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45
The cold nips at me
bringing with it
a faint memory

many moons have past
rushing through seasons
can we really make it last?
He woke to find this lovely woman in his arms,
her face lit up with the morning sunlight
and her hair framed her face like a halo
like in one of those hopelessly romantic movies.
Her face was gloriously calm
like he’d never seen before,
no etchings of worry or hints
of sadness to shadow her face.
His immediate and only thought:
how beautiful she was,
not just physically attractive,
but emotionally,
mentally and in
personality.
He was amazed that they were both
somewhat at peace:
both having had many sufferings in love.
She awoke with surprise
much akin to his;
they had both slept through the night,
peacefully,
no tossing
no turning,
no worries
to keep them awake.
No sadness to make them wake
in the middle of another
dark,
cold
night.
They slept together
not in the ****** sense,
but out of a need to ward off
another lonely night,
and out of a mutual love,
one that has smoldered for years,
not an intense “I want to f--- you” flame
that sparks
and burns
bright and
passionate
but soon turning to ashes, No,
this is a fire that has built slowly
and made to keep
each other warm
through many
harsh
cold
nights,
a flame that only gets stronger
with time.
A passion that is there,
but doesn’t have to be addressed
because simply holding
each other
close is enough.  
Two lonely people with a
beautiful,
intense,
all-consuming
love
that will inevitably
change their lives;
after facing the fire
the two  become
one
and live in that
“happy ever after”
that many desperately
seek after but
few ever find,
all they need
for the rest of their lives
is found in each other,
and for now,
that is enough.
Kinda slapped it together, but, it's alright I guess.
And even if I wrote a thousand words,
nothing I say could erase your hurt.

Go ahead and leave me,
I have proved to be unworthy.
 Nov 2012 Emma Langley
Marian
Why art thou so sad, dear Daddy?
I makes me sad to see you this way, little laddie,
He writes about sad and gloom,
It makes me want to escape to my room.

It may not be so bad,
But still to see him writing about death makes me sad,
I write about light, sunshine, and sunrays;
While he writes about funreals, knells and lays.

Cheer up, dear Daddy,
There is still sunshine, little laddie,
There is sunshine for you;
Under skies of royal blue!

*~Marian~
For my Daddy, Timothy who I hope can start writing poems of brightness, sunshine, light, and sunrays.
 Nov 2012 Emma Langley
Marian
How pretty it is,
I am under the sweet sea,
Swiming under it.

I love it so much,
It is like another world,
Under salt water.

It is so pretty,
Waiting for me to explore,
Another sweet world.

**~Marian~
There's one small thing I wish               the infinite horizon that lies there
                                                   To see
 When you're standing here           there's nothing greater to contemplate
                                             With me
      To feel that brilliant abyss                       across splendid land and sea
                                                     Shining out
      As within those eyes I used                nothing more and simply grand
                                                        To know
Chief grandiose and simplicity                           those eyes I loved so
                                                          To know
  Beauty aqueous and of earth                are feelings of my heart's abyss
                                                  Shining out
Thoughts so constant- effortlessly            you stand close inadvertently  
                                                 ­      With me  
   Be the infinite horizon I want                    I wish too many small things
                                                          ­  To see
Tell me what ya think.
I don't usually like to dictate how to read my poetry... but: The middle words are the end of the line in front and the beginning of the second line. The right side is to be read middle+second after reading the first+middle.  If you read carefully... the words of the lines before the first "to see" and after the second are alike, along with before "with me" and after the second and so on.
 Nov 2012 Emma Langley
Danny C
4 AM
 Nov 2012 Emma Langley
Danny C
Mom sneaks through the front door
I'm pretending to be asleep on the couch
At 4AM, she reeks of cigarettes
She closes the door softly, dad stays asleep

I pretend I am sleeping on the couch
Mom drags the smell of cigarettes in with her
The door squeaks quietly, dad still sleeps
He left the TV on again, it reports today's tragedy

Mom smells like black lungs again.
The door clicks shut, she creeps past dad's recliner
He left the TV on again, tragedies muffle her footsteps
She's used to sleeping alone by now.

The door's closed, and dad still sleeps
He left the TV on and snores through tragedy
Mom can barely sleep with him around
The tragedies mean nothing to me

Dad leaves the TV on every night
Mom would sleep better if he left
I don't care about the tragedies
I can see my mom ****** in a crumpled burning car

Mom is restless when dad is home
Tragedies don't mean anything to her
She speeds at night and takes drags of embers
I wonder if she really wants to die

Tragedies play through the screen
Mom speeds at night and lights another cigarette
I wonder, does she want to die?
Doesn't she ever think of me?

Mom drives too fast at night and burns up her lungs
I worry that she's always dying
And never thinks to call me saying, I remember you
I picture sirens and lights outside my house

I ask God why she wants to die
I wonder if she knows what she does to me
When I hear the sirens driving by
I shut my eyes and wait for the door to creak again

I scream whispers, why does she do this to me?
I pray the sirens aren't going to find her
I close my eyes and try not to cry
And at 4 AM, she smells like cigarettes
 Nov 2012 Emma Langley
Tom Orr
Not about love or life.
Not about sun and snow.
Not about hate or politics.
What more ought we know.

Not philosophy, psychology or history.
Nor horror, adventure or mystery.
Whether on sea or land,
it will not stand
in the vast oak court of reality.
The sad look in your eyes,
breaks my heart.
I don't know what it is,
but then I might know what it is.

I don't need to know
if you are okay,
I can see it in your expression.
The limpness in your bottom lip,
the way you shoulders are slumped over,
the way your eyes glide their way
to me and then look back at the table.

That's a stupid question.
I won't ask you that.

But I need to know
if you will be okay.

When?
I don't care when.
The sooner the better though.
But if you feel like
you will be okay,
that you can see the light
at the end of the tunnel
and find your way
out of the mess,
then that's all that I need to know.

I just want to know,
Will you be okay?
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