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Step 1) Speak any language you want.
Helpful Tip: When men die, it doesn't matter what language they speak because all screams sound the same.

Step 2) Worship any god you please.
Helpful Tip: When men die, it doesn't matter what god supported them because all men fall the same.

Step 3) Pull the trigger.

Step 4) Win the war.

Step 5) Lose your soul.

Step 6) Let time pass you by.

Step 7) Forget the lessons history taught you.

Step 8) Repeat.
There is an old adage - I'm sure you've heard it - that life without movement is death.

today I feel the truth of it
somewhere between my sternum and my spine
as I sit here
the parade of life rushing by
in a distinct effort
to leave me
and all I can think
all I can hear
all I can know

*"I am most certainly dying."
An Ode to the sweet Northwest that I once called my home:
I have loved you, from the first time I opened my infant eyes, I have loved you.
You gave me my childhood, you taught me and you raised me the only way you knew how.
And blinded by your beauty, I did as you told me, but things are different now.
Within the boundaries of your boarders I grew tall and strong
And I thought that you could teach me everything I would ever need to know,
But I was wrong.
Because just as snow covers dirt and makes it look white,
So did you, you lied to me.
But I know your deception was not of spite,
It was of shame,
Because my whole life you had lied
and told me that perfection was your name,
It’s easier to see now from on top of this mountain,
Than it was from between your trees.
I know you never meant to hurt me,
But the lies you spoke brought me to my knees.
When I was young I never questioned you,
Your lead I would follow,
My identity I found in you,
But that life I lived was hollow
And in leaving you, my love did grow,
Because I only ever saw the snow
I forgot about the dirt that lay under
And as I grew, I idolized you,
But never once did I stop to wonder
If maybe it wasn’t all true.
As the years went by,
I held you close in the back of my mind
You were still my home, my love, my future and
my past,
You were the place I would one day return;
You were my first and my last.
But one summer I excitedly ran back to you
And found dirt instead of snow
It hurt me more than I can say,
I have to admit, it was a low blow.
Because little did I suspect,
When I was far away,
That day, by day, by day
The snow had slowly melted where it lay.
So upon my return,
There was nothing left for me
And I felt disappointment
But honestly, also a bit of relieve.
Because from you I was finally free
And I could be whoever I wanted to be.
And I do still love you,
Despite it all, I know you did the best you could,
For what it’s worth, I think you’re beautiful,
The bad and the good.
Will you remember me, Tanzania?
When my map of your curves is folded
And I see no more your mountain in my mind
Only your smile, straight as a line
On the day I flew away.

The wind travels far, Tanzania
And I must follow
Knowing you has left me hollow
And thus I search
But will you remember me?

The feel of my flip-flop footfalls on your face,
The sound of my laugh as your wind carried it away,
Will you remember how your thorns pierced me,
Pleading with me to stay?
Oh, will you remember me Tanzania?

We pause for a moment at the barbed wire fence,
Brief it burned
But coke-bottle circles in my cheeks will be my memento
Like your dark-eyed children and how, somehow they grow
Taller, darker, row on row.
Tell me you will miss me so
Oh Tanzania.

Will you remember how your sun kissed my forehead?
And how I tasted the feel of your words on my tongue?
How I stole your air to fill my lungs?
I stole as much as I could bear.
Small, dark hands braided my hair

Will you remember me, Tanzania?
As I cling to these landmarks and scars
Which fade from my mind,
Remember how I shook as we left each other behind
Remember how I wore your earth on my skin
Then let your rains wash me clean
How I felt your forest
Brown and green
You were not as you first seemed
But nor was I

Tanzania, Tanzania
What will you remember?
Here with your thoughts on mine,
I bless the legacy of your skyline.
Beautiful or ******
Oh, Tanzania
Who do you say that I am?
Inspired by *Identities* by Matthew Mead, and also by my own travels
 Jul 2014 Ronni McIntosh
My fingers trace
your contours
in my thoughts.
The highs and lows,
your inclines
rise and fall.
Spaces in between
grow distant
from ridge and valley
to coastal plain.

Through uncharted territory
I follow the beaten path
till trail turns to sand
and desert meets ocean.

Contours fade
and wash away.
You slide into
the deep blue
and cross the border.

r ~ 7/5/14
  |      Lost
/ \
My fingertips pause
Over worn out keys
On a board that's seen
Better days, but that was years ago
When the muses were fresh,
The utterance adequate,
The language clear and precise,
The sonnets and haikus flowing
Easily from thought to tongue to finger to page.
Things have changed greatly since then.

My fingertips pause
Over worn out keys
Because some things
Are too hard to voice.
Some pains go so deep in my soul
That not even I know they exist.
Some memories so old
Of a childhood first snow
Or teenage habitual mistake
Or adolescent innocent fantasy
Have faded to a sepia-tone
Not able to be conveyed on paper.
Some experiences too personal
That sharing would ruin them forever
Because no one else could fully appreciate
What it means
To me
In my life,
Both past and future.

So silence descends
As my fingertips pause
Over worn out keys
On a board that's seen
Better days.

For how do I type out a poem
When keys have gone missing,
Like some of the pieces of my soul?
 Jul 2014 Ronni McIntosh
Chloe B
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