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I am the owner of the sphere
Of the seven stars
and the solar year
Of Caesars hand
and Plato's brain
Of Lord Christ's heart
and Shakespeares strain
You’re wondering if I’m lonely.
Okay, then, yes.
I’m lonely
Like a plane full of strangers all with headphones in,
Seen from the ground as a
Fast vanishing light, here and then not

I’m lonely like a woman driving across the country,
Day after day,
Throwing away mile after mile,
Forgetting to drink the coffee she bought in
Towns that she might have stopped in,
Lived and grown old and died in  

Am I lonely?
Sure, the loneliness of walking a city in the early morning in winter
The streetlights stretching your shadows into crowds of acquaintances
Stumbling over each other to whisper their own inane advice

Alone when I wake to a house still asleep and I move too quietly even though
I’m the only one there, afraid to disturb the solitude snoozing in the attic
I drink my tea and watch the cars
Lonely
randomness
Before this
There was infinity, reachable by tiny fingers
And wide eyes
Scraped knees and
Bobbing heads disappearing into the trees.
'Nilla wafers and nap time
Took us off through the wildest jungles
Sent you drifting with a patched eye across the ocean
With ol' blue beard

One day, stark as the contrast between warmth
And a dash of ice-water
Every illusion used to protect, to comfort
Became as crystal clear
As shattering windshield glass.

I remember that day
I remember the clutch of fabric in my small hands
The spicy, familiar scent as I pushed it into my face
Feeling no warmth behind it, no enclosure of arms
Only the carapace
Your long-sleeved second skins
That filled the rich mahogany dresser
Long after you departed with the last you'd ever wear.

Not touching the cold stranger in the box made it real;
Nor the sound of it's door as it closed.
No, not even the earth piled atop the pile of
Crushed roses
The stone bearing our names.

It was the sweet, lingering scent
The essence you left behind
That had already begun to fade;
The scent that was as unique as rain on fallen leaves
Would one day leave
Just as you did.
something about the rain
the gloom and doom sensation
yet it feels like relief
all your emotions and sorrows
pouring out and coming down
banging ******* the driveway
window cracked open
the repetitive sound in your ear
nothing to do but listen and think
the rain brings long thoughts
frustrating, sad, anxious
but at the same time, freeing
parts of me are washed away
parts i wish that weren't there
a new chapter can begin after the rain
the smell, the feel, the look
out of dark clouds comes light
you take a deep breathe
cleansed
We're in a car going twenty too fast on the highway, and I don't know where we're headed.

Maybe the headlights will take us to a home where we've never lived or maybe somewhere where the flames aren't as shallow.

Rain has been beating the windows for at least four hours, and I can almost see lightning through all the cigarette smoke.

He says that he can see clearer than ever.

I swear ever since the radio lost signal, I've basically been able to hear the stardust in every shallow breath he takes. 

I can't believe all it took was a broken radio to see him for the kind of words he was meant to be.

The kind that rip apart a person's heart when they finally read them the way they were always meant to be read.

His name is just a noise, and his face is only skin;but the fault lines etched into his bones make me want to believe there are more earthquakes inside him than he thinks.

He makes me want to believe there's something more to life than his fingers wrapping themselves around mine as the car wraps itself around a tree.
Chocolate colored Toms, Cool Blue and Navy, too,
North Face jacket, give me some individuality
I wanna feel ethereal; violently, annoyingly
happy. But the sky is as black as lonely cancer
without a soul mate; I know what it's like
to kiss as you erase her.

Hauntingly, melancholic instances ingrained
into my gelatin mind and
stayed.
And the smolder
from the brand on my shoulder
frayed.
I wish I could alter my reflection,
but the mirror I've bought,
somebody else
made.
South Shore
It's hard to write a poem
When there's nothing going on
It's hard to think of what to say
When you've given most of it away

As poets we never scratch the surface
We delve within, disclose our deepest sin
We crave our pain, declare it's for our art
Yet more often than not have no idea where to start

But start we do and start we must
A deep desire in all of us
To spill out on the written page
What little bit we have tried to save

Ink now is the poets blood
Fragments of self pour from within
Silence is our safety net
To stop us from bleeding out

Although it's hard to write a poem
With nothing going on
We still find words to form a verse
From deep within our marrow bone

Work © Mike Hauser & © Sia Jane
Mike opened this piece and we went from there.
Hope you enjoy this Hello Poetry collaboration too :)

It goes without saying, just how honoured we are to have this as Daily <3
Y'all are the greatest <3
Thank you so much <3
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