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What
Is
The
Winning
Formula
Of the champions? They reject negativity;
Notes (optional)
She weeps not for the shore
As distance creates a shadow
She embraces the current
Becoming the wave
And gently pushes her sea home

She chases not the sun
As the day is put to rest
She is the moonlight
That cradles the stars
Tightly to her *******

She yearns not
Her pain-streaked tears
That fall below her feet
She is the soil beneath her toes
Her pain now colors the tree

She worries not
The flowers' bloom
Or the leaves that fall like rain
She is the wind
That will kiss the ground
And sweep it all away
Talking so happily
Helping, hugging, loving
Giggle very silly
Tickle, wiggle, squeal

Blushes abound, all around
Their love is different
They help each other stand their ground
With snuggles under the blanket

One cries, the other consoles
Back rub, cheek kiss, compliment
They don't feel like two wholes
Just two parts of a family
Met a very nice friend recently who has been helping me through some rough times. She inspired this so thanks Gabrielle~!
 Nov 2015 Arfah Afaqi Zia
nina
I don't mean to be so crazy
I just love you
More than I understand
& the thought of losing you makes me lose rationality, I promise I'm trying to learn...
i.

I shalt play
The piano and lrye;
To put her to sleep.

ii.

I shalt strum
Her heart's desire;
Inside of her keep.

iii.

I shalt swoon her
In ecstasy marriage;
Lover's entwined
Magical carriage.



©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Earl Jane Nagley dedicated ( Filipino rose)
A lyre is like a small harp...
 Nov 2015 Arfah Afaqi Zia
mike dm
that super brief
moment

when something like
sanity
pushes

it

to the corner of your eye

but then
like an idiot
you
-look-
The golden tint of an autumn breeze
whispers its transcendence across the budding roses.
Isn't it rapturous in the way, beauteous death can easily
coil around a trembling form of birth?
It is one of many mysteries enticing the world,
in the way a dying leaf slowly brushes upon
a withered petal
of new life.
 Nov 2015 Arfah Afaqi Zia
topacio
my fingers have become bored with
the quicksand of routine
they prefer to dance erotically over my typewriter
frolicking like naked ballerinas
over an ancient stage
spilling their secret thoughts
onto blank page,
after their day job
threaded together
over my lap,
or bending over to
reveal the contents
of my burlap sack

they have taken instead
to jumping over cracks
in the nothing of night
stifling the sound of silence
with assortments of clicks and clacks
punching in the perfect pitch of keys
to leave Beethoven blind
from this symphony of notes combined

and just like that at last
they have unfolded some rhyme
unachievable with ink and pencil,
without the stencil of time
dictating to work inside the lines
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