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Words settled in the brain,
Left behind by others,
Remind us of them.
We often wish to erase them forever.
In moments of crisis,
The dirtiest and most tainted words come to mind,
While those drowning grasp onto good words.
Words are insignificant to some, they say,
Yet they still leave red lines on our white ribbons.
he doesn’t take his shirt off anymore
he never really liked to, but now he never does
“I’m sagging. I have wrinkles,” he says through beautiful crows feet and a sad grimace wrapped by dimples lengthened through smiling as hard as he lived
once, he was young
messy, poor-intentioned, headstrong, mean
when his smile lines started staying
it was new

are you ashamed you became an antidote?
or that you were once poison?
-In the centre of my heart

These words I speak, I speak them true,

Nothing matters to me but you!
Jiggling the key in her normal routine, his wife opened the door to see his pen resting on the pad, his tea complete with every sip.

Not a word on the pad. A sign, firm evidence, a symptom, confirming a poet is missed.

Absence of words are greater than absence of man, is a poet truly living if he doesn’t write?

The woman stood still processing the sight, gaining a roommate having lost her husband that night.
When you smile at me,
I smile in return
A genuine smile
No less, no excess
For smiles reflect my truth.

If I don’t smile,
It’s not meant to offend
It simply means,
That I cannot pretend
Not every soul
deserves the warmth I send
-An undeniable truth .

For my smile speaks volumes,
Far more than words,
like a mirror of feeling,
And if it’s withheld,
Don’t be taken aback—
I just can’t pretend
It’s just a silent truth!!
In the ancient Gothic church
Mother Mary whispers here;
Her stony face looks out at me,
blank eyes that shed a granite tear:
There beneath her warming cloak
a mass of children huddle there,
seeking shelter and maternal love —
their fears and pains that she will bear
are lit by a sea of candlelight
that lifts cares hence, way up high,
borne aloft away from here,
to dissipate in distant skies
Inspired by a statue of the ****** Mary with votive candles seen in St. Stephen’s Church, Mainz, Germany
last night I had a dream

there was a trilobite
in the green grass

I saw myself
from atop a cliff

running through the forest
in a velvet dress

the me that was
up on the cliff

had an old fashioned camera
in my hand

I tried to take a picture
of myself

but the me in the forest
was just too fast
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