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 Apr 2018 -A
Third Mate Third
count thy words
like you count your breathes -
not!

the estimable statisticians
can estimate
the proximate number
of breaths
our lives will take,
the inventory of words,
we shall on average aggregate

we breathe recklessly,
never stopping
to slow down the rate
with which we tirelessly
consume ourselves

think of the
mess of words,
a brain store,
like a breath,
use it and then
purposeful lose it,
once employed,
nevermore,
so write often,
even longingly,
as in,
write long,
write hard,
every word expelled,
a treasure,
returned to
brother poets
for their
consumption and reutilization,
the monoxide,
of a shared oxide

when thy stock of
words in trade,
almost all used up,
perforce,
must write only
short little sweet nothings

well,
in happy desperation,
compose
alliterative allegations,
nonsensical noises,
aiming to pleases
summation of essential humanness

remain few breaths,
issue rhythmic sounds,
colorful grunting noises,
outed

one last intelligible poem
that cannot ever be read
You know those tears you get
When you can't stop laughing
Because you don't want to
And they just rest on your cheeks
Until you finish your laughter
And you wipe them away

You know those tears you get
When you watch a sad movie
And you feel like the characters are real
Even though they're not
And the tears just rest by your lips
Until the movie is over
And you wipe them away

You know those tears you get
When you say goodbye to a friend
And you don't want them to go
But they need to go
And the tears just rest on your chin
Quivering
Until the dust settles
And you wipe them away

You know those tears you get
When you walk down the aisle
And everything is perfect
When love is beautiful
And the tears just collect on your eyes
Until you need to blink
And you wipe them away

You know those tears you get
When you remember yesterday
And you wish it were alive again
But it isn’t
And the tears just fall to the ground
They soak into the Earth
And you can't wipe them away



©Words of a withering soul
 Apr 2018 -A
Sandoval
Broken
 Apr 2018 -A
Sandoval
I was not born a

poet.

I was broken into

one.


*Sandoval
 Apr 2018 -A
Pax
dimlit star
 Apr 2018 -A
Pax
You were the dimlit star
I am trying to reach.

You've lost much
of your glow
how I wish
my light would reach you, and
teach you
     that in life
you're ever so beautiful.

How the harsh words of the world
barricades you soft spoken heart
into stones.
thank you all in reading my lightly lit star in my so dim world.

ive secluded much of my world into the four corners of my home, hated to see how harsh can the world judge me. also hated this part of me, a coward. I needed to remind myself of this feeling to move forward even a little step will do.
 Apr 2018 -A
Pax
enslaved
 Apr 2018 -A
Pax
You've enslaved my heart
before I could ever say
I'm willing.
a quote

I want to say my thanks to my long time friend beth by saying this: your writing searches for truth from our deepest wells of feeling.
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