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 Dec 2017
Sarah Spang
A touch of orange,
A kiss of blue
Through the mist and through to you.

Wade the waters
Wade the crowd
Wade the voices drowning out.

All their jackets,
Anxious eyes
Blurred beneath the Bleacher lights

Tipping Lips sought
Clarity
Alleged static - him to me


And I
If only I knew
That at the end
Blooms something new
And all
The words that I've said
Have scattered with the Mist instead


Icy water calendars
Swimming wave-
To-grid with her.

Stride the lines
And numbered squares
Touch the autumn in her hair.

The mists have come
The waters rise
The fog has blurred
And cleared her eyes

Here for now
Soon- gone again
Wrap her up and then stay again



And I
If only I knew
That at the end
Blooms something new
And all
The words that I've said
Have scattered with the Mist instead


A touch of orange,
A kiss of blue.
This is the first song I've written that I actually can hear music to when I read it. If anyone out there is musically inclined or had lyrical suggestions, I'd be interested in getting into something new.

Dedicated to Red.
 Dec 2017
M
There is something
heartbreaking
about watching snow fall
There is something
that twists inside
as the snowflakes glint in the lights,
as millions of them
land heavenly on bitter earth
The softness of the silence,
like every sound is suspended delicately
in time,
should have a deafening scream rip through it all
as if a slow-motion car crash just might
take place at any moment
because
there is something
heartbreaking
about watching snow fall
 Dec 2017
Star BG
Drifting delicately with song of heart
inside breath
mind grabs silence gracefully.

Visions rise,
as form is carried
touching cloud-like mountain tops.

Senses perk and worries fade,
as deeper I dive into a
dreamscape reality,

Universal gateway opens,
as my ethereal wings expand
to catch the wind.

Music plays
as spirals of light penetrate,
with voices echoing
let go, let God.

Perfect time
for self to rondevu with angels
to feel love waves bathing my aura,
as slowly,
I come out of a grand comatose vision.

As aura is now cleansed
to walk in a day,
adorned with blessings.
 Nov 2017
Graff1980
Time was the *******
that mastered
the living arts
and stole
her beating heart.
 Nov 2017
Graff1980
It is weird
but the words
will not let go
of my weary
worrisome heart.
 Nov 2017
Poetic T
I was a clock always on time,
          but under the surface
     I was winding down.

Till that finite cog cracked
      And my face became static.

I was now just an empty shell
                    with no time to tell.
 Nov 2017
Graff1980
The poor fool
longs to sell
his septic soul
to the sorrowful
sparrow
who walks
with broken wings
transforming
from a bird to
a womanly form.
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