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 Apr 2016
Cyrus Gold
You can taste the water. She did.

Limp left leg supports her weight,
not to mention the infant that clings to her breast,
malnourished and weak.
With her left arm around the little one, holding him tight,
she slowly kneels down at the stream.

Right hand clings to the white bowl
as it scoops the liquid silence into itself.
Her infant first. He eagerly sips.
Doesn't taste good, but he's too young to know any better.
Her turn. Surviving had never been harder,
but she tasted the water.

You can touch the earth. He did.

His men, arms at the ready, invade
after unsuccessful attempts
at resolving the conflict diplomatically.
The land was unclaimed, and worth a fortune.
Peace kept it asleep
until the drums of war awoke its aching body.

The General dismounts,
takes a moment to scan his men,
kneels down, extends his arm
and presses his hand firmly on the ground.

He lets the soil stain his fingers;
moist with the cleansed foundation,
but also thick, with the blood of his enemies,
now on his hand.

He begins to cry;
the rivalry between him and his brother
did not have to come to this,
but he touched the earth.

You can feel the wind. They did.

Walking along the shore of a vacant beach,
he asks to see her. She's confused.
He strips naked, right in front of her.
She giggles. He smiles back.

She's always hated her body,
convinced by the voices in her head
that she's ugly, overweight, and uninteresting.
Alas, she closes her eyes and strips. Her eyes open.
He's still smiling, even more so now.

His gaze turns towards the ocean.
They start to run,
but it's not colliding with the water
that ignites their soul;
it is the wind, raising their spirits
and carrying them as they leap into the cold.
They were terrified,
but they felt the wind.

As for the fire? That is up to you.

When your heart beats for someone so fast
you lose all spatial perception,
your soul is igniting.
When the acrophobic young adult
takes the leap with a bungee cord
strapped to her leg,
she's never felt so alive.

Love is fire. Fear is fire.
There's a phoenix laying dormant inside you,
and it waits;
not to be burned alive,
but rather burned to life,
and it yearns for the fire.

In essence,
You can taste the water,
touch the earth,
and feel the wind.

However,
Until you drink the ***** water solely to survive,
or shed the blood of your enemies
in the name of duty and honor,
or set your naked soul free
to embrace the wind,
taking that giant leap into the unknown,

I'm afraid you can only imagine the fire.
 Aug 2014
Edgar Allan Poe
It was many and many a year ago,
  In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
  By the name of ANNABEL LEE;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
  Than to love and be loved by me.

I was a child and she was a child,
  In this kingdom by the sea:
But we loved with a love that was more than love—
  I and my ANNABEL LEE;
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
  Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago,
  In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
  My beautiful ANNABEL LEE;
So that her highborn kinsmen came
  And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
  In this kingdom by the sea.

The angels, not half so happy in heaven,
  Went envying her and me—
Yes!—that was the reason (as all men know,
  In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
  Chilling and killing my ANNABEL LEE.

But our love it was stronger by far than the love
  Of those who were older than we—
  Of many far wiser than we—
And neither the angels in heaven above,
  Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
  Of the beautiful ANNABEL LEE.

For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
  Of the beautiful ANNABEL LEE;
And the stars never rise but I see the bright eyes
  Of the beautiful ANNABEL LEE;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling, my darling, my life and my bride,
  In her sepulchre there by the sea—
  In her tomb by the side of the sea.
 Aug 2014
Pablo Neruda
I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.

Write, for instance: "The night is full of stars,
and the stars, blue, shiver in the distance."

The night wind whirls in the sky and sings.

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

On nights like this, I held her in my arms.
I kissed her so many times under the infinite sky.

She loved me, sometimes I loved her.
How could I not have loved her large, still eyes?

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
To think I don't have her. To feel that I've lost her.

To hear the immense night, more immense without her.
And the poem falls to the soul as dew to grass.

What does it matter that my love couldn't keep her.
The night is full of stars and she is not with me.

That's all. Far away, someone sings. Far away.
My soul is lost without her.

As if to bring her near, my eyes search for her.
My heart searches for her and she is not with me.

The same night that whitens the same trees.
We, we who were, we are the same no longer.

I no longer love her, true, but how much I loved her.
My voice searched the wind to touch her ear.

Someone else's. She will be someone else's. As she once
belonged to my kisses.
Her voice, her light body. Her infinite eyes.

I no longer love her, true, but perhaps I love her.
Love is so short and oblivion so long.

Because on nights like this I held her in my arms,
my soul is lost without her.

Although this may be the last pain she causes me,
and this may be the last poem I write for her.

— The End —