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 Apr 2016 Dead lover
Storm Raven
I can't get no air.
Not enough.
My chest hurts.
Panic.
What's happening?

Slowly calming down again.
Oxygen.
Being able to move.
Finally.
That was strange.

In pain again.
The feeling of not getting enough air.
It happens a lot.
Random moments of pain.
And breathing diffeculties.

It is just stress.
I tell myself.
This makes me feel sick.
Most likely it is just stress.
Thank you stress for everything.
 Apr 2016 Dead lover
Storm Raven
An old radio playing a new pop song in the background.
Some birds in the trees outside.
A family member cooking in the kitchen.
The breathing of your lover in the early morning.
Happy laughter from your neighbours house.
 Apr 2016 Dead lover
Storm Raven
I want to hear your voice.
I want to see you smile.
I wish I could hug you.
Keep you safe.
Hold you in my arms.
And tell you I am proud of you.
You're my precious friend.
I will always protect you at any cost.
Too bad Skype is the closest we can get.
I wish I could meet you my dear friend.
About one of my dearest online friends. She is amazing.
Midnight insomniac gibberish ..
House as quiet as a church mouse ..
Cheap Wal-mart clock ticking like -
'Big Ben in London town .'
Two refrigerators and a basement freezer-
making more noise than Piccadilly Circus
Old brick houses and Oak flooring make
one heck of a ruckus !
If I ever went to England I'll be ****** if I'd
ever put up with this much hocus- pocus* !
Copyright April 3 , 2016 by Randolph L Wilson * All Rights Reserved
When the dusts settle from the last wheel
and the sickle moon stoops on the bamboo grove
the dead rise in the whispers of the southern breeze.

You may hear them splashing the canal's water
beneath the hazed halo of one quarter
by nocturne music of barn owl and crickets
in lights of glowworms from darkest thickets.

If you stop on the Rotwood Bridge
can hear them sing in gay abandon
though we're now all dead old spirits
the night can't make us anymore forlorn
.

The twin moon may from the ripples broken
beckon you and if your spirit awakens
take a plunge for a joyous down go
amid cheers from the watery hollow.
 Mar 2016 Dead lover
Sjr1000
It's
one more cast
one more line
one more level
one more time

I promise

One more time

No more parking lot walks
No more broke night talks
No more looking into mirrors
saying
"What the ****?"

No more
after burners
the price to pay
sixteen  eighteen
hours
years
later
every day


Still saying

One more time

I promise

One more  time
After dropping her child at school
the day was a dream only hers
when she could make her own rule
follow it for all those hours.

She would sit on some house terrace
see the busy steps passing by
trying to gauge from their pace
the errands written in their eyes.

She would watch the life of birds
amused how they labored for a nest
and when falling day drew homeward
folded sunned wings into rest.

Spread her eyes beyond the concrete
above the trees far into the haze
where young kites were taught flying feat
by mothers circling the summer blaze.

Everyday all things were renewed
seasons rolled a movie before her
all that even though already viewed
was never bereft of a sense of wonder.

How her hours flew was not known
days turned to years as a rule
her child in no time was grown
no more she needed to go to school.
A tribute to my wife who spent long hours by herself after dropping our son at school. We still talk about it.
 Mar 2016 Dead lover
SassyJ
A fire of desire lays behind the smile
Your fist prominent with lost miles
Tasteless passion that oscillate piles

A cold flame embodies the draught
Torn embers that glows and downs
Faded colours that distract and frown

A blunted clarity try and blow itself
Dismay adorned to encrust destitution
Distractions paraded in devolved arrays
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