Nov 9 Lyn-Purcell
James Floss
Confusion allusion
Factual illusion
What’s done undone

Confide beside
Unknown betide
Not lost but won

Decision derision
Conclusion delusion
Condition revision

What fun!
Never seek to tell thy love,
Love that never told can be;
For the gentle wind doth move
Silently, invisibly.

I told my love, I told my love,
I told her all my heart,
Trembling, cold, in ghastly fears.
Ah! she did depart!

Soon after she was gone from me,
A traveller came by,
Silently, invisibly:
He took her with a sigh.
Wandering past Thousand Oaks,
There mines eyes met many folks
And among them was an old man
Whose beard was as white as a Swan,
Whose voice, was as rough as of a Crow
Whose cinder-like eyes all exuded woe.

Hey old folk, hey old folk, hey old folk,
Unto him I called as he laid by the Oak.
Unto me of thy woe speak If thee can,
But softly replied he, "look, young man,
When in days to come old you grow
I pray of woe thee may never know.

For lest thou ever, the less you'll talk.
Not far off lies my child as still as a rock,
For a ******* came, shooting he began;
And my dear child away couldn't run
That now her coldness thrice as of snow
Hath immersed my poor soul in sorrow."

At this, no more could I talk nor walk,
But grew mute and motionless as a rock
When said he, "if we had not a single gun,
Perhaps dear life would truly be fun."
Then vanished he, leavin' me in sorrow
That thee, dear reader might never know.


©Kikodinho Edward Alexandros,
Los Angeles, California, USA.
09th/Nov/2018.
This poem hath been born of the shooting that took place yester night at Thousand Oaks, a place not so far from where I currently dwell. I wholeheartedly convey my prayers to whoever lost someone there. I wish there's something more I could offer but since there's naught, I pray this ink from a quill of mine might soothe a soul of thine. May *** bless ye and strengthen ye all.

#Gun shooting #Death #Thousand Oaks
  Nov 8 Lyn-Purcell
Sly
Why live, only to die?

Why love, when alone I'll die?

Why laugh, only to watch others cry?

Why cut, when blood will dry?
  Nov 8 Lyn-Purcell
Denise Uy
Her faint pop music,
The giggles they make
in the dark
In one room
Different worlds
Deep in slumber
Or awake on the surface
No in between
Sleep won't sink in
Patience wearing
Head ringing
Throat feeling bile
I'm tired.
Phrases
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