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It is easier to imagine
than feel the real thing

but the real thing
is not your imagination

swell of a voice
like a bullet of sugar

too much and you’ll sink
in a lake made of smoke

a blueprint of love
splashing on your tongue
Written: September 2018.
Explanation: The second in a loose series of three small poems with the same title. Each one could have been put together as 'one' piece, but each part also feels standalone to me. It is recommended you read all three. Feedback welcome as always. A link to my Facebook writing page can be found on my HP home page.
Though the world is grey,
it always will come down to
either black or white
Small haiku! ^^
Lyn ***
The chilly wind that whines over the roof.
Break down the heavy rain that no one can create a spoof.
A pile of water rolling down the mountain.
Loads of thunders and Lightnings thread by chain.

Another wild storm is here to disturb the night,
Another wave of death is here to take a bite.
The rattling and flapping sound of the leaves,
bring shivers to each pair of sleeves.
It was raining in our place and it gave me an idea.
That rustling
Leafy canopy
Still shines
Like a famous painting
In the hues of a
Vibrant autumn
It hasn't stopped
sheltering smiling
And sad faces
Without any obligation
Yet
The placid waters
Of that sun speckled lake
Still reflect
iridescent rainbows
Even after torrential
Bouts of rains
They always find a way
To look beyond the
Clouds of gray
And the sky still reverberates
With the songs
Of halcyon winds
They never let
The silence stretch
Endlessly for an eternity
There
Believe me
The only thing
That has
Steadily changed
With time
Is that we've
Become too busy
In our lives
And have slowly forgotten
That such a place
Used to exist
In our ideal
Blissful friendship
Once upon a time
I guess
She said he was to down to earth,
that she could never see the stars
                        beneath his staring.

"Am I not grounded enough?
        do you wish to gaze deeper
              than even I can look into..

Would you want to reach the heavens,
to see how many glimmers float deep
       within every blinking of my sight.

"She pondered his question,

If you can make me see the universe
entwined within every look
                                        you give me.
                              I'll be yours forever.

So days past upon his gaze, not at her!
            but the fulfilment of her wishes.
And with that, he brought out his gesture
                                 of making her see stars.


"Strap this on yourself!

But is this not just a rocket?
        will I not leave your side.


Never would I let us part,
       you will only be above my gaze.
my eyes steering you, no longer grounded.

With a twinkle in his eye he gazed at her,
   "I see the stars gleaming in your eyes.
    "You are no longer grounded to.....

And without a word the rocket shot off.
        hearing her faint words.. I was wro…

With that a shower of sparks erupted,
         in the  heavens and for a second she saw stars..
But unfortunately ungrateful of what she had.

He never saw her again after that.
         But he was a man of his word.
Now grounded to terra-firma he gazes
                  towards the stars and smiles.
Some are not grounded enough to realise what they have, and this never ends well in the long run. Always count your stars as there not always going to be visible..
In the end, even
wilted and withered roses,  
are, well, roses too.
Broken doesn't mean not beautiful;
don't let broken mean not beautiful.

©Semicolon
 Sep 2018 Skye Marshmallow
Grace
I cant tell you how much the hush hush hurts,

the gaps,

[the deliberately left blanks]

the silences that make me scared of saying words out loud.


It's the switching of meanings that does it,

all the tip toe awkwardness

the swift, unconscious side steps.


It's the whole long stretch of silence,

the whole deliberate

accidental

hush hush of something I never even knew the name of.  


It's the casual,

forgettable

drops of slights

that I'm still turning

over and over.


It's a hush hush never intended to be malicious but

the quiet twists and tears

and so I can never tell you how much the hush hush hurts

because the silence keeps me hush hushed too.
Working through some things I guess. It's hard to address the hush hush when you know it wasn't malicious, just accidental or a result of a different time. I wonder if they even know about the hush hush? I wonder if they know they kept it? Anyway it's something I need to work through and poetry helps or something

Note: So we talked about the hush hush without words but it's okay, maybe it's how we do things best. And the hush hushed becomes a thing of vibrant, rainbow colours and it's lifting off my shoulders and I think in a glowing kind of way that maybe there's something in this that will be okay. And I wonder how you knew but for now it remains hush hushed because I can’t quite talk about it yet. I wear it instead, I wear my colours instead and maybe that speaks enough for the moment. (Fourteenth of September Two Thousand and Eighteen)
 Sep 2018 Skye Marshmallow
Al
Outside I notice
elderberry blue,
inside of a name.
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