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in the most
simplistic way
i wanted him
and sometimes
i wanted all of him,
every season of his
mind and body
i wanted
cutesy notes on monday
slurred i love you friday nights
lazy sunday morning breakfast
then again
i never expected anything
from him
as much as i would have loved
to be under his skin
it was enough for my heart
to simply be
on his skin
July 26, 2014
...
lanky trees..
on  both side of dark road...
was swinging....
gust of wind with..
howl sound...
stinging....
footsteps..
of a stranger...
entered in my ear....
it was..
like whisper of ghost...
or a dread killer...


I shudder..
with fury...
but no fear....
sweat was guessing..
from my body...
like a river....
I prayer to God..
remember to my...
near and dear....


no one  was visible..
within the range...
who was that unknown....
really strange....
is it disappear..
in the park...
frightening me....
as falling dark..


I was..
mesmerized...
trying to hunt unknown...
falling dark realized me..
I am alone...
is it..
really some...
strange sound....
or just the..
fear of unknown?

 x-x-x
*(c) deovrat - 25.07.2014
 Jul 2014 Michael Amery
Poetic T
Tarring roads with lungs,
Old smokers, living ashtrays,
Suicidal inhale.
#tar #lung #inhale #suicidal
I'm up to my elbows
In Summer sun,
I've hit my funny bone;
The gangs have hit the pavement,
No one mentions home.

The towels are stretched
On sand dunes,
Water falls free and clear,
There's no time for dwelling
On one's sun-kissed despair.

There's amusement parks
And animal farms,
Camps and hiking trails;
Boats slice turquoise water,
I've daughters tugging tails.

And there,
Beneath the snuggled moon
Couples spoon,
Leaving room
For air.

We end our daily frolics
With our evening walks;
I'll find time
To lift my elbows
After equinox.
Life* often speaks in rhythm & blues
whispering trumpets to bended ears, while reminding us
that smiles belong only in photographs; and tears
behind the curtain of an indifferent face

We walk fine
lines, between tragedy
and genius, lines so rarely straight
we seek balance in mediocrity
and solitude in unfinished lifes

We become incomplete puzzles
forcing squares into circular places
by tearing away pieces of the whole
and conforming to the empty spaces

some things were never meant to be changed

We place people into boxes, neatly organizing them
by the
labels* we give their cracks and flaws
seldom ever realizing that *broken has a beauty all it's own
, and...

*some things were never meant be mended
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