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I counted two days as one
I made the waiting,
of days of 20
to days of 10

The wait was unbearable,
you could tell-
Being 1617 miles away from you
but my heart still beats
In your home

-how am I still breathing-
how am I still alive

sometimes you need
to lose your heart
to feel alive

- Kaya
 Jul 2016 Afrah
Illya Oz
Mirror
 Jul 2016 Afrah
Illya Oz
There was a young boy
A child as lost as one could be
He did not know who he was
Or his reason to be

The boy found a room
The room had no purpose
No reason to be
But it was still there
Like it was just meant to be

In the room he found a mirror
The mirror had no point
No reason to be
But it was still there
Like it just didn't even care

Above the mirror he found a sign
The sign had no explanation
No reason to be
But it was there
Like it just belonged

On the sign he found writing
The words had no meaning
No reason to be
But they were still there
Like they were just meant to be read

The boy read the writing
Trying to find an answer
To find who it was
That made him feel so lost

But after reading that writing
Upon the sign that belonged
Above the mirror that didn't care
In the room that was meant to be
He no longer needed to find an answer

The boy who turned away
From the mirror that didn't care
And walked out
Of the room that was meant to be

He what not lost
But all so not found
He was someone with a purpose
Someone who had found meaning to their life
He knew what he had to do


*'The mirror will reflect your greatest enemy' read the sign
“But the worst enemy you can meet will always be yourself" - Friedrich Nietzsche 1844-1900
"Hold my hand" my mom used to say
She used to protect me.
Used to be there for me.
But see,
As all children do,
I grew up.
I grew angry
Because
She wasn't there
When I needed her.
Where was her hand
When dads hand was beating my face.
Where was her hand
When dad made sure I couldn't  move.
I used to think mommy will save me.
Nope.
She just watched
Not a day passed that she helped.
She was turned.
Mommy
Failed
Little
Zachary.
Now I've grown to know that I have no mom.  No dad .
Just distant memories of what life could be, and the fear it gives.
I am not an orphan.
I am an example
Of what life can offer
and what it *can't
 Jul 2016 Afrah
katie
wrote
 Jul 2016 Afrah
katie
we didn't
know we wrote
          our names
   into snow,
scrolled
our
         soul into
soil,
our toil invisible
on
         maps but
held
as heavy as
breath
         in cold air,
our love, death
birth, despair
        who we
were written
indelibly
into this
               earth
 Jul 2016 Afrah
Stephan
.
*I’ve not the time nor moments free
to flail about in wayward flow
Or dance the streets in cobbled glee  
with steps that I no longer know

To walk among the falling leaves
in colors painted autumn past
or sail about the seven seas
from ports o’ call yon ships are cast

Traverse a mountain born of stone
along a pathway’s winding spill
of jagged berth in footprint shown  
I’ve not the strength, nor I the will

To paint a fence of acres far
where cattle graze on sunny fields
or stare upon an evening star
enchanted by the light it yields

For every minute I can find
is spent in endless thoughts of you
To swirl about my focused mind
and every other point of view

To use the ink within my pen
and write the words I’m thinking of
In fine poetic verse I send
my promised and undying love  

So please excuse this horrid mess
as others chose to bother me  
They do not hear what I profess
I’ve not the time nor moments free
 Jul 2016 Afrah
Arlene Corwin
To the Poets of Hello, Hello!

We write, we share.
We hope there’s someone there
To read
Perhaps need
Poetry,
Precisely as we
Say it,
Hoping that they see it
As we do.
(They seldom do, but
It’s the memo
Of the heart,
Our smattering of art
That matters.)

Hello, Hello,
My fellow poets.
Ego-less
I come to you,
Admiring, commenting,
Caring for the things you dare to share.

Over simplified, naïve maybe,
Never diva we,
The weavers of profundity.
Hello, Hello to poets and to poetry,
Its crystal-gifted company
And you who take in what you see
Here.

To The Poets Of Hello, Hello! 7.4.2016
The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative II;
Arlene Corwin

Hello Poetry; a site encouraging one and all to submit & share their oeuvre.
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