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And so it is another day
Plenty of sunshine
Rainy and grey
I'm sure change
Is coming this way
To the good
Or to the bad
To much weather
Can drive one mad

But what is weather
If not the force of change
Ice and snow melt in pain
Puddles of mud fall in love
Tracking dirt in
On the living room rug
And there a stain
Upon the heart
Forecasting storms
Will never part!
Traveler Tim
As talent drained from every inch of my mind
I found reading other's work only made me jealous
                   I started to feel unpopular
          Not enough ideas left to create anything at all. Not a single drop of inspiration.

      As all of theses emotions and realizations mixed together

I became okay with copying your work.

       I can imagine you slaving in the dark
Racking your brain to find the perfect words to finish the last line


       Lucky for me I have it all right here, completed and ready to post
     Finished and polished and prepackaged with a message I didn't think of but everyone will commend me for.




    *I hope you enjoy it.
Not actually plagiarized. Just tired of seeing others plagiarize on here.
to be a poet is simple to poets
- its the song on their lips
the song forming in their hearts
songs they have sung
singing with every breath
-set loose and forever free.
A list of lost poetry

Lies on my bed stand

and An archive of memories

Rests in your hand tonight

Another sob story

To another break up song

Another solitary cigarette

To another, “I knew better all along”

So, rather than the ladder

I’ll minimalize farther yet

Until I can’t believe in anything

and I manage to forget



She skipped the song

and Got right along to her favourite verse

She said she practiced, but forgot to rehearse

She says, “I hope I’ll be up to par, tonight”

She looked so fragile against my skin

My favourite probably was

The time when I

Believed the lie

What a pleasure it was to succumb

What a pleasure it was to feel alive

What a pleasure it is to say

I forgot to say good bye

She said it’s a control thing

Something that looks grim in the right kind of light

and I’m an eye sore to the onlooker

I guess I never worried much about that



Somewhere between wish I may

and Wish I might

Somewhere between

The fire

and The flame

Somewhere in between everything

I forgot to feel anything at all

I was never what you hoped I would be

but You have to admit, I did try

I tried everyday to give you something to believe

but I understand that some things

Just aren’t up to me

Some things you have no choice

but To sweep underneath

and The floor’s starting to lose shape

Under the weight of things



She knew the horizon, it wouldn’t change anything

We run from our geographical locations

Thinking that our region will change

Our core being

Created in God’s image, we are foolish creatures by nature

We ride on hope that’s never been validated by anything

We dig our fingers into the sand and revel in our pipe dreams

She’s praying against all odds that her rod

Isn’t the one that gets struck by lightening

“I’m not ready,” she said

“How can I let go,

When I don’t even know where I’ve been?”



At the end of the night

She lit a cigarette

She watched her smoke

Billow into the sky

She tucked her laces into her shoes

and Brushed off her jeans

She picked her keys up off the ground

Then she leaned in, and kissed me good night
In fairytales and fantasies,
My parents would always say,
That a Magician so talented,
Would someday find his way.

And what way should he seek?
In fields of dust and harrowed meek,
And in his path he should depart,
Into my beating heart.

But he is a Magician after all,
A bewitcher, a deceiver, a devil at the ball.
Who tricked and hoaxed me,
By the time of nightfall.

So curse you Magician,
And the lies you have said,
After all your trickery,
Was that you never cared.


J.F.B
( by Elizabeth Squires and SilverSilkenTongue in Collaboration)


In an idle ilk the poet
Did **** precious time
Non pursuant twas he
Of that haunting rhyme

The Tap tap tap of his Thumbs
In pulse to the Anxiety that Comes
Resistant and Hesitant this Choice of Word
Like crows on a wire flitting to and fro
Simply to be Assured who is top Bird

He mulled in thought
On his composition
Yet not acting on it
Due to a stalling disposition

Caught in a Web, of Websters Dictionary
Assonance and Consanace Fundimentaly
He Chews each Syllable to Spit out
The Misconstrued Vowels that he Shouts!

By Elizabeth Squires and Silver Silken Tongue
Special Thanks to Ann who suggested Elizabeth and I should Collaborate
All the Work here is licensed under the Name
®SilverSilkenTongue and the © Property of J.Flack
If I had one wish then
I would wish for you
So I could see your *face just one last time
Your presence lays within the smell of rain
and
all its transparent beauty.
God is closer to you than your jugular vein
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