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What if I will never see you again?
If the future is fog and rain
What if we lost all we have today?
If our lives were to go astray
Yet,
What if this love will hold?
If we will, together grow old.
What if we were meant to be?
If this our life’s decree
Yet,
What if we are confused?
If the distance makes our love diffused
What if we gave up trying?
If life was simply too trying
Yet,
What if you are the one?
If we never want for none
What if it will always be you and me?
If that is what will be and will be.
should it lift,
Even then and yet...

I do not know.
even if the fog of our lives,
behind us,
is clarity the alternate course,
or is the fog
a tail of sorrows, missed chances,
that follows behind, the train
we missed, or couldn't board,
and thus tho behind us,
the fog is attached
in an un-detachable grasp,
and we are still
Blind
Sided.
For Mr. Reimer, who only asks the hard questions...
She teases me would you dare
climb few steps and go upstairs
sleep the night alone.


She knows well my fear of ghost
knows too well I fear them most
a fear I don't disown.

Phantoms I do conjure
a malady without any cure
a fear I've not outgrown.

Dragging footsteps shadows around
hearing sounds where there's no sound
whispers eerie moans.

Creaking doors yawning darkness
present they all fear's ugly face
shivers chill in bone.

In my mind lies on topmost
swirling mist of bothering ghost
a fear I can't dethrone.

So I don't love lone upstairs
gobbling ghosts and chilly scares
all the threats in store.

Tell her *dear tease no more
give my word not to snore
make my bed on floor.
Clouds are floating by,
In the beautiful evening sky,
There is a faint sunset in the west;
And seagulls are flying home to rest.
The moon's rays fall gracefully to the ground,
Such beauty doth here abound,
The lighthouse is standing stately on the rocky coast;
I shall always love this place the most.
The waves are crashing in motion,
The moonlight reflects in the ocean,
Three palm trees are dancing on the rocky coast;
This place I love the most.
The full moon is shining from way up high,
It is so beautiful I'm ready to cry,
And as the moonlight hits the shore;
I shall hold this place dear forevermore.

*~Marian~
I hope this sounds okay!!! :) ~~~<3
Enjoy!!! :) ~~~<3
well I guess
that's the thing
about darkness,
it's not just part
of our surroundings
at midnight
on a tuesday
in the summer
or at 6 a.m
on a wednesday
in the winter.
it's more than that,
we can feel it
and sometimes it crawls
into bed with us
while we're staring
at the white walls
that cling to
old photographs
hung with tacs
of people who never
bother to call anymore
but then sometimes
it comes spiraling
toward us,
to knock the air
out of our lungs
and the wine glass
out of our hands
at 11:08 on a saturday
that's when it's hard,
when there are twenty
people smiling in a busy
room filled to the brim
with music and stories
and suddenly
all we can think to do is
stare down at our feet
and hope it'll leave us be
Move against the darkness that bites your tail, little wolf. Fight back.
Don't you see the clearing at the edge of the bluff? The light that rains there?
Drops of glow, little stars come from the reflection of oceans.
Dance there, sing your song of howls and tribal verses.
Nothing is following you anymore. They have no want to,
You have changed into an ugly monster, dripping black and green poison.
No me wants to love a filthy girl, a demented form of a creature once sought after.
Just because the darkness yanks on your beaded hair does not mean it is evil.
You don't understand the liquid gold it speaks, you can not hear the warnings.
The white light that illuminates the field of carnivorous wild flowers
Transformed you to your true form.
And the meteor showers washed away the rest of you.
A bitter chill that encompasses the world you once knew, and isolation sets in.
The sound of your strangled cries are the only thing left, but even then,
The echoes are unbearable. Silence is your only friend.

No physical inspiration, no sound, and soon, you forget their name.
The one who kept you from destroying yourself in the first place.
Death himself asks you three questions.
"What is your name?"
I don't know.
"Do you want to die?"
Maybe.
"Why?"
I don't know.

The questions are written in your own blood, but the hooded figure is
Nowhere in the red reflection you stare into. No light. No light.
Yet you wake up in your own cave as if nothing has happened.
Nothing except the matted fur and the festering wound in your side,
Pain searing you to your bones, burning every thought to ash.

*Don't worry, little wolf. It will be over soon.
Just don't let the sunlight get you again.
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