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  May 2018 emnabee
Alice Lovey
There was a time...
The first rhyme
You ever read to me
That time when I,
Once unappreciative,
But that night...
Fell in love with it.
You recited your hurt like art,
A delicate voice,
But with trembling heart.

During those early days of early love.
I always wanted to read along as you read aloud.

And I would've died to be the page you'd slaved upon.
Tears, blood, passion unrivaled like a daring dawn
That fights the night till the day is gone.
Perhaps it was to feel connected to you,
But I began to write my stories too.
I threaded them together painstakingly,
Usually in the lonesome limbos I felt achingly,
Anxiously,
And it took so long to share myself with you.

Did you know you were the first to ever see them?
You always thought I was beautiful.

Once again, you encouraged the fire free.
And this isn't the only sea
You've taught me to sail.
Now I place my work here
With the sheer raw emotion I so dearly make clear.
It is one of the few things I've made mine.
I never said I had talent, but at least I can rhyme!
And now?

Now I write for me.
One of the most wonderful and wondrous things I admire in life is the ability to inspire and be inspired by the passion and love of those around you. If I hadn't met you, would I have such a great outlet for my thoughts and feelings? Thank you for teaching me to appreciate poetry.
  May 2018 emnabee
Medusa
medusa medusa,
let down the lair
medusa medusa,
let down your hair

so said the last one
go find his head
bring it back to me
my own true love

well, my sweet heart,
between you and the lair
I'd be better off
in love with

the lair

you your own self know
this to be true

but I pledged for life
I'm still here

& then

I am:
the first man to touch you
the way you wanted me to
so I am waiting for you

I will stand here and I will wait
I have wanted you for ten thousand years
no vipers could stop me

who are you fooling?
fake snakes with those
cheap black pearl tears

nothing will stop me
but you, so say the wyrd
but you never will

I love you
always and still

it remains three over three
a hand upon a moment
nothing but rivered memory
wrung out in sodden time

more to follow, years of it

where will you hide it all?
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