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 Jul 2018
Cné
Who would think a rose so sweet
Would dry and crumble at the feet
And blooms that scent the night and day
Would steal a heart, then fade away

With petals soft and fondly red
Sweet essence fills an addled head
Then turns to dust before the eyes
Leaving naught, but sad surprise

Who would think such thorny vine
Could lift a blossom as divine
And by the stem on which it stands
Could so wrong an offered hand

Such strength and beauty is rarely true
A blessing owned by very few
As 'neath the soil, in winters keep
There sleeps a rose to tear a cheek

Who would think that perfect bloom
Could be a bane, a curse of doom
So fine a sight, yet in disguise
A rose to ***** and blind the eyes
To this body
Death does as it should,
Consigns the shell
To the firewood
And sets the spirit free.


Close to the fire
the heat singes me.

I know it's only the prelude
to the fiery furnace
licking my skin with flaming tongues
reducing me to powdered ashes
disappearing and in no time fading
what was me but in an instant
dusts in urns and upon wall
and years after maybe one's
untimely rains of dusty memories.
Crematorium, Dec 16 2017 midnight.
She paints a pretty picture
she says the nicest things
outside she's always smiling
though demons live within.

She wears the latest fashion
Is surrounded by her friends
She goes to all the parties
but the torment never ends

She always feels so helpless
while alone beneath the stars
She paints a pretty picture
the girl with all the scars.
Bamboo groves sing the symphony of winds
in their crackling I hear my heart
on the red lone summer road.

The village woman passes with her cow
she has no time for poetry
yet her radiance fills me to beg life
more..

O Death be a while away
I've taken root on this land.
On the village road, May 11 2018 2 pm
 Jun 2018
b e mccomb
February always makes me feel
Cheated.

Only twenty-eight days
Three less than
It could be.

February always makes me feel
Confused.

On the twenty-eighth you go to bed
When you wake up sometimes
It's March
And other times
It's not.

Are February's feelings
Hurt?

Who picked the second month
When the year is just beginning
Who picked February to be the one
To die young?
Why not another month, why
February?

Did they merely want to
End winter
Faster?

February always makes me feel
Cheated.
Copyright 3/1/14 by B. E. McComb
Resting the mind is not easy
it dances like a sparrow
and speaks like a babbler
seeking the minutest grain
from the jungle of weeds
tweeting what it has to say
from one perch to the other
in all weather.

Then the aching wings falling slow
by the cold north wind
find no worth in the haste
seek a rest
perching upon some heart.

When unbroken silence is all it has
the mind rests easy in peace.
 Jun 2018
wordvango
deftly I wrang them
my own two hands to best an adversary
I fought for years that was way bigger
more strategic then me but,
had one weakness, it was inside me,
and so I put those hands together
and crafted wisely a way to wring out ***** laundry,
twist the bad's arm
snap the chicken's neck, yes,

it does flop around a bit refusing to die,
in death throes it jumps to the fence down it around headless, no sense in that, but,
things,
even addictions refuse to die.
The poverty of a country existence
helped. Unless I wanted to sling **** there was really little work.
And the economic driver here is corn fields and **** heads the rich farmers have grown.
I don't get into staying awake walking up and down the street for weeks looking like death with his baggy eyes sans the scythe.
Hearing machine gun fire in my ears.

I used myself to get high. My hidden weaknesses. A hit of crack and a beer some ***** had me hiding from it.
I got away. Now with these hands, I am going to make a life for someone I want to spend the rest of my life loving.
I will with these hands build us a castle a small piece of paradise.
Our own heaven on earth.
And there, I will, with these hands hold and protect her and love her forever. In our small castle, that with these two hands, built.
”˜˜”°•.¸☆ ★ ☆¸.•°”˜˜”°•.¸☆

Stars gather in a twinkly show
     moon ascending in the dark sky,
          drowsy souls falling asleep
               in the still of night passing by.

        Drifting,
              floating,
                  peaceful dreams


               in gentle flows of height, and depth,
         myriad auroras of colors dance
a soft melody, on whispered breath.

Lingering just a moment or two
      as the world of dreams take hold,
           putting tired souls at ease
               in a soothing light of mosaic gold.

        Drifting,
              floating,
                  in songs of night


            magical melodies fill the air,
      floating upon a gentle breeze
tranquil moments, and answered prayers.

Stars gather in a twinkly show
     moon ascending in the dark sky,
          drowsy souls falling asleep
               in the still of night passing by.
~
              ☆”˜˜”°•.¸☆ ★ ☆¸.•°”˜˜”°•.¸☆
 Jun 2018
III
The curve of her jaw
Does not fit into
The palm of my hand
Like yours did.
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