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I will stand in petals
torn from blooms
and hope with all I've got
that someday soon
my heart will heal
and I will love you not.
One
For that one sentence
We write hundreds of pages

We wait millions of seconds
To experience that  one moment of bliss
inspired from a friend named Poornima
I awoke with a shudder
Was that the sound of thunder?

I listened, and heard a faint smash
Then it was followed by a loud crash

I knew, through the down stairs window it came
Was this a burgalar coming, all the same?

I got out of bed with a frown
And adorned my blue dressing gown

From under my bed, just near the mat
I reached, and found my cricket bat

I would have to go and brave this rogue instead
And then I would bash him on the head

Out of my bedroom I went, at a quiet pace
Then I tip toed slowly down my stair case

Praying I was not going to my doom
I reached for the door of my living room

Flung it open, and switched on the light
There was no way to prepare me for this sight

On my carpet there appeared to be a small little imp
He was swearing because he had a limp

The little thing had hurt himself, when he had fell
He hopped on one leg, and threatened me with Hell

Told me he was going to curse me with magic
But this injured little imp looked so tragic

He followed, hobbling, after me into the kitchen
Cursing that his leg was now itching

He shouted at me, ranting and raving
I asked if he wanted a cup of tea, so he started waving

He showed me his jaggered teeth in a funny smile
I handed him his cup of tea, he blew on it for a while

This poor little thing looked so very sad
As an evil imp, he really was bad

He had wanted to steal my teeth and then run away
Because that was one of those games that imps play

So I made him a splint, for his injured leg
I had made it out of a wooden peg

I picked him up and he started to glow
And all of a sudden, he fixed my broken window

I then made him some buttered toast
Because he said he liked eating that the most

He was not such a bad little imp in the end
He promised to visit again, I was his best friend
copyright Chris Smith 2010
Sometimes

Love sometimes happens
And sometimes you have regrets
Sometimes you want forgiveness
For sometimes what you've said

Sometimes it turns out good for you
But sometimes it turns out bad
Sometimes it may not matter
Then sometimes you wish it had

Sometimes you need to hold it close
Still sometimes you let it go
Sometimes you know the answers
Sometimes you wish to know

Sometimes you see what's missing
It's sometimes what you have
Sometimes afraid to let things grow
You sometimes wish it had

Sometime you may not show it
Sometimes you wish you could
Sometimes no matter what you want
Love sometimes feels so good

**Carl Joseph Roberts
Sometimes all you can do is as ask for forgiveness.  Sometimes your sorry.
 May 2014 Hayleigh
Amber Blank
Inside my mind you will find a reality only ideal for me,
Intertwined with the desire of the heart a wonderland is formed
Long winding roads that lead to nowhere,
Breezes so crisp and cool, flowing through your skin,
Surrounding every moment, sending tingles up your spine.

A wild sensual freedom, of dancing in the rain.
Covered by the gentle drops of water, washing away all sins.
Washing away all wrong, all sadness, all pain.

Awakening of the soul, the taste of a first kiss.
Continuous sensation, moist, wet, sweet, as lips meet.
A warm embrace, lost in the company of strong loving arms
Safe and sound, never to be let down.

Colors of emotion surround every minute
Dark Blood Red passion
Pale ocean blue serenity
Bright blinding white light of hope
Glowing green of  generosity
Deepest night of black bitterness
Watch as the colors change  like a cameleon.

Mazes of experience will change perception
Reality of mine own, worlds created by the imagination
Lost in a ocean of thoughts, a sea of memories.

One second will be ecstasy, the next depression
Sickness of a tortured soul
Surrounded by the faith of a hopeless romantic
I am a lover of Love
Searching the world for one soul, to trap inside this reality
To see the world as I see
To become the defender of my dreams,
The soldier of my heart.
 May 2014 Hayleigh
Louise
I forgot all about the past
it may have hidden from me
or did it just tuck away
in a place I couldn't see

Either it took up too much space
or I didn't want to see it
Was it too painful or raw
maybe it just didn't fit

I'm sure I didn't need it
so it's perfectly okay
if it had been worth it
I think it would have stayed

I'll continue without the memory
the memory of me and you
I can't remember if it happened
I'll never even know if it was true
She walks down the corridor
back straight, immaculate.
Heels tapping a regular rhythm
heart beating a tattoo of nerves.

nerves

She can hear the wishers of spite
whispering, sneering, delivering splinters
of withering, scathing remarks at her back
behind masks of smiles and false friendship.

friendship

She hasn't been aboard a ship of friends
in quite a while.
Transistors in her head have picked up the
whispers, the predictors have spoken.

spoken

"She only got the promotion on her back"
"Like she has the qualities for the role"
"Well she does have qualities for a roll!"
"She does like rolling on her back!"

back

Back home, she sits at the mirror in her room
shivers whilst remembering the sniggers and
whispers. The slingers of whispers and dirt
have hurt too deep this time.

time

Time has passed, and the only dirt thrown
Is the handful by her sister, on top of the box
her sibling lies in, lies in because of lies.
She espies the work colleagues, watching and grins.

grins

Grins because it's not often you see the twin
of a suicide victim.
The victim of evil whispers, furthermore
she starts work in a week, with these weak whisperers.

**Killers
© JLB
 May 2014 Hayleigh
Amber Blank
Left here ages ago
Imagination glides away
To a foreign land
A civil war battle field
Two lovers concealed in shade
Brave natives hunting
A million lifetimes ago

Notch in the oak tree
Has a limitless amount of possibilities
As to how it came to be.

Sharpe edge of an ax
The beaten point of an arrow head
Stabbing of a knife in anger
precise blade of a sword
mark of a bayonet that missed its target

Some thing that has been passed by with no notice
Becomes a new world a new life
to this creative mind
Close my eyes and I am transported to a demension all my own.
And the notch becomes my inpiration.
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