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I live in my head
I have my own room there
My own bed
Where I do my best thinking
Where I am most comfortable
It keeps me up most nights
Making to do lists and analyzing
conversations from days before
Daydreaming about everything
Some of the thoughts I have
are down right crazy
So crazy that it must not be me
there must be other people up there
and hell not just a room but a whole house
with several rooms and several conversations
I can envision it clearly
Sometimes I stay there for days
The lights are on
My shades are open
But no ones home
I do return to the real world and have
real conversations but seems like I
Always return to my head
Where I live
In my own room and my own bed
Sorry I have to get some of the crazy out...that is why I love writing and HP
Of all the beasts in hidden caves
With hearts to burn and hell to raise
You are the spark that sets the blaze
And I, a victim, unafraid.

Of monsters hoarding gold and fire
What have I done to earn your ire?
I am not guilty, you whisper liar
And thus command I build the pyre

You accuse betrayal, and I am aflame
But I will not cry or plead in vain
I know you beast, I see your pain
So I forgive you once again

When I am ash, you return home
To your kingdom under stone
Sorrow weighing on your bones
The price of fury is to remain alone.
The fear has subsided,
Uncertainty melts into endless kisses,
The second movement begins
On a hopeful note,
The violins build with a confidence
And unity, powerful and harmonious.
The unstructured first movement
Simply a search for a theme
A leitmotif to progress from darkness
To light.
The woodwinds laugh,
The horns announce the news,
The drums are strength and power
Driving the rhythm of our love.
Writing the notes together
We flow like rain
Blow together like leaves
In a breeze so brisk and strong.
We are conducting this movement
In gentle caresses and playful interchanges.
A melody only the heart can hear,
Silently envelops our waking hours,
And urging us to surrender.
The orchestra plays as one
We float upon the ocean of sound,
Wondering if the symphony will ever end.
Let the musicians play on
We can dance till dawn.
When I work I work
What I say I say
What I do I do
And unlike you
When I must work
I work ahead at what I said I would do
Truth... Or so I like to think
What passes as chaos from dawn till dusk,
Alters into the most fascinating aray of lights at night.
An abundance of lit buildings showcasing a skyline of a once town now a luminescent anomaly.
A neon horizon upon a city of life,
Movement, that never sleeps*

Amanda. F (c) 2017
settlers came to the frontier lands
holding guns in their seizing hands
the tribal people's tears and blood
fell on the earth in a torrential flood*

they'd been dispossessed of terrain
so lasting was the anguishing pain
their ancient grounds ceded away
to the occupier's colonizing sway

the Indians of the vast Dakota plains
had a culture under great strains
the foot-print put down by forebears
was nearly lost like the brown bears

yet the spirit of the tribes still survive
in their ancestral territory it's alive
they've a heritage enduring of flow
*which is seen in the sun's risen glow
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