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Clary Morgan Feb 2017
Where do the dreamer's dreams end?
I'll promise you a secret when you give me a wish
Whether it comes true isn't up to you
I want a day
Where dreams of magic are seen for truth
A day that doesn't lie about
Knowing every fantasy as reality
When fear is just a play toy
An innocent game where no one hates or cries
Because of everything they have been forced to lose
No more differences to change
Or lost dreams among the infinities of essence
You would be you and I myself
And the day where love doesn't falter breathless
Buts creates the hope it was meant to
Clary Morgan Dec 2016
"I don't want to"
"You have to"
"Since when"
"Since the world decided you have to decide everything young"
"Why do my decisions have to be own, no one elses are"
"Because you see that"
"Why does no one else see it"
"Because they live in reality and you don't"
"How can I ever be a part of reality"
"Because you have no choice"
"I never did, did I?"
  Dec 2016 Clary Morgan
fox breath
you are the sun to my moon,
   el sol to la lune,
   lovers trapped by misfortune.
for it is nearly impossible
   for us to share the sky
   but for those occasional times
   where we are together for a few hours,
   but it is never enough.
we are  p u l l e d  a p a r t  again,
though this distance has yet to affect our love.


you are the sun,
   bringing light to my world
   and keeping me warm,
   the sole reason I am still alive.
when I look at your eyes,
   they shine just as bright as any sun
   to the point where if I stare long enough,
   I could go blind
   and a ghostly image of you would be forever burnt into my retinas.
   though, even ghosts would be better than a world without you.


I am the moon,
   mostly choosing to hide,
   rarely showing all of myself
   always with a hidden dark side.
I depend on you
   for without your light I could not shine,
   meaning that to lose you
   would be to die.
The only thing depending on me are the tides,
   my power lying in the waves,
   the push and the pull,
   the tug and the passion of the sea.
Every gentle wave and every rough one are caused by me,
sometimes I bring certain joy but sometimes I bring certain death.


Where you could not do a single thing wrong,
I am a raging mess,
but I need you to survive
and people never speak
about the sun with no moon,
and the thrill I get in seeing you
on those unusual occasions
makes the distance
  Dec 2016 Clary Morgan
T. S. Eliot
Mistah Kurtz—he dead.

      A penny for the Old Guy


We are the hollow men
We are the stuffed men
Leaning together
Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
Our dried voices, when
We whisper together
Are quiet and meaningless
As wind in dry grass
Or rats’ feet over broken glass
In our dry cellar

Shape without form, shade without colour,
Paralysed force, gesture without motion;

Those who have crossed
With direct eyes, to death’s other Kingdom
Remember us—if at all—not as lost
Violent souls, but only
As the hollow men
The stuffed men.


Eyes I dare not meet in dreams
In death’s dream kingdom
These do not appear:
There, the eyes are
Sunlight on a broken column
There, is a tree swinging
And voices are
In the wind’s singing
More distant and more solemn
Than a fading star.

Let me be no nearer
In death’s dream kingdom
Let me also wear
Such deliberate disguises
Rat’s coat, crowskin, crossed staves
In a field
Behaving as the wind behaves
No nearer—

Not that final meeting
In the twilight kingdom


This is the dead land
This is cactus land
Here the stone images
Are raised, here they receive
The supplication of a dead man’s hand
Under the twinkle of a fading star.

Is it like this
In death’s other kingdom
Waking alone
At the hour when we are
Trembling with tenderness
Lips that would kiss
Form prayers to broken stone.


The eyes are not here
There are no eyes here
In this valley of dying stars
In this hollow valley
This broken jaw of our lost kingdoms

In this last of meeting places
We ***** together
And avoid speech
Gathered on this beach of the tumid river

Sightless, unless
The eyes reappear
As the perpetual star
Multifoliate rose
Of death’s twilight kingdom
The hope only
Of empty men.


Here we go round the prickly pear
Prickly pear prickly pear
Here we go round the prickly pear
At five o’clock in the morning.

Between the idea
And the reality
Between the motion
And the act
Falls the Shadow
                                For Thine is the Kingdom

Between the conception
And the creation
Between the emotion
And the response
Falls the Shadow
                                Life is very long

Between the desire
And the spasm
Between the potency
And the existence
Between the essence
And the descent
Falls the Shadow
                                For Thine is the Kingdom

For Thine is
Life is
For Thine is the

This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper.
Clary Morgan Oct 2016
Each step I take I watch for no other reason than to notice something no one else does
So I can see what is sacrificed for me to succeed
They say hold your head up high so you won't miss anything
And all the things under our feet, what of them?
Where do they all look?
Ahead with all their heads held high
I stare at my feet and wonder why I'm the only one to think about looking lower than higher
And curious why I'm the only who bothers to watch where they walk
Clary Morgan Oct 2016
Why the what are you?
When confusion folds to secrets scribed in souls
And borrowed days are weighted with baited scourages of tomorrows lies
The journey is a wait and awaited
Where does time tell what belongs to whom and what doesnt?
Am I all?
Clary Morgan Aug 2016
What is this moment worth waiting for?
Where is it, this place in time that starts my life?
When will it happen, this time to become someone new?
This time when I can cease and become a difference
Where is my choice or lack of it
When did change become the only thing I have?
When does my life begin?
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