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 Sep 2018 Lyn-Purcell
Fae Kay
sweet
 Sep 2018 Lyn-Purcell
Fae Kay
my brain is a beehive.
always buzzing.
dripping with the honey of my thoughts.
 Sep 2018 Lyn-Purcell
Tina RSH
In the beginning, there was skin
fresh, soft, unblemished, unnamed
bound to be clad by blooming blue rose
baby bud bearing but thorns in its heart
Drifting along to kiss every inch
of that ****** beauty with grace
And there came the first scratch
Thirteen drops of blood
A drop of tear
And a full stop!
Congealed blood! Evaporated tear!
In the beginning there was no scar
but a tender rose to teach pain
pain with all its notoriety
and calamitious cloud of nothingness.
scars tiptoed towards the chest of skin
Now nourishing, naming each narrow path
No blood, no tear.
Thus, as a woman's womb gives birth
to hold up this tipsy life,
pain is a must.
 Sep 2018 Lyn-Purcell
Noa
My Dream
 Sep 2018 Lyn-Purcell
Noa
Sometimes people say to me: ‘Just follow your dreams and everything will be alright.’ Other people say: ‘You don’t choose dreams, dreams choose you’. But f*ck all those people.
Here I am, sitting in my bedroom hoping that there will fly a new brain filled with dreams and when I have a dream, I would follow it, I would chase it and then I would do anything to make that one dream come true.
But you know what the truth is. I do have dreams. But every time they slip into the door there comes a big dark cloud filled with fear, doubt and insecurity that blows it all away. The only thing that is left over is a little bit ash filled with hope. I gather the little white sparkling ash that is left and put it in a box of matches. And one day I will have enough diamonds to do anything.

That’s my dream.
 Sep 2018 Lyn-Purcell
savvy
Seven
 Sep 2018 Lyn-Purcell
savvy
"Promise" has 7 letters.

So does:
"Moved on"

But, I have a 7 letter promise to you:
"I'll wait"
Seven is my lucky number. I hope this promise will be lucky enough to be true.
 Sep 2018 Lyn-Purcell
Pagan Paul
.
Merrytree the Holly sprite
danced across the snow,
no mark did she leave in sight
wither whether she doth go.

So joyful and magickal is she,
darting in betwixt the flakes,
her wild spirit cavorting free,
laughing at mischief she makes.



© Pagan Paul (30/08/18)
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