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Her shoulder *****
open to the sun
reveals the long road
to warmer sands,
where her heart beats
the waves in the ocean,
as the bass through boards
on her holy dance floor,
private, secluded.
Her trim of green
smells of a sweet
musk, patchouli, of
old cinnamon
I fill my lungs
I pretend that she's smoke,
invites and then guides
my journey toward her
sacred equator.

|||||||||||||||. . .

On the run, the run, on the run
There's a place to which I'd like to travel
But I've been there before THAT'S
HOW I GOT THIS WAY BY HAVING
HAPPINESS actualized and two heavy
hands to wipe it all away
Disintegrate, disintegrate
On the run, the run, on the run
Invitation is one thing -- I don't deserve
The want is with me the
heart is pure

This spirit, though
still broken from
whatever time before
today.
....
So I sit in the bathtub,
as the shower head above me
sends water hitting up against
my back
my shoulders
my long brown hair...
it occurs to me
that the water
that was once trickling
down my spine
is now circling the drain;
flowing so effortlessly away.
It reminds me
that everything is temporary.
That soon one day
the pain,
the hurt,
the agony,
and the sadness
that I am feeling
will circle the drain too;
and I will be
okay again.
the only thing
that's left with
my burning
and unrequited love
are cinders capable
of flaming up again

i'm just waiting
for someone
to light it up again
but it surely
won't be you
Life
Baffled.
What befell
Our civilization
Is hell. There is no heaven
When religion is mistaken
For a token of radicalism.

Death
Rejoiced
What brought her
Our people
In a living inferno.
There is no pourparlers
With terrorists and benighted
Souls.

Manchester
These people are heathens
No virgins await them up the heavens
But the cold-blooded sight of a bleeding earth
Stigmatizing those out there who protect their hearths
In tears, facing the West
This is a waste of our so called civilization

Jews
Muslims
Christians
Buddhists

We aren’t.
We are humans.

In the aftermath of the deadly attacks that befell Manchester Arena, May 23, 2017.
Lyon
I see the violence,
I hear no laughter,
It's all faith to capture;
I can feel the rapture,
Disaster another chapter,
Darkness within these walls,
a fall,
No more buildings too tall.
Fire choking the young,
It's only just begun.
There's no sun,
We hear a bomb,
Run,
Innocent children,
Deprived of fun,

Shrapnel flying everywhere,
Smoky air,
Streets are bare,
It's all despair,
I feel the Animosity,
Subconsciously,
Knowing I'm dead probably,
We do this to our society,
Because we have religion and rivalry,
Violently, involved yet independently,
You walk so silently,
Scared of your own shadow frightfully,
Tirelessly,
With your messed up psychiatry,
That’s irony.
Restless Ramblings of a mind, that still doesn't understand why.
Quick succession rhyming used here. Some lyrics are taken from a rap I wrote, in similar context to what is happening in this sad, miserable world.
There's more to a woman than her body and curves.  At the core of her brain is a thunderstorm that rains down wisdom, knowledge, and understanding flooding the soul of man with love in it's truest form.
There's more to a woman than her physical beauty.  She's a living breathing ocean with waves of compassion leaping from the depths.  Sweeping man up in her current allowing him to swim in her essences that is woman.

Written by Keith Edward Baucum
words are just wonders
   one
          can release,
                 but only one's pen
could ever crease
                     into the safety
of a poem's lease.
     so this
        is
        a
    note
        to
       a
  pen.
      "
     Oh,
    draw
  Your line
And never
Look back
From those
inked words
that flow
   from
   your
   clack
   and
   let
   them
   flow
   into
   sharp
   flack.
  or maybe
  give words
  that proper,
  warm embrace  
  which can get
  lullabies fall
  into disgrace.
  or maybe just
  draw a perfect
  dark contour
  playing with
  edges that
  make sights
  demure...
  add dots
  and spots
  on plain
  white
  paper,
  like
  living
  knots
  in the
  hands
  of a
  draper.
  pour
  some
  more
  ink
  on
  me.
   "
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