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Sat at the station,
With nowhere to go

Trains
Arrive to depart
And
Bustling commuters
Phones attached
Rush on by
Sat at the station
Nowhere to go
Fear etched in the lines
Of a
Face lost in time
Eyes seeing,
Their spark gone
Empty costa cup
Gripped by a hand
Nails black, skin blistered
Newspaper, a forgotten date
Lies next to
Cracked leather boots
Soaked then scorched
Too many times

Sat at the station
With nowhere to go
Part one of three , little word portraits
Before you sleep tight,
Tell the person,who's usually the last on your mind before you sleep goodnight..
Wish him or her a beautiful nightmare,
In which life will be totally fair,
And let him or her know how much you care..
Some rhymes before I sleep..I love doing this,. :-p
 May 2015 Birdy To Be Free
Ciara
I WONDER IF YOU'LL INFILTRATE MY DREAMS FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE
Give me my ******* life back
When I look at him,
I see a very bright future,
It's very sad that I,
Can't see myself in it,
Anymore
how to build a better poet...

take away the utensils,
the pen and paper, the computer tablet,
the recording devices that inhibit the
free flowing alliteration of formation...

dispatch the poet to within from without,
kiss cheeks with the surety of uncertainty,
whisper whiskers of doubt will be his fearful, occupational, life long companion,
hazard, best friend...boon of indecision

let the composition begin instantaneous,
with every glance, every chance,
an overheard snippet, an introductory shot,
the writing birthing in the mind's canals,
stored for seconds, or as long as desired

give him secreted love, take it roughly away,
let him rage, then  quietly sage on
vicissitudes know as incurable,
yet poet soldiers on, role playing
a solutions seeker, a healer treating us with
decisive words about everyday indecision

beg from the poet,
to release us from our self-sequestration,
employing visionary words,
untested formulations, new combinations

as per request,
poets's eyes unclouded should; could?
raise the dead, forecast blue moons,
make us walk on hazel word horizon waters,
infect our reddish defects with reflections that effect our flesh's affections,
the breathe need continuum burn/soothe,
faster harder slower softer, always irregular...

force the poet to unceasingly seer and see,
give no rest, allow no desist, poet resist, vaingloriously disingenuous talking tongues,
distracting with ancient lore resurrected,
newly spun silken verbs...

make memorized color palettes his food,
give drink of animals, plants, star names,
visions of fields resplendent with poppies,
visions of eternities in sidewalk cracks,
dividing high wire lines connecting

his words will rise skywards,
in alpha bet pieces, returning molecules
from where they were given,
and from they will in rain-droplets,
come back again

you have not lost poet's accomplishments,
you have built a better poet
Written and in the skies over Utah, Wyoming, Idaho, and Ohio
You’re soft. Smooth.
And yet you want me to break you.
You want my hands engraving red marks into your skin.
Your sweet, soft skin.

I cannot.
But not because I don’t want to.
 May 2015 Birdy To Be Free
Kazuma
I look at the clock and i just want to craw under a rock but all i can here is tick tock.  i get up from my seat all i can see is my feet. i go to school in fear as you can see my tear.i walk around the room waiting for my teacher to come to his seances and do his job.
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