Where cleansed from this orb of
Thought,
Conciseness,
Essence
Of what was, two shades spiral,
One white one like a smear, some where
More of one, never one purest
Pearl or charcoal . There was always a
Hint of light or dark in every orb held.

-Scales Of Judgement-

We are weighted not by the flesh or the bone,
As they are nothing once the soul is gone
Life,
Death,
Rebirth,
Are the ever moving cogs, but some
Are broken to be put in a place
Where the broken things
Live,
Rot,
Decay,
In that place never to be reborn, this is
There end place of limbos playground.
All are judged on the scales showing
the aura of there lifes deeds
Be they heaven worthy or to the pit
There moments burn, but some are
To far gone, and in limbo they stay.
The scales are the defining moment of four stages
Life,
Death,
Energy,
Judgment
On this final journey, are you worthy, to be
In the light or darkness, to be reborn or
To the nether place of broken toys.
Live your life, but remember judgement
Is only three steps from life away.
 May 2015 Crushing Love
AllAtOnce
i weave my hands through a spider silk dress
as the scent of new leather calms my senses
i look over to see a familiar mop of brown hair
and being to wonder what i'm doing there
darkness is falling and the violets outside are glowing
i look up and at the same time, it's snowing
nothin can really be what it seems
and i begin to wonder if its all just a dream
he starts up the car and shoots me a half smile
switching on the radio for a while
soft melodies drift through the car and i'm tempted to sing
and just as my favorite song comes on, it brings on a change of scene
the sheets are cotton but i'm wearing lace
and i can't see anything outside of his face
i never really thought something like this could be
i never thought he could love someone like me
after a moment, everything changes again
different from what others have been
he pulls out a chair and helps me in
and i thank him for his kindness with a grin
the lights from the fireflies are dimming over time
we sit there breathing hope and drinking wine
he leans in and touches my lips with his
i almost pull back from the surprise it is
everything melts into darkness as my eyes open and for the first time
i wonder what it would be like if he was mine
but after all it was just a dream
and didn't mean anything
i could smell his cologne hanging in the air
none of this is fair
because i just want to go back to sleep
10W
There are sins of ømission
And there's sins of **comission
 May 2015 Crushing Love
Traveler
Lust is the wind in my sails
Tossed on the waves of her salty sea
I’d bring her about and cast my sights homeward
But I’m overtaken by the appetite she strikes in me

When she casts her attention
I’m caught in her net
She shares her provisions
Well beyond sunset

To be lost on her seas
Or cast away on
Her island of pleasures
I’d hope to stay long

Deep is her depths
I partake in her treasure
When I get to her floor
I'll implode under pressure

Yet still my lust
Burns on her surface
Her touch feeds the fire
Her depth gives me purpose
He asks her to write a song for him,
She composes for him, her poetry...
                                                      ­  
                                                        He asks her to tell him a bed-time story
                                                        Sh­e lulls him with her poetry...

He asks her to sing a song for him,
She recites to him her poetry...

                                                     ­            He asks her to dance with him,
                                                            ­   She moves him with her poetry...
                                                  
He asks her, to be his girl.
She smiles, *and gives him her poetry...
Poetry is what makes her.
Draft.
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