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 Jun 2017 Amaranthine
Mike Hauser
Remembering those
from yesterday
Leaving us behind
in memories wake

Who's to understand
the tragedy of life
Only able to take
one day at a time

We will shed our tears
and spread our sorrows
As not a one of us
is promised tomorrow
art
art is the child of pain
the son of rain
the blood within the vein
of a twisted child
young and wild;
an attempt to reconcile
hatred, baseless and faceless
a screenshot of the heart....
that is art.
I have an obsession with boys with blue eyes. Not a deep blue like when the sun has kissed the horizon goodbye for the night. But an ice blue, like a glacier slowly melting down their face with sugar water. It pools in their mouth and waits for him to speak sweetness or for someone to come along an exchange it between soft pink lips. His cheeks have a blush that reminds me of rose petals floating in white tea. There’s always a light behind the glaciers regardless of if  colors of the northern lights are visible or if it’s the pitch black beyond Saturn. The light could be dimmed, but the ice magnifies it.
a boy i met once, and never saw again
The world is not petite,
The world is not a whole lot.
The world is I,
The world is you.
We beneath the blue appear like an ocean,
We flanking the blue appear like a sky.
For us, clouds in the ocean
Waves on the sky.
I told my mother I wanted to be an astronaut
And she smiled and said, "My sweet child,
If you go to space, you'd miss your years:
The laughter of your children,
The embrace of your beloved husband.
Better not waste your life amongst the stars
Once you are of marriageable age."

When I was nearing graduation
In the golden era, the high of the times
I wanted to venture out and learn more
For myself; I had dreams of becoming a hero,
A revolutionary mind, a change in the world.
Alas! My darling, he looked at me with love
And uttered, "But I will provide for you
And our children, in our pretty little house.
What of education, when you are
Of marriageable age?"

One time in a playground, watching
My young boy conquer the slide like a warrior
While carrying my newborn doll in my bejeweled arms,
My neighbor proclaimed, "Oh you are
The luckiest housewife in our neighborhood!
A rich and faithful husband and such
Beautiful children! How I wish
I were as favoured by fate as you were
When you were of marriageable age!"

And just today, while visiting nan
I sipped my afternoon tea, staring at the sunset
I recalled to her the missed opportunities
Of mine own personal growth
And she, rocking in her ancient chair,
She replied to me, "But what could you have done, my dear?
You were of marriageable age."
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