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You've got to be stronger than you feel.
Life demands it.
You've got to do things you really don't feel like doing.
Even though you're exhausted.
You've got to be at places that you don't want to be at.
It feels uncomfortable and way too heavy.
You need to be with somebody but you can't.
When you need them more than ever they're too busy.
Life demands it.
You've got to be stronger than you feel.
16-05-21
No sir, no not me
Come no closer, can’t you see?
I’m freezing as the springtime frost
So won’t you let me be?
Wind tossed as the blossom
Bleeding from the tree
I am but a child; I’m lost
I am wild, not dutiful
Scarred inside; not beautiful
My demon lover  left me
Underneath the cherry tree
No sir, no not me

No sir, no not me
Come no closer, can’t you see?
I am not a fresh faced maid
No sir, we can’t be
Plucking cherries in the glade
Walking in the evening shade
I’m buried in the foetid earth
Awaiting spring, denied rebirth
In the soft sun, in the rain
I shall never rise again
No-one can ever set me free
No sir, no not me
 May 2021 Leone Lamp
Maria
To fill a void of broken glass
I inhaled,
I absorbed,
And consumed my past.
Tried to bury it under a pile of ash
And suffocate it with a wiry cord
To no avail!
Because, like a restless panther,
Some unconcealable part of me roared
With an unquenchable thirst
For blood.

I looked at the panther’s golden eyes,
At its slender, shadow-like presence
Wondering what it could so despise
About my very essence
But mostly,
I stared, mesmerized
At a row of white, perfect daggers
That had, no doubt, heard many fearful cries
Before mine.

So I ran, but not fast enough-
For the panther ran faster
Called out my bluff
And leaped to cover me
With a curtain of ink-black fur.
Sensing disaster,
I froze in place,
Flames seizing my lungs,
Having lost the chase -

- And then there was silence.
 May 2021 Leone Lamp
Maria
Purple
 May 2021 Leone Lamp
Maria
The vibrant dreams
of a young girl
And the elegent drapery
Of frivolous royalty
The colors of rage-
-and sadness
Of power-
-and compromise
Immersed into one
And spit out
Onto lavender fields
And violet sunsets
And all sorts
Of delicate little pretty things
Telling stories of burning love
Mixed with icy lonliness
On the writer's palette
Like the violet buds of affection
Nipped in their juvenile buds
But also the wilting leaves of a lilac
Left to rot past its prime
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