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only i can pronounce
and it keeps screaming
back at me in old voices
and fatal strokes of
dead birds calling out

two times the pitch
sounds only the dead can dance to
and it goes on
note after note
diminishing the sanity
and wiping out my thoughts

                         and now

even though
these vocal chords
currently feel like
crumpled papers
& deserted alleys,


the screeching won’t decease.
 Sep 2013 elizabeth
Jesse John
Sarah
 Sep 2013 elizabeth
Jesse John
Separated only by time and time so far.

From the big bang
We crossed like ants
and from that point
I turned around

I ran after you
Reaching my hand to grab you as
you fell over this beautiful ocean,

And as I succeeded
and felt the warm touch of your hand for a moment
I knew you were salt as I am pepper

But alas;
we are separated
Separated only by time

And as time goes on
I continue to study your book
and every line pops out at me
As an amazing jigsaw puzzle fitted together

You are an oustanding author
You are an outstanding work of art
but We can never be.

Your eyes send a
Flurry of electrocution through my soul.
The whole of myself lights up
from the mere sight of them.

But;

We can never be as long as
Your friendly friend I envy,
Continues to stand his place

I only hope we will cross again in the future
Only the future can tell
Separated only by time.
Separated only by me
 Sep 2013 elizabeth
D.H. Lawrence
I never saw a wild thing
sorry for itself.
A small bird will drop frozen dead from a bough
without ever having felt sorry for itself.
The whispers turn to echoes here.
This place where darkness thrives
and secrets hide.
You hear it breathing.
It calls your name.
Hidden in the corner,
you clench your mask of light..
What once was bright is fading.
The dark is overtaking it.
For a moment, there is quiet.
Your heart is pounding
palms are sweating.
Hold it together..
Cries from the past are creeping in.
They'll find you here.
These memories will consume you.
Their intent is clear.
They will never let you get out alive.
On ****** hands and blistered knees,
You'll crawl away.
Fumbling across the glass filled floor
From all the broken mirrors
that promised something more.
Blindfolded by the dark
You pray.
When the tears started,
you can't quite tell.
Times stands still here.
If it weren't so cold
you'd think it was Hell.
 Sep 2013 elizabeth
Jessie
They say
writers write with words
poets paint with them.
 Jul 2013 elizabeth
Saloni
Come with me, oh, dear! Let me take you there,
This world isn’t good for you, it’s greedy and unfair,
Come with me to the place, where sun rises up high,
Enlightening the buried hopes in hearts of you and I,
Where greed has no place,
Where anger has no face,
Where clouds shower happiness, high up from the sky..

Come with me oh!dear, where nights are not dark,
Where moons shines up so bright that even dawn blush to embark,

Come with me to the place where there will be no more pain,
Just close your eyes and dream and don’t wake up again.
A sweet lullaby.
A sweet denunciation.
 Jul 2013 elizabeth
E
Her hair is* Autumn.

Cascading hues of locks that shine
golden and auburn. They tumble down
her shoulders like the crisp leaves of
September. Rippling down her back in
the bold sun and falling perfectly into
place, grazing the small of her back.

Her eyes are Spring.

So lively and filled with the light of one
thousand suns. Fresh and vibrant;
astounded with all of the beauty beheld
in the universe. Captivated by one
glance and then cast adrift into
turquoise seas; a lost sailor with no
intention of being rescued.

Her voice is Summer.

Sultry and sensational. When she
speaks, every word is like delectable
honey; one taste is never enough. When
she sings, warm sun rays illuminate her
and she basks in nature's spotlight. The
delicious melody seems infinite. Everyone craves
to hear her succulent symphony.

But her soul is Winter.

Bitter and frigid, scarce and bare.
Chilled to the bone and frost covers her
spirit. It is always bleak in her heart
and the ice never thaws. Her life is
a permanent tundra and there will always
be one set of footprints in the snow.
The blizzard is getting stronger.
 Jul 2013 elizabeth
MITCHELL
Wait
 Jul 2013 elizabeth
MITCHELL
They say the blade that waits
Hurts the most,
Be wary of my anguish because
oh lord am I patient.
As a rock sitting, and listening
with all its adoration
for things that grow
and prosper
as opposed to slowly degrading away,
awaiting the day
when it can seek its true revenge
on those who let it
Become a husk, a flimsy consciousness
left to fade away into an abysmal oblivion
the plane where its very existence is questioned
A place where no light can shine through
and no sound can be heard
Alone with its thoughts.
Permitted to become
That ancient blade in the crowd.
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