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 Mar 2015 Sydney Ann
tian
I'm your weeping pillow
encourages you when you feel yellow
Old 10 word poetry of mine.
to my darling who feels she's not:
our separation is mere illusion.
truly, your pain strikes me as i write this;
your sensations of abandonment,
and the decisiveness they have caused,
bleed from my skin into the fibers of my clothes.
i am no longer clean.
i do not feel pure.

to my severed arm and shortened tendons:
destruction is merely another side of life.
out of disappearance comes all things-
without space, there would be nothing to contain us,
nothing to allow and enfold our beings' spirits,
and they would sputter and cease like my love's flame.
i am no longer yours.
i do not feel full.

to the farthest star that my eyes can see:
your light reaches me- i glimpse you!
in the perceived emptiness between us
there is no distance to be found;
around us exists the infinite potential for
further connection and deeper growth in closeness.
i am no longer alone.
i do not feel sorrow.
...And I will look at you, through the windows to your soul and I will speak from beyond the depths of my ocean. Just as Mother Earth has a heat at her core that only the Sun understands, only you will understand as I speak from this place. Only you will recognise and feel the melodic vibration from my every syllable. I will be completely without fear when I tell you that I will love you until the end of the ages, through the entirety of this epoch and to the next one. I will promise you that I will risk everything to allow a moment of serendipity to unite us again and again, as we cycle through this projected expression called the human experience. For it is only you, and it has only ever been you. You see this love I wish to express in the physical plane, will be one so pure, and one so real that it will emit its own force field, an unbreakable one that allows a poetic unity to blossom fruit never tasted before. This beautiful unity - one without *******...
 Mar 2015 Sydney Ann
Born
Your Words
 Mar 2015 Sydney Ann
Born
Sometimes I write words that I think are perfect and mighty

but when I read your words ,they ******* me ,they make me feel like a nonsense trying to make sense

They make me Wonder, why should i call  me a poet
With words that don't rhyme  
or flow

But again I believe that this words are perfect and mighty
they gave me hope
I found peace whenever I wrote them
I floated like a feather and forgot my permanent scars
with these words am a Knight and a hero
what are you with your words
How will you watch the love of your life love someone else?

Don't.
In an age of emptiness
in the ways of nonsense
the meaning of life
has become meaningless

If we stand
do we each alone ?
Single thoughts under
single days and nights

"The fertile fallow furrow
fleeting under flurries of
freshly fallen snow "

. . . . . . for sure . . . . . . .

And we are the huskless stalks
shivering in the wind
row upon row
thousands upon thousands
going no where
and no where to go
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