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It was real,
Not fantastic,
I got no flowers,
He was not romantic,
Its better before you know what you want,
So much easier is the response,
But expectations create such work,
Some die and some get hurt,
It must to be real
You cannot pretend,
There is no fairy tale end…….
Just a thin line,
Slave or master?
What is “happily ever after”?
©B L Costello 2018
 Mar 2018 eleanor prince
Riya
It was flickering.
She could feel it.
She watched in awe as the light fought its way through,
Moving,
Just as she thought that it would die out,
That the fight was over,
It flickered again,
Stronger,
Brighter,
Hotter.

It seemed like an endless cycle.
A vicious, painful cycle.
She wondered why the light didn't just give up!
Why was it fighting its way through what seemed like a pointless war?!
Why didn't the light just...give up?
It would be easier, safer, painless...

Then she saw it.
The light stopped flickering.
The flame grew, brighter and brighter,
lighting up the black room,
Illuminating her once dark life.
She saw the flame dancing in glee,
knowing that it had won that dark battle.
She looked down and saw a shadow,
Her shadow.

Just like that,
She had her answers.
 Mar 2018 eleanor prince
Riya
Fall in love with a writer,
If you want to be granted immortality.
But beware,
If a writer falls in love with you...
They will carve you in history.
The glimmer of hope gets brighter
Those dark clouds are fading away
Soon your life will get better
The sunshine will be here to stay.

The weight off your mind will be taken
Your burdens you'll carry no more
There is A life now that is waiting
A key that will open your door.

Your past it will be left behind you
Move forward the future is yours
Now you will do what you need to
Go on look out and explore.

Take heed of aĺl your surroundings
Their is beauty of every Kind
Look out foř the things that are calming
And that hope  that will open your mind.

This world it is so full of sorrows
With things that can bring you down
But the sun it will come out tomorrow
And the joys in this life will be found.
I know so many people with depression
But guess what.there is life after depression. I also know peoplè
Who at one time suffered  with depression and now have recovered.
Maybe it is finding that key.After saying these positive words we should
Never underestimate  The reality of depression
I place myself in the center of room
as you panic to pack up your stuff,
being careful that nothing is left behind.
There are flowers growing in the corners of the room
that ask you to stay.
There are green skies
that we painted.
There are flaws your and mine
that decorate this wall.
There are TV channels
that we can surf through,
there are days to be wasted.
And I want to waste them with you.



I want you to stay.
I almost blurt it out.
But had it not been for these flowers and skies
and days written in color of your name,
I could have left
to find the dreams I never had.
There is a chandelier
of blood red glass
of your sighs and goodbyes.
I know you are not running away from me
but from our devils,
from our destruction,
that lay between us
every night.
Picture –
The ancient slave
On one knee, hands in chains
From his dreams, he refrains
A soul destined
To follow his master
Like a beaten dog tied to a post.
The few who rebelled
Either died, or were expelled,
Outcasts for life,
Labelled as heretics, agents of strife.

The ancient slave
Was born a slave, a captive soul
Animated as a shadow, not a whole.
No freedom, no choice –
A voice
With its chords tied,
Its right to speak denied
Because slavers and a bill of sale said so.

Visualise –
The modern slave
The one who is born
Not with bonds made of chains
But of laws,
Of the systemic corruption
The incessant drive for consumption
And the illusion of freedom.
It is the modern slave
Who lives the greatest lie –
A purposeless drone who will die
Thinking he has lived
Because he had an affair with life.

A life fully savoured
Cannot be just this.
Working 40 – 60 hour weeks
A system that just reeks
Of exploitation,
Of the horrible foundation
On which everything we know is built.

Most of us
Work to eat, to provide,
No secret accounts to hide;
Most of us
Make enough to get by,
Maybe enjoy the weekend
When given the leave to do so.
Most of us
Have this affair with life
Living freely for a few hours
Like rain when it’s just summer showers
Brief flickers, drops of rain
Sprinkled onto an otherwise barren field of crops
Of which the main harvest is pain.



A few of us, however,
Endlessly profit and plunder;
The modern slave
Differs from his ancestor
For he chooses his master
And loves him.
He is conned
Into thinking his masters care
Allegiances are laid bare
Hands are cast in adulation
Rights undergo strangulation
And nobody bats an eyelid.

The modern slave
Caresses his chains,
Wears them like a badge of office
Distaste for dissidence of the state
Pouring out of every orifice.
The modern slave
Could learn and understand
Confront the shimmering illusion, the shifting sand
That is the realm of made men,
But doesn’t.

Rather than fight back
We consume the great lie like crack;
These made men
Will run our planet into the ground
Until it is no longer a home
But a graveyard made for us, by us.
These made men
Spin lies, smear the truth
Force them to mingle and interchange
Like mismatched lovers in a diner booth.
Reality has shifted
It has become unbelievably twisted,
Our perceptions are suffering.
Towards each other, we direct our hostility
Unable to grasp the possibility
Of a better way.

The modern slave
Is cosy in his prison cell;
The reality of the world outside
Is a structured, engineered hell
To be avoided.
So, we just build our own bubble
Outside of which
Our only, primary concern
Is how to get rich.

Life isn’t meant to be an affair;
Life shouldn’t be
Something we are given permission for
But a free pursuit of happiness,
A learning experience.
So, with this I will conclude –
Raise your fists in the air
If you are tired of living bare,
Resist
If you’re tired of a world that does not care.
Tiny ripples in ocean's cerulean mist,
rolling under a sky of amethyst;
The biting air permeates the night,
with an icy haze from pale moonlight.

And on the sand a bonfire's heat,
wraps 'round our bodies like a sheet;
The whispering voice of seaside bliss,
touches our lips with a gentle kiss.

While dampness rises in the air,
we huddle together without a care;
Our bright wool scarves fly in the breeze,
as a sailboat appears upon the seas.

Yet in the twilight stars' array,
the schooner seems to float away;
Perhaps our eyes have been deceived,
by winter's mystic scene perceived.

A smile caresses your windburned face,
in the salty air we both could taste;
With one last glance at February's sky,
we lovingly embrace and wave goodbye.
Dedicated to my sister Marie who turns 81 on February 6th !!
 Jan 2018 eleanor prince
alexa
i used to dream in black and white,
grays blending together the scenes that
spin spin spin
until i can't differentiate black from white.
i dreamt about shriveling flowers and endless hallways
and never being able to scream;
and then i met you.
suddenly i was dreaming in color,
a luxury i thought would never come to fruition,
flowers popping and life breathed back into trees.
i never knew how beautiful it was to have someone hold you at 3am,
to kiss your bruises and tell you your scars are angelic
even though the way you acquired them isn't.
i never knew how beautiful it was
to dream in color.
 Jan 2018 eleanor prince
ryn
if indeed
my heart
knows every
word to
this song

why does
my voice
argue that
it should
never be
sung?
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