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As the moon begins to rise
As my devils too--
Start to conjoin,




This is bad.
Don't dig too deep,
For the devil may dwell within.
Sometimes our thoughts are our own worst enemy.
XI
May I remind you
That you cannot fall in love
While you are still falling
Yesterday was a winter road
with frosty figures lining up
to dam a young soul to limbo,
not quite hell but purgatory.

Now they all change
their gory stories
so they can feel better
and in their tales
they make themselves
sainted knights.

But we outsiders
know the harsh facts.
We do not make ourselves
the heroes of our tales
but journeyman
of varied skills
seeking the truths
and speaking it to
despite how painful
it might feel.
I wanted to see a swirling ocean
with swells that rip me away
instead it was silent,
almost at a loss as how to live
the way you were
when you told me how sad life was

You couldn’t see leaves falling
or snow melting
or flowers wilting
or summer ending
without thinking of tomorrow
like a garden that never was

But we decided on a sunset
and how it never says goodbye
melting into the bay
painting the sky
no matter how long the night
the morning is what the past never was
Magenta:* like the dress
I wore on our very first date.
Hem, fluttering behind
The awe on your face, in your eyes,
Found something, I wouldn't now find.

Lavender: like the smell
You said intoxicated you.
Face buried deep in my neck
Eyes close, my hair tangled around,
At your fingers' call and beck.

Periwinkle: like the blue of your eyes
Shining like stars in dark.
Bright guides leading the way
Blinded, I followed till the end,
Now lost, even during the day.

Lilac: a single flower
"Because you're the only one"
Crowd isn't needed anymore.
My search ended on you,
Trying hard to be your one, two, three, four...

Amethyst: my birthstone I said
In between your laughter.
Waving it off as "all the *******"
We can't in stones, or lives, or signs find,
Something as simple as our hands' fit.

Violet: like the sky
At twilight that day.
Laying on our backs,
Reaching out with eyes, what cannot be with hands,
A lone cloud, drifting, with a silver crack.

Purple: like everything
I said and giggled.
My pendant, in all hues
The curtains, the pillows and the sheets,
Your shirt, my nails, the slight bruise.
 Oct 2016 Friedrich Morgenstern
i
purple*  *lips,
numb from the cold,
and not even the warmest lips,
can make the color come back.
purple  eye,
somebody had hit it,
and not even the thickest
layer of make up,
can cover it.
purple  fingers,
no blood running
through them,
and not even the rope
that has been holding her fingers,
can make the blood flow
through her fingers, again.
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