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With each passing day,
I realize I am not alone
in the universe
that there is something greater than me,
greater than everything,
and that this everything
dwells within me.
why is it a nightmare,
to have these dreams,
aspiring to
this  black hawk
that happily flies
to any un-told land
in the skies.
I'm in love with this girl,
with the brownish
and gorgeous
lavish eyes,
wish she
would
welcome me aboard
gently
hands upon
her back,
hanging on
by her feathers.
I won't let go.......
I'll bring you stories,
of the one heart beating,
an end to thumping,
then the one dying,
the burial of daffodils,
and all of the roses,
story of sorrow,
the one of tomorrow......
My most popular poem. It stayed on the front page of another site for 2 months due to its popularity. To be honest, I wasn't happy when it was chosen as its a piece to me like marmite.  But it resonated with a-lot of people.
The beauty of graceful sunsets lost,
the price of non rewind deep wound cost,
addict blows the ***** itching & bleeding,
losing cardboard parts to a child laying
in the sun as the needle stings & pierces.

Lost a deep nerve frantically fierce,
reach out and touch the piercing stars,
its time to play so lets rehearse,
dream of kingdom comes remains far.

Fire in his belly as liars are on the telly
ramble and scramble, pretend to be able
screaming, ranting, pointing bony fingers
as flesh becomes death at their two cents.

" Mummy, what will I be when I grow up?"
"Son, you'll be an astronaut traversing
planets with your eyes of curiosity,
making me proud upon my death."

Sits in a ***** crack house smoking
visions of a mother's paternal dream.
This poem got selected for a poetry radio show called Echoes in the Dark. One of them read the poem and the three then spoke their thoughts on it for about 20 minutes.
Another poem, I'm really proud of and chosen for a front page pick.
Death dies when hands tremble
leaves my side to inhale her last breath
to a truth that sees behind a lost face.

Poetry is a rumble of the garden's bees
with one spin of a roll of the dice,
protects his queen and dies a hero
and the white leaves his eyes
and the ants rip into his torso.

What's a feeling of a sting ray's given
when provoked to rise and strike?

Moving rocking chair in this haunted room,
you sat in and knitted up the memories,
brushing my face as a child with a broom.

Alice on tv,  with a scope on mushrooms
one born to eagerly fulfil his imagination
of a toy soldier and a world of fantasy.

A death knell will sound the night....
A poetry contest front page pick that I'm proud of.
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