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Neon Robinson Nov 2019
The whole experience is slightly surreal.
Like “one of those” movie they say,
Tourist... they make it seem fake.
Neon Robinson Aug 2019
When this wide eye wakes
                            Time welts

                   Sometimes wins

    May Blooms
  And Blossoms

and spars the rain
         Seeping deep into the
         drown earth

immersed in a mumble  
                  a continuous
of the waterfall,
You say.
My finger        mine
                          Shadows of solemn
casts pillers o'er hollowed temples

My fingers,
                     Breath upon your skin

move as steady wind.

Say only

          what love might be

if the veil thin,
                           warm & roused  
                             dove - down

thoughts full of dreams.
destined for nothing

Your Eyes

                        emerald with yellow
                        wildflower born into
                                   the light
Extended into the shadows

Memory - worn and
                     gardens overgrew

Wind - whipped ,  white - washed , w h i p p y
                    clouds the sky  
                                                     & looms in
                                                      the   mind

individuality lost to infinity

            the beauty & fairweather
       now emblems of ephemeral
  Aug 2019 Neon Robinson
you are the raindrops
that patters through my rooftop,
gently sliding on my window
creating a short-lived ripple
that slowly goes away

if only I can make you stay.

I, on my window
watching the pale sky,
with winds and clouds so dreary
and a soul starting to get weary

It's been a dark, lonely day,
and I've been waiting
for the sun to come out and stay

you are the raindrops
that gone away
no words or sound as you
fall to the ground

I, on my window
watching you vanish
without saying goodbye.
  Aug 2019 Neon Robinson
Ron Gavalik
The writer’s job
is to build the words,
not perform for applause
or join cheap cliques.
The printed word, baby,
that’s the nervous anticipation
for the 300 pound *****
who ***** the best ****.
Words are the hit of whiskey
after the sun drops
below the buildings.

-Ron Gavalik
Hit my Patreon and seek TRUTH.
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