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Repressed or forgotten I do not know
but I remembered in my sleep
A child, vulnerable and curious
scared and ignorant
I see her being gone- she looks like I remember her too
Skinny and tattered- disoriented and mixed up ut still love in her heart
Alone on the sidewalk- 4 years old, I stare at the neighboor hood I havent seen in years- and I remember it like it was yesterday
Repressed or forgotten, I'll never know
Fly
You have wings and you can fly
Why stay on the ground
Held and chained and kept down
By invisible bounds

These chains of yours are in your mind
They keep you from your peace
Cut loose and fly away
Your heart you must release

You must feel the air brush your wings
The breeze upon your face
Your wings are not broken dear
They have just been held in place
Copyright *Neva Flores @2010
The dead breathe through the door of sky,
In echo'd dreams and prayers, they sigh,
For in graves desire has no feet;
Their burning dust mirrors life's defeat,
And shriveled tongues are ghosts at sea:
Unsung, unseen, invisibly.

The storms of mind wound sleeping flesh,
In clouds you see the angel's breath,
The child of music flies in space;
A shadowed flame behind his face
To touch the sun, in world's asleep:
And stone gods in their heaven, keep.
What must inspire the vagaries of the wind;
Such a variable vocal cord must it wear-
To mimic the voices of so many beings,
And still beneath doors, around corners it bends:
But seems less like a fast flowing column of air,
So that each second, we expect to be seeing
The creature that to anguish it’s voice has lent.
As if the hearts grief has been at once laid bare,
And all the pent- up melancholy given wing.
Ceaseless lamentations rise up and are sent
To the same lone spot where flings curse or prayer.
After hours spent howling, it may begin to sing-
Who can say sorry when at last it has went.
Peace reigns when it abides in its lair.
A stirred- up breeze few good things brings-
And what makes moan when there is no pain?
The sun is out, I smell the sand and the sun
but its still an ugly day
It'll be alright- I may win the war still
I found the way out- Ive found my hope
But its still an ugly day
All alone- lonely in my cave
consumed in my own
I have nothing to share or someone to give it to
Its an ugly day
It’s the way I stumble with the
Droopy-eyed feel of being buzzed.
And dizzy, muddled thoughts
That have never been so clear.
It’s the slurred words I spoke
That have never been so logical.
The way I stumble around you
And the way you catch me When I finally fall.
2009
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