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 Mar 2018
Sally A Bayan
.....a day's, or a night's inspiration
just walks away
and escapes my mental grasp
an idea, pregnant with possibilities,
suddenly becomes infertile, like
a barren woman, or a wasteland
i try to get hold of it,
still...it glides away, falling along the
edges of my imagination.
i am bereft,
when my muse has left.
::::::::::::::

sometimes,
i eagerly dip, and wiggle my toes
on a sunny blue river that
manifests itself in my mind,
bursting with promises of new insights...
yet, a slightly curving path is hard to ignore
for, it easily presents itself......and
sometimes,
i give in to its swirls of unfulfilled
dreams, and....sublime moments,
hovering, like a hummingbird
quivering...in my own space,
there in neverlandia, where i'm left
pondering, about a life......unlived.
:::::::::::::::
my toe-dipping moments,
my rare moments of serenity,
are short-lived........ruffled,
besieged by old shadows,
because....phantoms of fear
refuse to die.
::::::::::::::::::::::

sometimes,
when treading this curved path,
unwanted, unexpected
circumstances occur,
and, all of a sudden,
my muse emerges from hiding.
inspirations bloom,
like mushrooms,
bolder,
than those that elude(d) me.
:::::::::::::::::::::::

sometimes,
it takes a while,
for love and life
to rhyme.
::::::::::::::::::::::


Sally

Copyright February 10, 2018
rrab



::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
 Mar 2018
Grey mirror
I am romantically fatal.
I give it all till I bleed to dead,
I'm left with nothing
But regrets.
How romantic are you?
 Mar 2018
Seazy Inkwell
Blown away sorrows,
Seep through pillows,
Was I mad was I sad
When I came with no “hi”s
And left with no “goodbye”s

The place is close by,
But I walk back I drive past
I duck away to avoid pests of regrets

Never able to cut open
The memories endeared
In its own empty crust.

So I look toward future with lust
Afraid of the going back
Afraid of the circling into myself
Fastened into idealized past.

Nobody ever come back this way,
Nothing ever stay the same,
None ever let their sentiments sway,
Not my fights not my thoughts not my defeats
not even me.
i don't know. i always pass by this place where i used to know. i keep thinking of the people there. but for sure they will no longer know me. i was the quiet one.  
but how they embroidered the scenes of my memories....
 Feb 2018
Kelly Rose
I live for stolen moments
Catching glimpses of a life lived
Within the pages of…
A story, a fairytale, a myth?

Sadly, it’s easier to live
For those stolen moments
Than earned moments I create for myself

Kelly Rose
© February 28, 2018
 Feb 2018
Druzzayne Rika
Dark surrounds the sun
even when it spread its light
the moment its gone
it makes its presence known
Though the sun reaches million miles
but the darkness is far beyond
will it conquer it?
 Feb 2018
Eric the Red
The truth about poets
Is
They’re not all alike
Some are derelicts
Scalawags
Lovers
Sisters
Some say they’re writers
Instead of Poet
For they know what that puts
Into the minds of others
Romantic
Lethargic
Gypsy
Some will never write novels
Poems are their Ulysses
Their ‘Love in the Time Of Cholera
Some are sad
Withdrawn
Choose to live there
While some poets
Use their words
To claw their way out
Some have fallen out of love
&
Want someone
ANYONE
to listen
While some have fallen in
the deepest ocean
&
Want to tell the world
What this man
This woman
Means to them

Most write their verses
Alone
Some at midnight
Some at sunrise
Some with coffee
Most with bottles

Most will never see the reaction
Of many
Will never hear
‘I like that...’

And most don’t want to be famous
Or sometimes heard
We
Just want to be
Ourselves
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