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 Feb 2016 Aaron Conway
Dawn King
It’s somewhere in the astral plane
The dwellers there don’t call it by name
The basin is dusty, desolate
Within it a carnival
Where many congregate
Light is dimming when I arrive
I feel an approach
Turn to look, as you appear
I’ve known you
From an earlier time
Yet never seen you
In this life
You’ve arrived there
To bind into my eyes
And take soul prints
Never breaking my stare
May the Darkness embrace me
*May the Light engulf me
 Feb 2016 Aaron Conway
MS Lim
Time doesn't exist
but for mankind's presence
it's amoral, heartless and nonchalant
though it doesn't utter a single sentence.

Wielding a whip over everyone's head
like a cattle-drover
none would it leave alone
it's a bully and a dictator.

The day is bleeding
men and women are in frenzy
work must be done--deals must go through-
everyone needs the money

too eager to push a competitor down
it's survival of the fittest
it's a jungle out there
pity the weakest.

Many would be the day's losers
hopes will be dashed,  tears will flow
hearts will be broken,  promises unfulfilled
that's the way the world does go.

This is the bleeding of day
and a heavy toll it has taken on so many
the evening and night offer little rest or comfort
while time is watching without the slightest sympathy.
 Feb 2016 Aaron Conway
Dawn King
In September some years ago
I drove through Wyoming
Chasing the sun to California

I stopped over in Cheyenne
Breathing in her energies
The sign was 4 large crows

I had been there in oil painted
Dreams
With one uniquely like me
While the messengers arose

And in the winter time letters
As awareness to the soul ID
Ascends to its peak

From one time traveler
To another I wrote,
“And one day we will meet in Cheyenne”
He loves
with rapt attention
his nearest neighbor
an unattainable beauty
a temptress
veiled in aquamarine
and evergreen
she has forever been
his only muse

he reaches
invisible fingers
across the void
seeking warm earth
against the bone
chilling blackness
for he cannot
turn to face
the sun

she is breathless
beneath his fullness
her every landscape
willingly unfurls
his forceful touch
swings her tide
from crest to ebb
she can only spin
in ecstacy

she memorizes
each scar
on his luminous skin
for she is wise
to his lunar ways
love that borrows light
to show its face
is surely meant
to wane
 Feb 2016 Aaron Conway
SE Reimer
~

•she  sounds  her  clarion  call... •

•to   birds  of  every  feather•

•be  they   large  or  small•

•heavenly…    everyone•

•for they are angels all!•

•‘calling    all   angels,’•

•with quill  in-scribe•

•with prose enthrall•

••winged  lovelies••

•leave  your  fight•

•find respite from•

•••migration's•••

•••• flight••••

•each to take•

•your sacred•

•••place•••

••within••

••these••

hallowed

•halls.•

­•••

••



~

post script.

"birdland" by SoulSurvivor
the inspiration for this one.  
she who loves unconditionally
is also one who others coalesce round.
and whether she chose it or no,
she is nonetheless a leader among us,
a bird to which we flock.
you who know her well will agree,
as one who shares so unabashedly
and who in such intimate detail
shares her daily struggle
and her daily triumphs,
and who encourages soooo freely,
she is herself a joy to read;
and is one i can say without reservation,
she defines "friend"!!

much love to you, SoulSurvivor!


if you've not "met" her,
or ever read her poems,
begin with this one:  
http://hellopoetry.com/poem/1546434/birdland/
 Feb 2016 Aaron Conway
m i a
i
is like having your lips sewn together, your voice is trapped in a prison and its sad you see, because you yourself hold the key.

ii
its like having your feet glued to the ground in big crowds, and you feel like everyone's constantly staring you down.

iii
its like feeling so alone in this world, especially when you're just a little girl, and all you want to do is be free and twirl.

iiii**
its like being a bird, but you have clipped wings and you can't sing.
this is anxiety to me//
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