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46 years—a story spun,
where words don’t age, but only run.
Through brittle bones and fleeting days,
your ink still shines in silvered ways.

A love that sparks in enthusiastic "HEY,"
a moment seized, no time to sway.
For what’s a life if not a chance,
to love, to lose, to dance in rain?

You write of loss, you write of pain,
yet make them sing in sweet refrain.
Even when time whispers “****, that’s old,”
your verses burn like fire to cold.

So tell me, poet, will you weave
more lines for hearts that ache, believe?
For every word you’ve let untwine,
I stand here reading, lost in rhyme.
i think we got it wrong
when we think of strong

for its not a mind
that thinks of me and mine

or controlled
by need or greed

its one thats gone inside
and dissolved all internal needs
and turns towards the world
with hearts and hands of kind
I gave my light,
soft and true,
but hands that took
just let it bruise.

A hand once open,
now worn and sore,
kindness bent
became the floor.
A very strange thing happened. There is a lady in HP, I liked all 16 of her poems because I loved the way they were written.
Alas, she blocked me, thinking I was spam..... lol.
I don’t know whether to laugh or be sad.....😅
She writes like the sky when it aches in the night,
soft words like raindrops, heavy with light.
Each verse a whisper, each line a sigh,
a thought unfinished, yet reaching the sky.

She mourns in echoes, in bruised, gentle hands,
finding beauty in loss she barely withstands.
A squirrel, a muse, a fleeting embrace,
love never dies—it just shifts its place.

She seeks the truth but walks through grey,
a heart once open, now kept at bay.
Yet, even in sorrow, she finds her hue,
a poet of storms, painting skies anew

She gave her light, soft and true,
but hands that took just let it bruise.
A heart once open, now worn and sore,
kindness bent, became the floor.

She sought truth, pure and bright,
only to face a blackened night.
“Why not believe?” destiny said,
but how could she, when all turned grey instead?

She once found love in a garden untamed,
flowers whispered, the evening sun flamed.
A hand in hers, a wish unspoken,
but even love can leave hearts broken.

And oh, the tiny soul she raised,
fur so soft, wild yet brave.
A bite for a wrong, a love that stayed,
until fate, so cruel, took her away.

She cried for a squirrel, screamed for a muse,
words felt heavy, nothing to use.
A poet lost, yet still she writes,
in soft, aching lines on rainy nights.

She loved, she lost, she still remains,
a poet who bleeds in ink-stained veins
Listen,
his music shattered stars,
ripped apart constellations,
and the universe crumbled.

King or Queen,
he bowed to none,
severed his piano legs,
to feel the vibrations through the floor,
he bowed to music.

Some called him mad,
others called him genius.
But in the end,
he became the music.
Fun fact- Ludwig van Beethoven was deaf and had abusive childhood.
True inspiration, to never give up on your dreams...
Gone to the greenhouse(gases)
Lets burn it all down
A cataclysmic catastrophe
Litter all around
The world is crumbling
And falling in the sea
Soon the devastation
Will fill the very air we breathe
Killing off All nations
The crops and the trees
The sun will begin to boil
Drying up the sea
That will be the end
The price we pay for our own greed
Mother Earth is dying
The earth begins to bleed
The earth is fragile, please do your part!
In the east, the day is dawning
at  6 am, I'm still yawning
sipping my early cup of joe
I ponder, where it is, I'd like to go.
That's retirement, I guess
finally done with work, I now  can rest
no more punching timeclocks
no snarled traffic or roadblocks.
How do I spend my time, I ask myself
walking, reading, writing,
dusting off neglected shelves
loafing on the open porch
until I feel the sun begin to scorch.
Taking long, warm baths and showers
stopping to admire flowers
curling up with one good book
not much caring, how I look.
Eating foods that I love best
watching hair fade from my chest
doing things that give me pleasure
in whatever form or measure.
On my face is one big Smiley
as I live,  the life of Riley.
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