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Jean-Paul Blancq Sep 2018
Across the river a humble beauty grows.
The once still stream vigorously flows.
Pink carnation reaches its bloom.
United meadow rebels against fume.
A top familiar soil roots blanketed by earth
Tall brown oak with branches to hearth.
From cold winter winds to warmth of spring lights.
Peace of morning velvet to restless summer nights.
Along its golden shore the tree sits in wait.
It’s seen all from times of marry to tears of hate.
Yet unyielding thankful for everything it owes.
Experiencing it all is what makes the tree grow.

Small bird of blue crossed many miles.
Never alone he had help through his trials.
Mistook his own love for thoughts turned colder.
Truth reveals now it was a heart grown older.
Ambition climbs into an endless sky.
This once broken bird can now finally
Jean-Paul Blancq Sep 2018
A pink carnation sprouts under green light.
The river had been blocked eve of that cold rainy night.
Bird of blue with wings yet to thaw.
Small heart changed from the things he had saw.

Bird of blue with sun in sky.
His damp wings now fully dry.
On earth he stays falling each try.
Little bird has forgotten how to fly.
Jean-Paul Blancq Sep 2018
Bird of blue in fields of snow.
Unknowing of where to go.
Frighten breathes of frozen air.
Trapping those who wander there.
Small bird with wings of frost.
The path towards the river has now been       lost.

Along the empty pit he sits silent still.
The lonely well calls to a broken will.
Questions unanswered remain in thought.
Stuck stiff from the pain his heart had brought.
Brown eyes fade along with the light.
Broken bird can no longer take flight.
A silver hill stands peering above the mist.
Warmth of the flame continues to persist.
Atop the peak the sun shines on the *****.
Bird made of blue holds on to his feeling of
Jean-Paul Blancq Sep 2018
Small bird made of blue.  
People thought nothing of you.
Met a bird made of red.  
Thoughts of love now in his head.
Her emerald eyes plain and fair.  
None knowing of the secrets they'd share.
One fact seemed true.  
Her love remained until she grew.
Bird of blue changed into something new.
When winter came they were no longer two.
Fall to fall their love is over.
Heading south & they are older.
This is the first poem I ever wrote but it helped me through a lot so I hope you enjoy it
Jean-Paul Blancq Sep 2018
This small town is all we have ever known.
Now we must set sail it’s no longer our home.
Like an old folk song hopeful but wanting rest.
Packed your bags withdrew all you had.
We sat silent still, ignoring the pain in our chest.
Smiling through the cold neither of us were sad.
Being a final farewell to my friend never crossed my mind.
If this I knew together the two would leave this town behind.
Jean-Paul Blancq Sep 2018
Memories made now when
Long hours shifts to long nights.
Moments from these hours scatter the night.
The sun broke the nights sky without an hours rest.
Those 9-9 shifts would put our endurance to the test.

Leaving this town if only for two nights.
An escape to a timeless ocean with shining silver sand.
Wondering from seas of salt to seas of space.
The sky was pinkish blue then greenish gray finally then it all faded away.

Do you remember?
Care free days with our smallest companion.
Dearly beloved with worried emerald eyes.
His presence alone brought peace when trouble filled our minds.
That night split up the three we could have never knew.
That when the sun rose again there’d only remain two.
The of pain of loss again broke our hearts.
Saying soft goodbyes for a friend when in this town the grave had been Doug.
Jean-Paul Blancq Sep 2018
Do you remember the dusk of our town?
The summer birds nesting above as we rode our bikes.
The trail between our houses, all the distance we’d hike.
Hiding from the heat beneath a canopy of branches.
In our backyards the fireflies with their luminescent dances.
Sneaking out into humid nights.
Along the lake we watch the bridges small moving lights.

It’ll be warm spring soon.
The pink azaleas will be in bloom.
All of our jokes and our laughs, the taste of every blue snowball jumping into leaves when trees faced the fall.
This town is ones home.
The other wished it his own.
All our wasted hours didn’t matter then.
If I could have it back I’d only waste them       Again.
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