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 Aug 2014 Maria
Marian
Bad Day (12w)
 Aug 2014 Maria
Marian
I can feel the pain inside of me
A venom of poison

*~Marian~
OUCH!!! :''( ~~~~~<3
I was stung by a bee today on my back...and I am in PAIN!!! ~~~~<3
Don't worry, I'm sure I'll feel better though...
It just hurts something terrible!!! :/ ~~~~<3
Please enjoy this 12w poem anyways!!
 Aug 2014 Maria
Nandini
Rains
 Aug 2014 Maria
Nandini
Standing in the rains
Broken skies , Heavens unleashed
Sadness of the soul washes away
I'm standing in the rain it's very peaceful here
 Aug 2014 Maria
David Lewis Paget
He sat in a small compartment by
The window, on a train,
The passengers huddled around him
Saying, ‘Tell that one again!’
He spoke in a low and measured voice
As they held their breath, to stare,
Watching his hands, as they described
Vague circles in the air.

There wasn’t a sound outside, except
The carriage, clickety-clack,
A sound that would tend to hypnotise
As the train sped down the track,
In every one of his listeners
Was a picture, in each mind,
That spoke to them of that better life
Which had been too hard to find.

And seagulls circled the skies above
As he primed their minds with ‘If…’
And led them all in a straggly line
To stand at the top of a cliff.
The sea was blue and the clouds were grey
And the rocks below sublime,
As they teetered there for a moment where
They stood, at the edge of time.

For then he’d show them a garden, with
The form of an only child,
Who seemed to be so familiar
That most of them there had smiled,
The scent of a pink wisteria
Had wafted the carriage air,
And then their tears rolled back the years
As they whispered, ‘I was there!’

He showed them a woman in mourning
With a cape, and a darkened veil,
Who knelt alone by a headstone,
Each listeners face was pale.
The bell of the church began to toll
As it sounded someone’s knell,
His face was the face of the gravedigger
As he held them in his spell.

The carriage was filled with waves of fear,
The carriage was filled with joy,
He’d tell of the death of a mountaineer,
Of a child with a much-loved toy,
Their tears they’d dry as the train came in
To the tale of a Scottish Kirk,
And one by one they would rise to leave
And head off the train, to work.

But the Storyteller would stay on board
And close the compartment door,
His restless hands were trembling still
As his eyes stared down at the floor.
The train heads into the future while
The past is deep in his well,
He sits and weeps in the corner for
The tales that he doesn’t tell.

David Lewis Paget
 Aug 2014 Maria
Amanda
I only ever wanted you to taste the sweetness of a white lie.
I guess,
my mind hopelessly wanted it to become the truth.
x
 Aug 2014 Maria
purple orchid
White paint peels off to leave the walls bare,
naked and exposed to
elements.
Much like her soul.
Starved of love and affection,
accepted but not wanted.
Tolerated.
The sun casts her shadows on those
she frowns upon,
leaving winding roads to spiral out of control.
Time shifts her world from
it's axis as it progresses,
it doesn't heal,
it doesn't lessen,
It just is.
Echoes of your voice ricochets
to find her heart,
carrying the exact weight they
did the second they fled your tongue,
never shedding an ounce of momentum

"The waves of pain
that had only lapped at her
before now
reared up high and pulled her under .."
Love, where did it make?
And how my love far away from your heart
How it moves through my life?

It installed early when river initiated from a waterfall
It roosts into soul and flows through the vein and vale
And it is seeking the sea where it melts with me

The high Himalayas are out of my range
I could not climb it, she thought
And it makes a dark shadow

The difference between you and me
The shadow as the twilight of the horizon
And after then the dark,
The very dark wall

The poet has a pair of dreaming wings like an angel
And his mind is a gay in such a jocund company

He could, she can break the shadow in mind and soul
How long the shadow!
How thick the wall!
That never stronger than the passion of a poet -

@ Musfiq us shaleheen  & Vanessa Gatley
Love: the unlimited inspiration of a poet/poetess.......
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