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 Aug 2014 Ellie Wasmund
Haych
9:45pm
 Aug 2014 Ellie Wasmund
Haych
Feeling so conflicted as to what I'm missing
knowing what I'm feeling isn't what I'm really missing
know that times are harder now
Time is constantly ticking
Life keeps on pushing me further, how?
Feels like I'm always on the edge and close to tipping
and I keep tripping
And the urge is always there, picking away at me
Haunting me with its cold glares and stares
making me feel so conflicted as to what I'm missing
and I know what I feel isn't what I'm missing
I'm missing but nobody seems to see
I'm missing but nobody seems to be...listening
I'm missing but nobody seems to be...looking
I'm missing but right in plain view
but nobody's noticed I've gone...missing
So why would they search for me when they think I'm as whole as the full moon glistening
what they fail to realize
was she was the moon
but a part of her was hidden away
a piece of her...*missing
I know it's been a while since I posted a poem
But I'm currently struggling to paste together the words that I want to say
They're there...I just don't seem to want to say them since well, I know it's not just speaking the words that make the difference, it's the power of writing them, that give them life.
But I'm taking one step at a time,
and tho this isn't a new piece
and i wrote it a while back,
it's still a start right?
There are days
when the rain seems
like nothing more
than inconvenience,
and puddles, messes,
and noise.

More often than not, though,
the rain has been a friend,
a companion of sorts.

It has lessened the
loneliness in moments
of grief and despair,
as it shared in
inconsolable
and silent tears.

It has covered me
like a warm blanket,
as it washed away
the fears.

More often than not,
the rain has been
a path to renewal,
a baptism most sacred.

Even the melody
and timber of the rain
has often soothed me,
like white noise
can comfort a
restless child.

The rain can consume
and wash out
and drown,
pushing unwanted
memories and dreams
down an any-named road,
for miles and miles.

For me, more often
than not,
it provides shroud
and cover from the sun’s
intense heat,
inspiring gratitude
and most joyful
smiles.



~ by Mercurychyld
Copyrights
 Aug 2014 Ellie Wasmund
Al
lips
 Aug 2014 Ellie Wasmund
Al
I used to say your lips were too small.
but now,
after feeling so many,
I realized yours weren't small.
They were a perfect fit,
like a puzzle piece.
 Aug 2014 Ellie Wasmund
ln
Stranger
 Aug 2014 Ellie Wasmund
ln
And soon I'll forget the color of your eyes
and you'll forget mine.

Isn't it funny
How we become so attached to people
Only to detach months if not years later?

Isn't it funny
How the ones we let our guard down for,
Are the ones that make us build our walls higher then before?

Isn't it funny
How we fall in love
And either remain lovers



Or become

Permanent
*strangers.
To Struga Festival Golden Wreath Laureates
        & International Bards 1986

Stand up against governments, against God.

Stay irresponsible.

Say only what we know & imagine.

Absolutes are coercion.

Change is absolute.

Ordinary mind includes eternal perceptions.

Observe what's vivid.

Notice what you notice.

Catch yourself thinking.

Vividness is self-selecting.

If we don't show anyone, we're free to write anything.

Remember the future.

Advise only yourself.

Don't drink yourself to death.

Two molecules clanking against each other requires an observer to become
        scientific data.

The measuring instrument determines the appearance of the phenomenal
        world after Einstein.

The universe is subjective.

Walt Whitman celebrated Person.

We Are an observer, measuring instrument, eye, subject, Person.

Universe is person.

Inside skull vast as outside skull.

Mind is outer space.

"Each on his bed spoke to himself alone, making no sound."

First thought, best thought.

Mind is shapely, Art is shapely.

Maximum information, minimum number of syllables.

Syntax condensed, sound is solid.

Intense fragments of spoken idiom, best.

Consonants around vowels make sense.

Savor vowels, appreciate consonants.

Subject is known by what she sees.

Others can measure their vision by what we see.

Candor ends paranoia.

                
                                        Kral Majales
                                        June 25, 1986
                                        Boulder, Colorado
 Aug 2014 Ellie Wasmund
Sjr1000
We've become a
civilization of diseases
we build
monuments
statues
institutions
thinking death won't ever find
us here.

Our minds are scrambled
our bodies are damaged
our food is poisoned
our skies are toxic
our vices
are forces of processes
beyond our
control.

When we are not humbled
by nature's power
we inflict our wounds
upon ourselves in
the names of greed
and self protection
and no one knows
what it really means.

Fearful of the silence
we fill our skies with
endless noise
babbling on in endless
monotones, droning
while traffic stalls
at a hot stand still
idling engines
idling souls
depletion of every last glimpse
of the past.
Jam packed
in the stench
I am lost today
in
this vitriol
as anxiety, death and desperation
from every corner
screams my name.

That's why I came
to these woods
where the illusion of
peace remains
as
wild fires burn
just down the lane
as you know
as you say
its always been this way
when bodies hung
at every cross-roads
hunger, power, ignorance
and strength
all ran
the show.

I'm sick with
every disease I
know.

I float upon these tranquil
blue waters
and
we are reminded of the peace we all
really can know.
Words blow
with the blast
Ink drops as oil to the flame
and burn the fire's light

Waved in the leaden air  
the majesty of accuracy
scald the ears waxed with injustice
Literacy and liberty
are for all longing eyes

A witness to the silences—
to misfortunes ignored
to blessings need to be heard
to weak breath
trying to make sense of its existence-

the sonar in the deepest sea of truth
hears silences louder than speeches
Also, he believes in voices
voices stronger than power
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