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 Jan 2019 eleanor prince
Gods1son
I wonder if diamonds
Also have insecurities and self-doubt
Do they realize their value while still in the rough?

I wonder if they really wanted to be found?
Or scared of the process of refining?
Or proud of what they become after refining?

We all have diamonds within us
That needs to be discovered and refined or
We are diamonds ourselves needing refinement
Beyond the creamy ice-milk sky,
where snow-topped mountains reign;
A world of alabaster white,
proudly shimmers in its domain.

The howling winds whirl overhead,
where wintry birds proclaim;
In glorious voices from above,
as they chirp their sweet refrains.

Within a sphere of crystal wonder,
reflecting mirrored shadows from afar;
The whispering sounds of angels' breath,
shower peace from a new snowfall.

A palace shaped by dangling icicles,
where frosty tales of winter's light;
Are coveted in the gentle words,
of poets' profound delight.
The sea appears before our eyes,
with tides that wash and sanctify;
And lifts our spirits toward the sun,
where golden rays connect as one.

They sanctify our souls within,
with crystal waters erasing sin;
And cleanse the ache of angry ire,
extinguishing all the raging fires.

While resting on the burning sands,
we contemplate our lives' demands;
With hearts aspiring to simplicity,
and Wills designed to set us free.

As we watch the rolling of the sea,
the tides tumbling fast and furiously;
We sense that angels rise above,
to demonstrate God's eternal love.
Hope springs eternally in the never-ending flow of the sea !
 Jan 2019 eleanor prince
Sjr1000
You talked about the hours
I know what you mean
Two cocoons spinning around each other
Waiting to be born

Nothing personal was the agreement
After awhile

It gets lonely
With nothing else to do but be inside

Not wanting to hide
Or collide
Do we really have that much time?

Two cocoons spinning
You became a butterfly
I became a moth
You flew west
I flew north.
The title is one of my favorite Bob Dylan lines from Your Going to Make Me Lonesome When You Go...
 Jan 2019 eleanor prince
Sjr1000
She's my walking rose
Walking down the road
Discussing right and wrong
Trying to figure out how to stay strong

She wants to grow,
She wants to know
How it's supposed to go,
She turns her color on
Turns a shade of pink yellow white black or red
Only the rose knows,
walking as she goes,
her time is brief
she thinks maybe that's a relief

Her road is long
When she's in the middle of it,
She knows though
It's all a dream as it passes on by.

My rose
She wilts in the dawn
Rises in the night,
I tell her I have one more road to go
My walking rose
She whispers, "I know."
 Jan 2019 eleanor prince
Andra
i write you
tens of letters
which
i then break in
hundreds of pieces
i fill
thousands of pages with
your name and then
i press assertively the red button in the corner and

you dissapear
off
of the screen
of my mind
of my heart not really

and i don't know what to do
to get you out of here
i squeeze this soul out of any sentiment that could exist within
so then
i could squeeze you out as well

but **** you
you are still stubborn and you don't want to
and i try
and you won't
and in vain

i am tired
i don't want this anymore
i go to sleep at night
with hope
tomorrow i will be clean
of you
and
i wake up in the morning
and
one more bud
one more root
one more blade
is pushing through

well
is it fair?

now
tell me
what do i do?

but you are silent
more than ever
but you elongate you arms
more and more
and further and further
and you squeeze
more and more
and harder and harder

and it is
more and more
loathsome
more and more
terrible
more and more
longing

it's ****.
 Jan 2019 eleanor prince
Andra
i believe we all have in our lives
a crazy love
consumed
too late or too early
too fast or too slow.
we all have that love that will always stay there
no matter what
whose remnants won't be able to be erased
no matter what.

it is like a scar from childhood which will remind you of that fall...

there will be other men
each of them will hold my hand
they will muss my hair
each in their own way
and they will all laugh at they way i sleep.
each in a different way.
i will
probably
live with each of them
a late 20 of July
or
i will
maybe
meet them
every time
in an empty intersection
at midnight.
and will
possibly
wear the same clothes
the same flowery top
the same shoes
or
we will run foolishly under the same umbrella.

i will have a particular ritual
with each of them

we might drink tea instead of coffee,
or we won't drink anything,
or on the contrary,
we might drink too much.
or we will smoke like Turks.
maybe we will quit smoking.
we might ride our bikes every day
or go out rollerskating
or maybe i will get my driver's licence
i will drive one of those old Beetles.
we will listen to the same riotous band
we will sway on the same songs
and maybe then
he will hold me in his arms
the same way.

and so what?

everything will be the same
but in a totally different way.
with someone else.
always someone else and not him.

it is that love that made you fly
and then slammed you to the ground
for a few times
without thinking about anything
and then
it repeated the process for a few times
and then
it left you like this
hovering between sky and earth.
adrift.
it is that love which is
agony
and ******
in the same time

and...

it is that love that has left a scar in your soul
and whatever you would do
you can't forget it.
and you hope that
this time, maybe.
but it's not working.

it's that love...
in our time
we think we know
most animals of the world
from films and videos

yet
seeing
an echidna come out of the underbrush
about to cross the road
but then
    looking at all the cameras
deciding to quietly go back home for a while

watching
a young humpback whale
launch her tons out of the sea
in the sheer joy of breaching
falling back in a white splash
that sends your boat rocking

feeling
the hard back of a wombat
    under its thick coat of hair
the soft fur of a koala
the cool skin of a blue-tongued lizard

feeding
a wallaby whose sharp claws
tenderly hold your hand
so that the food
            does not go away too soon

hearing
the swelling maniacal laughter
     of a flock of kookaburras
a pied butcherbird‘s
     unbelievably melodious call
    
you become aware
they are living beings
     not just images on the screen

and the little hairs
    on the back of your neck
    rise
    in shock and awe
of life‘s beauty
Australian impressions  ...
echidna = Australian ant-eating marsupial, see http://www.australianwildlife.com.au/echidna.html
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