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Your poems are beautiful Earl Jane smile you are truly gifted.
Margaux, you are an saint with true story telling in your blood.
Patty M your poetry is beautiful as well thank you much.
There are so many poets whom poems are so beautiful.
I wish that I could name each of you  in a poem here on Hp.
I just want to say just how thankful I am seeing your beautiful poems.
This is the very last poem with beautiful in the title thank you all.
For blessing me with all of your beautiful words and poems too.
Excuse me what is your name? Face looks familiar but your spirit not the same I really do believe we met somewhere before is it just a coincidence or maybe a rapport? Sir/ma'am I do believe the statement made is meant for you, you got the same look on your face him/her do who are you and where are you from? Nerves, sweating, and your heart beating like a drum don't be afraid it's been long enough.waling without faith can be rough who am I the question you ask I am you the reflection you see been searching trying to find peace the harder I search the quicker it decrease the hurt of pain I see on your face keep me praying for happiness in your space hard to believe I am you mirror images don't lie yes it's all true I see you been searching trying to find me I been to searching for you soon united we will be it shouldn't be long two will be one happy at all times the stress will be done smiling no longer frowning got that glow hard times are behind your pace no longer slow the questions you ask I want to know the answers to I got one last question Who are you?
 Feb 2016 Bill murray
ryn
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••••••••••••••
••••                          ••••
•••• ­                               ••••
••••                         ­          ••••
••••                                    ••••
••••           ­                         ••••
••••                               ­     ••••
•let my secrets be buried unknown•
never to resurface, never again shown•one
mistake was all it took...•invested my heart
in an unassumin-                g crook•that was
enough to set m-                   y world on fire•
fuel for wagging to-       ngues' desires•days
only elapsed with l-        eers from disgusted
eyes and whispere-          d mocks•time was
inconsequential o-              n faceless clocks•
a hard lesson lea-                 rnt, painful price
to pay•now i have my secrets heavily pad-
locked... and the key thrown away•
••••••••••••••••••••••••


.
I  walked  under  clear  blue  skies.
My  feet  making  footprints  in  the  golden  sands.
    
I  shaded  my  eyes  and  peered  across.
At  inky-blue  mountains  stretching
Endlessly  beyond  the  vast
Expanse  of  water.

Seashells  scattered  at  random
Lay  embedded  in  the  soft  sand
Showing  off  many  beautiful  colors

I  sat  for  awhile  and  dozed  fitfully
Listening  to  the  soft  murmuring
Of  the  gentle  incoming  tide.

The  tranquillity  was  finally
Interrupted  by  an  excited
Yell  from  a  small  boy  fisherman
Who  had  hooked  a  minnow.

As  it  grew  cold  I  walked  on
With  a  clear  and  refreshed  mind.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK.  2016.
 Feb 2016 Bill murray
ryn
Let the poetry...
Write itself....
As the ripe new moon
strums the swaying
silhouettes of the night.

Let the poetry...
Write herself...
With the vast
expanse of obsidian sky.
Pocked subtly with the shy
murmurs of the stars...
Offering solace and peaceful respite.

Let the poetry...*
Write of you...
As the splendour...
Envelopes each unspoken letter.
Embedding words of warmth,
that seize my heart
in a state of enamour...
Before taking its majestic flight.
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