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 Dec 2012 Erica Loren
AJ Cox
elemental [ˌɛlɪˈmɛntəl] adj
1. fundamental; basic; primal the elemental needs of man
2. motivated by or symbolic of primitive and powerful natural forces or passions elemental rites of worship
3. of or relating to earth, air, water, and fire considered as elements

My skin shapes itself around the scars seared mercilessly
Into my mind, soul and body.
I breathed you in.
The salt and tobacco, overwhelming
As I recall your twisted embrace
Enchanting, and toxic
Suffocating my soul, diminishing the blaze.
And I must rekindle myself
To find that place,
where you can’t be.
There is a part that wants .
To feel your presence, once again.
Holding me
Back down, into the dust that shapes,
and folds under
Crushing waves.
Of water
as they are colored by the suns flames
here resides an ever present rage
The fibers of forest green are darkened beneath
The weight of wet
assimilation
Transpires, enveloping you into a distant memory
Of nothingness
My scars seared on like armor
Remind I burn through air
And earth
Transcending creation,
Destruction’s my curse
You, as the maker
Took more than I was worth.
Maybe you knew in the wisdom
That sometimes comes with
strife.
The life you had given
Was not yours to claim.
These walls I built for water
stand sturdy, scorched by pain.
 Dec 2012 Erica Loren
Quinn
I am beautifully ******
in a zone wedged between
perfection and pleasure

perched on a throne of swans
with star's light illuminating my gaze

I wander through intricate plucking
into a field full of fresh, wet snow
I sway there, the sun warming my face

music ends and I'm still blissfully lost
next to the garden of my mom's first apartment

I stare into the tree of life's center
hoping that if I look deep enough
I'll find answers of what's to come and what has passed

Adam and Eve grin at me devilishly
and I want for nothing more than an apple
She entered this world in a hectic place.
But when they called her name she always put a smile on her face.
She moved around from place to place,
never really having her own space,
but when you called out for her,
you always received a warm embrace.
Once settled down having a place called home.
The little girl's smiles soon became frowns.
Childhood innocence was becoming tainted
through the troublesome place,
all she wished was to erase it.
Pain and fear lingered as daily routine.
And even then, the little girl would smile.
Praying every night for a better brighter tomorrow,
befriending an imaginary friend to numb the fear,
of whatever punishment that soon would be near.
Tears flowed in endless amounts.
Wishing one day this will all turn around.
And even then, through her endless amount of pain and sorrow.
That Little Girl still kept her beautiful smile,
for her better tomorrow.
:)
In love, nothing exists between heart and heart.
Speech is born out of longing,
True description from the real taste.
The one who tastes, knows;
the one who explains, lies.
How can you describe the true form of Something
In whose presence you are blotted out?
And in whose being you still exist?
And who lives as a sign for your journey?
Am I a vicious reader,
or do I simply love to look
studious, a scholar amidst animals
out of tune to written words?

Do I wish to taste of the stuff of stars
to know their substance
or to show to others
I have their colors on my tongue?

I fear I sit among volumes,
filmed in dirt just like their authors,
calling for them to read me their works
only to tell others I’ve spoken with a ghost.

Were I alone among these stacks,
desolate from life for good,
would I become a scholar,
or eat the books for food?

— The End —