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The wind whispered to the trees
Who sent messages in fallen leaves

The bluebell rang out the alarm
And the rabbits burrowed out of harm

The birds carried the message on a wing
Then the forest fell asleep until the spring
Thank you for bringing back to life a 2019 poem.
 Aug 29 Eliot York
Sara
there's a world inside your mind
and it wants you to find
a place for others,
without changing
the bookshelves
the music
or the way that you walk through the door.
It might be the means of replacing
the fear which stops you from living
and giving
and laughing
as yourself.
don't be afraid to open up
The old poets haunt me
they taunt me from the shadows
following every keystroke I type -
they’re critical of phrases,
they demand narrower themes
and mock the very clichés they invented.

I remind these frightful spirits of how tenuous
life was, how I’m blindly living these experiences,
how prevalent desire is, how human it is to chase
the things we’re told will fulfill us, like goals and love.

I try and explain this Internet thing,
how the more copious my writings,
the more people it says are following me.
How I really don’t want to sound paranoid
but as hard as I try - I don’t see anyone.
.
.
Song for this:
Too Much Time On My Hands by Styx
Reelin' In The Years by Steely Dan
BLT Merriam Webster word of the day challenge 08.17.24:
Copious = plentiful, numerous, abundant
At a desk, coffee sachets rest.
Long-life milk harbours
white dreams of expiry.
Shuffling in his forgetful nest
a grey man blinks
at the intruding light.

Americo, do you remember
your antique power,
that opened like a rose
on the walls of Hiroshima?
 Aug 16 Eliot York
Joan Doe
Sometimes saying goodbye to someone
doesn't nearly hurt as much
as saying goodbye to the version of you
that existed alongside them.
When I was small
I wrote a song.
It was as wild
As it was long.

I did not know
How to write words
And so I sang
With the morning birds.

Now I am grown,
I am depressed.
I write long things
Just to impress.

I do not sing,
I only sigh.
When I was small
I was alive.
You said we were destined
You said we were meant to be
You said I took away
Your misery

Now you say
I give you misery
Now you blame
Everything on
Me

Never holding yourself accountable
Always breaking my heart
Calling me names
Watching me fall apart

Watching us
Fall apart

I wish I could drink the pain away
So I didn't have to listen to the **** you say
Watch you decay
Into nothing
Because you're too afraid
Of loving
Someone other than yourself
Other than
Your addictions

It's a mission
In your head
To make me
Feel dead
Don't worry
You won
I've already begun
To fall apart
Broken heart
Broken shards
Broken mind

You arent so kind
You're selfish
You're weak
These things
You say to me
Yet they're you
Who you don't want to be
I wish I was more selfish
Maybe then
Nobody would hurt me
I could play pretend too
And never come
Undo

I love you
I do
But you don't know
How to love
I didn't want to fix you
I wanted to show you
You can fix yourself
You can heal yourself
And I'd be there

Instead you watched me stare
At my broken heart
Crying at all the parts
You're too afraid
To try at all
In case you fall

You've already fallen
You never got back up
Trying to tear me down
Our relationship in the ground
Acting like it's me
With evil sounds
In my head

Not me
Like I said
I love you
I do
Do you love me?
Where's the proof?
You hurt me
And I let you
To show you
I love you

But now I'm starting
To hate you
The **** you keep putting me through
Tell me
You don't want my destiny
Tell me
You don't believe
In forever and peace

Then let it be
Let me be
I'll go free
Something
I never wanted
But
I can't stay haunted
By your ghosts
While you tell me
I'm the evil host

Soon I'll be dead
Is that your plan?
Knife in hand?
So you can stand
At the bar
Leaving us so far
Behind

Change your mind
Or leave
I can't take this
We're losing
Our destiny
What I wanted it to be
What you promised
So deeply
: ( life never gives me a break 💔 except my heart smh
 Aug 13 Eliot York
BLD
Each day is one of unpredictability,
a meaningless forecast of the weather's
facade, too volatile to contemplate
in the midst of the browning leaves.

The hillsides, covered in a verdant green,
ripple above the river's trickling surface,
rising to the right and sinking to the left,
a cardiograph caressing a decaying heart.

It is most difficult to withstand the droughts
of summer, hastily transitioning to the blizzards
of winter before falling as the drops of Springtime
rain; even autumn at times can bring a bitter chill.

Yet the key is to take each day one at a time,
a solemn refusal to glance at climatic uncertainty,
but instead a gentle acceptance of life's sporadicity
and the fluctuating differences each morning presents.
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