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We were beautiful children
And we grew up so brave,
We were touched by death and heartbreaks but we stayed just the same.

We listen to jazz all night and drink red wine,
Find ourselves adventure to pass the time,
We don't talk much about the pain we've felt inside,
No more bumps in the road,
Just enjoying the ride.

Our love is too strong to carry weight of what's gone,
We find peace in the sun,
And the belief of being young.

Love of mine in the world,
We are one in the same,
You can laugh while you're crying and be childish when you lose games,
We are fine, we are okay,
We are in love,
And our children someday will be just like us.
Shake out your shining tresses, Love
Undress their dark contour as the pink stars rise
And drowse around the smoke-ringed moon,
Like roses in a whiskey glass.
Take time to dream a dream, my Love,
Tresses fallen across the curve of your face --
Sleep away the late summer moon,
Spooning the stars asleep in pink lace.

Lay down your weary bones, my dear,
Stretch out on vanilla feather-winged dreams 
My whisky rose petal kisses blown into the night
Finding you on glittered opalescent moonbeams
Grab hold of pink-starred sweet slumber
As  silken tendrils puddle upon your chest
Tangled up in each other's lithe limbs
Our blissful hearts beat together in tender rest
Only you can translate
where you are
on your voyage through
this varied farce
called “life”.

No one else can dictate
to you…
or should even dare…
how to phrase
your feelings,
your thoughts,
your personal moments.

Who is anyone to
cause another to feel
inept or inferior
for wording their
experiences as they will?

We are all both
audience and poet,
consumed by the
powerful spell of words
and meaning
we are bonded
in ink.

It takes gumption
and courage
to give voice to
your vision of
the world.

It often requires
resilience and nerve
to open your heart
and peel back the
layers of skin,
and let others take
a long look at the
inner workings of YOU.

Be brave,
take courage,
let your soul speak
in its very own
language.

People will read
your words and
listen to the sweet
whispers
and thunderous shouts
that flow from pens
and keys
to release the
inner demons and angels
and the lyrical
vines that bloom and live
in our individual
landscapes,

fluidly coursing from
our own rabbit holes
with fortitude and grace
and our neverlands,
where we need never
grow up,

to share with those
that need to see
and hear and feel
and wonder.


-by Mercurychyld
Copyrights
 Apr 2015 Imogen Grace
Jason Cole
the heavy heart is a heathen
corrupter of better nature
committer of soul-treason

fueled by the miserable notion
that death is twilight
and life is dawn

to flight, to flail
to rage, to rail
to weep, to wail
to no avail

to unhope

and all of this minus the mercy

©Jason Cole
My daydreams of you
are that of daybreak cotton skies,
fleeting and unobtainable,
yet breathtakingly vivid.
It's as though heavenly harps,
singing their crimson morning light,
have your name floating among them,
basking in the wine-stained clouds above.
March 22, 2015
 Apr 2015 Imogen Grace
Jen
daydream
 Apr 2015 Imogen Grace
Jen
Her eyes are filled with wonder
hearts a floating fire
her mind has cracked with thunder
thoughts are running wild
caught up in a daydream
she hates the way the days seem
to come and go
with no control
of how or who or what to do
or where to go or who to be
mad as hell, society
crazy
lazy
hazy
lay back down,
daydream.

— The End —