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 Feb 2018 Austin Stafford
A A
Tell me,
How many sips does it take,
How many puffs does it take,
How many pills does it take,
How many sniffs does it take,
How many needles does it take,
To feel the way I do?
 Apr 2017 Austin Stafford
Addie
The darkness is lightened
By the stars in the sky
And I am not frightened
With you by my side

You hold my hand
As we lie in the grass
We talk about our favorite bands
And things from our past

We discuss the earth, moon, and sun
And the origins of life
We wonder why people use guns
And why there is so much strife

You stare into my eyes
Moonlight twinkles in yours
For a moment we are hypnotized
Then the rain starts to pour

Both of us laugh
We leap off the ground
The sky shows its wrath
And you twirl me around

With your hands on my waist
We enjoy the refreshing shower
I can feel our hearts race
And the world feels like ours
Midsummer flutters in on butterfly wings.
Softly landing on the corolla leading to the petals.
Slow motion has been initiated by summer,
people, air, insects and life has slowed.
Summer doesn't rush, summer doesn't push.
Summer lazes in a haze of shimmering heat.

Only tempers get short during long summer nights.
Humid hate filled anger disrupts the slow tempo,
only to quickly dampen in the humid stultifying night heat.
Honeysuckle, jasmine, water lilies and evening primrose,
come out and soothe the moonlit summer night.
A breeze rises and soothes the weary mind.

Summer night blooms, in more ways than one,
moonlight shimmers like gossamer threads
down onto the flower beds, the flower's
fragrance fills the air, soothing, calming,
softly, sweetly filling summertime with cruel kindness.
Cruelty of heat the kindness of sweet flowers.
© JLB
18/07/2014
for it blooms
for it sings
for once
in a lifetime
the soul have
purpose and meaning
with everything
when we bathe
the soul
in moonlight
I'm not a poet; only a poetfreak.
I know I won't be put in books
Or go down as a great like Poe.

But I don't care, because I don't need to impress
I only care about making an impact to you.
Yes, you! The one reading what I type.
You're all that matters to me when I write.
I don't refine my poems, I leave them raw
Which means I'm not great at all
Unless you like sushi or steak tartar
Written 18 January 2016
 Jan 2017 Austin Stafford
aa
However improbable
I like to think that the multiverse theory is true
That for every choice we made
there are versions of us who made different ones,
and that for every lost opportunity
there is a whole another universe where we took a chance
The paradox will never end
the parallels will never cross
But I like to think that
somewhere out there
no matter how unreachable
there is a version of me
that still has you.
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