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8
I wrote that my
Eight year old
Is no longer screaming,
That a loving hand
Watered the budded rose
Deep within him
And therefore me,
And thereby changed
EVERYTHING,

Now life is like walking
Across an ancient battlefield,
I know for sure
That armed struggle
And violence took place
Right where I walk,
But now the breeze
Carries only the sound
Of bird's songs

My feet swish through
Meadow grass,
No longer mud
From Flanders fields,
I like,
No in fact I love
Walking here now,
Will you perhaps
Come walk here too?
I hope I am proof that if not new tricks, this old dog has learned to be his authentic peaceful loving self
Feeling bad
Getting worse
I shrivel up under the sun
A prolonged fit of pain
Easily
Mistaken for
An erratic dance
Born a girl and bred a monster
Bringer of despair
Bringer of demise
Bite the twisted hand that feeds
Glaring straight into the beast's eyes
Flailing fists, handfuls of coarse hair
A good-for-nothing, two-timing taker
A Self Portrait
I want to be your playmate
Dancing on the bubbles of our joy.
I want to be your everything
Providing all you need and more.

        I want to be your hiding place
        When storms of life surround you.
        I want to be the face you see
        When you wake up forever.

                 I want to be a steady beam
                 To light the ways we travel.
                 I want to be part of your life
                 As long as God will let me
                              ljm
Written in 2006 and lost in the clutter.
I don’t hear the thunder yet
But I see the black clouds forming
I don’t have a lightning rod
And I’m standing in a puddle.
                                           ljm
The world situation grows worse and worse. There's no longer any place to hide.
 Dec 2023 Hannah Christina
Sahil
My wings were clipped the day I was born
I was put under the pressure of a billion eyes
My dreams ripped my skies torn
My life was built on a faithful lie

The shadows of my imagination
feared the glare of their expectations
My broken bones, My shattered heart
Sang the stories of me being torn apart
There is a gravity to
sadness; it pulls me
downward into a
deep dark well.
I can't climb out.
It's my own private hell.
I pray for levitation.
I jump, only to fall.
I feel forgotten.

I put one foot in
front of the other,
and I will rise.
I move on.
Hope returns like
a long lost friend,
and I find my sanctuary.
I have 2 and a half weeks sober  I went to the hospital and had 2 withdraw seizures.  I fell and hit my head, I got a concussion and a small brain bleed, I am hopeful.
 Feb 2023 Hannah Christina
Crow
in each shattered fragment
of time
we are forced apart

there is nothing of me
that does not cry out
for everything of you
Suspire - To draw a long, deep breath; to sigh; to breathe.
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