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It started as a puncture,
but the seam slowly ripped;
a thimble can't protect
from a poison needle tip.

She tried to mend it
by making more holes;
the tear only grew
and grew out of control.

At the spinning wheel
her life would quickly dwindle;
frantic attempts to hem
were depleting the spindle.

What started as a puncture
of seductive sedation
fueled the abuse
of machined perforation.

"Don't mourn a living corpse"
were the last words she said
as she drew the needle
that held the last thread.
Discovering new realms of reality,
I expand myself
into
Eternity.
What price do we place on freedom
in a world of consumer slaves?
Do we measure it in the lives
of soldiers sent to their graves?

Do we measure it in the families
who lost dads, husbands, sons;
and trust the politicians
whose solution is always guns?

Do we measure it in the comfort
of never knowing first hand
the way that a child feels
growing up in a war-torn land?

What is the cost? What will it take
for us to wake and see:
if this were the path to freedom
wouldn't everyone be free?

If hate will only breed more hate
and if war only breeds more war,
it ultimately begs the question:
is "peace" worth fighting for?
She stretched out across the bed,
her body curved in serpentine suggestion.
Seductive whispers, bedroom eyes
and the beckoning motion of her hand.

What sinister intentions are behind
this divine invitation to partake
in the pleasures of our flesh?
Shadows dance through mystic memories,
days gone by in yesterday,
I close my ears to see your face love,
as not to hear sad music play,

Every note a flashed reminder,
of nights I am,
without your kiss,
a melody in melancholy,
of nights we spent in purest bliss,

If only I could see you once more,
and run my fingers,
down your shape,
if only angels could love a human,
I know you'd come help me escape,

Your sweet shadow is so elusive,
I chase it round a foolish girl,
round and round in total darkness,
I think okay another whirl,

No more tears to bait the levee,
I'm holding back a deadly flood,
I punctuate another moment,
dipping in to sacred blood,

I ask above and still no answers,
for when I might just touch your soul,
I only wish I was an angel,
you see my beauty,
is my goal,

You showed me love,
but I can't touch you
cause angels they,
are so much more,
you found a body to inhabit,
and showed me love like none before,

My veins are crying with you gone love,
as it seeps onto a page,
when I look so uninspired,
I crumple up in endless rage,

No one can love,
as I can love you,
I can only crave,
to see your face,
though I can't stand this way I feel love,

my wallowing is such disgrace.

Ma Cherie © 2017
In a period of intense creativity, I think? Anyway this is not about actual death - more about an untouchable person I love - yes he loves me, teaches me, tho were apart now - complicated is what this poem reflects? We still talk, often and visit sometimes,strictly platonic as not to confuse me more? Maybe just a bad idea altogether but I feel this is our path to follow, any sound advice might help but this is one relationship that has a mind of its own!- confused about reality...love me hate me, keep me forever or PLEASE let me go....ugh...lots of metaphors
His love is apparently my drug ;/  
I think he is my muse...I'm certain of it...
the reason I continue to write, i am grateful for that - and do much more. I know muse is supposed to be female but someone who has such a beautiful mind as his understand and embodies the feminine I think? Lol idk what I'm talkin bout!
I'm trying to write out my confused mind. Love you poets ❤❤❤ been catching up!
I'll keep trying.... ; ) Endings are always full of intense, questions, memories, feelings so watch out poets LOL have a beautiful day! Please comment if you can,
my "unique voice" as he called it, idk if it sounds good?
It feels good tho! X's & O's - Ma Cherie
 Jan 2017 Jamie L Cantore
-
Rogue
 Jan 2017 Jamie L Cantore
-
If parallel universes are true
I will find the one
where I'll end up with you
For a very long time now,
I couldn't muster to write
a string of words. Even these don't even rhyme.
I have devoted myself to capture beauty in verses but
since I met you I've found my paper blank,
my pen futile.
I guess this is how it goes for one who's met real beauty,
real Art.
I cannot write anything
as nothing is more beautiful than the person right in front of me.
The blueberries are sweet,
And we are right there with tragedy.
I am eating this blue fruit,
And many people are nervous.
My blueberry bowl is nearly empty,
I can see smoke covering the sky, blocking the sun rays and masking the air with a death stench.
There are no blueberries here anymore,
There are no people here anymore.
In her eyes...
you see her sorrow,
you see her pain,
yet you can never explain,
you can never feel
exactly as she feels,
but you can't unsee it,
when you have seen it,
it's obvious.

Her eyes are the windows to her murdered soul,
Her murdered soul is the door to her broken heart,
Her broken heart is the key to her mind,
and her mind is what in the end is going to **** her.
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