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 Feb 2014 BrittneyBrannum
Amanda
According to Chemistry,

one mole = 6.02 x 10^23.

Equivalent to
A computer counting 10 billions times every second would take 2 million years to reach that number.

And that is what we are made of,
the things that we kiss, hug and live in.

We are infinite

universes ourselves.

Please, please don't let anything
dull
those
stars.

The ones that glitters your eyes,
the subtle ones that effervescently lights your very soul.
And above beyond,
the little winks playing
peek-a-boo
in
your
smile.
Sunday Nights leads to this.
Hey-hi! :')
And for those lovelies who have read my poems,
this one is for y'all.
P.S Don't worry, if this is the very first time that you have read my nonsensical writings. It's for you, you and you too!
x
When life becomes a dream,
From which one can’t escape,
Reality a distant memory,
To which one can’t relate,
It takes a special talent,
To keep oneself in shape.

When all around have faltered,
Living up to one’s expectations,
Friends suddenly becoming strangers,
Along with forgotten relations,
It is time to set one’s sights,
On undiscovered destinations.

To search out the missing link,
That makes one’s life complete,
To exercise the flagging spirit,
Until one’s mind overcomes defeat,
To truly know oneself once more,
Turning the ebbing tide of retreat.

When one finally accepts the Karma,
That belongs to man by right,
Thoughts finding the given destiny,
Illuminated by inner sight,
One’s dream eventually touches peace,
Where life blossoms in the light.

© Paul Chafer 2014
For those with a rich fantasy world - mostly artist and poets, the creative people, like us readers, like you, for instance - where we can, for at least a little while, live in our dreams, find even love and peace there, for a little while, at least, as Confucius says, Am I a man dreaming I am a butterfly, or a butterfly dreaming I am a man: or was it Buddha? Such if the life of a dreamer, I forget.
ironic how
those "asthma attacks"
weren't what anyone thought
ironic how
I took teddys or toys with me
everywhere, because I couldn't cope
ironic how
I took heaps of days off school
because I forced myself to be sick
ironic how
this happened when
I was younger
ironic how
I have had panic attacks
since I can remember
and my parents didn't know
what was wrong with me
ironic how
I've been at risk of depression
since a young child
and everyone thought I was
simply shy
ironic how
I've never been scared of death
psychologist said I've had anxiety since I was young and havebeen at risk of sever depression for ages... I guess it's no ones fault at all.. I'm just ****** up
I cannot find
my peace of mind,
the weight of which crushes me
and I know not where I am again.

Like being so far away from home,
the smell of clothes
takes me back to the
last time I was in them.

I trace these thoughts
as I trace the curve of your spine-
immaculate ridges like the ride of
the cobblestones on your porch.

I find my solace
in the perfect arches of your shoulders
like the hold of the hearth
that keeps me warm.

I stow my secrets
into the unbreakable weave of your ribs,
safe and sound into the vault
of your tireless heart.

And dreams I dream
to the lullaby
of your ebb and flow
heartbeat.
Trying to like what I write. I grow tired of the shape of my words and the way it flows- far off from where I wanted it to be. I am having a hard time thinking right.

Insanity, madness.
Me.
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