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Eyes staring, glaring,
Beauty she is wearing,
Weight of the world baring,
Cannot stop her caring,
Everyone comparing,
Swearing, tearing, wearing her,
     Breaking her,
          Fallen down,
               Face down,
                    Flat down,
                         Down,
                              Down,
                                   Down,

                     Shattered...

Small looks despairing,
Silent tears repairing,
Strong and firm declaring.
Spoken Truth™  By Nadia DeLevea
Though  flames  may  roar,
And  raging  fires  sore.
When  fear  stricken   heart,
We  always  play  our  part.
 

The  bleak  unsure  smoke  rises  dense  and  dark,
Each moment  grows  longer  with each little spark.
No matter  the  struggle  we keep  fighting  through,
Alert  and  aware  we  know  what  we  must  do.
 

Blind  to  a  hand  just  before
our  face,
Against  the clock  we  must  quickly  race.
For  when it  gets  down  to the  last  desperate  wire,
Swift  and  efficient  we  will  put out  that  fire.
 

Though  the  chances  are  we’ve never  met,
When  needed  a  savior  you  can  always  expect.
While  echoed  sirens  may  blare  and  ring,
We  hear  the  muffled  night  cries  sing.

 
There's  no  such  thing  as  simple  routine,
Ignoring  monotony  that  lies  in  between.
Very  real consequences  we are more  than  aware,
From possible  situations  beyond  any compare.
 

Not  a  second  allowed  for  one  breath  of  fear,
Never  a  moment   to  shed  a  single  silent  tear.
Because  when  you're  in desperate  dire  need,
We  will  always  strive  our  very  best  to  succeed.
 

Blood  flowing  in Red,  White  and  Blue,
We’re  Brothers  dedicated  in  all  that  we  do.
In  death’s  darkest  shadows  we  may  dare  to roam,
Yet  we  know  that  we  may  each  not  always  come  home.


This  is  our deepest  heartfelt  desire,
Given to  us  from a  place  so  much  higher.
In  all  that  we  do  each  risk  taken  for you,
Our  passion  runs  deep  we’re  dedicated  and  true.
 

Some  tend  to forget  that  this  is  our  real  life,
That  we  also  have children,  friends  and  our  wife.
We  walk the  thin  line  though  it  sometimes  narrows,
In  this world  we are someone’s  real  life superheroes.
 

In case you forget dear when you leave in the morning,
I ask you darling to please head my forewarning.
When  overcome  with  adrenalin I remind  you  to  fight,
To  come  home yourself  dear at  the end  of  each  night.
Thin Red Line  By Nadia DeLevea
WHERE are they who want thousand bottles of wine?
Just a bunch of cowards and clowns went away...

Fake cartographer and some roadside circus guys

The restraurant's waitress asked them to get home,
Removing lip globs in the corners of their lips ...

Did not know there was a Dead reaching out to the neck,
Did not stop in the marching room of a bottle of wine,
Just a poet on the edge, hiding in the rhyme line!

Where are they who want thousand bottles of wine?
THE WORLD is an office asking for your sweat. Before lunch. Officeboy turns off the aircon. Stuck in line in front of the teller. Number is empty, on bank account.

This world is a city asking for your blood. An old friend who grew into someone who was getting less and less understandable. A monster that feeds on its own body parts.
THE cypress trees there translate
season into color.

A line of boulevards for guests like
me: a hungry one.

I may know what it is
they plan.

Splash and swish. Sweet. Ripples and
breezy. Lyrical.

After the song I used to remembered
and always wanted to hear.

I may know what it is
whispered the water to the wind.
Body of a woman, white hills, white thighs,
you look like a world, lying in surrender.
My rough peasant's body digs in you
and makes the son leap from the depth of the earth.

I was lone like a tunnel. The birds fled from me,
and nigh swamped me with its crushing invasion.
To survive myself I forged you like a weapon,
like an arrow in my bow, a stone in my sling.

But the hour of vengeance falls, and I love you.
Body of skin, of moss, of eager and firm milk.
Oh the goblets of the breast! Oh the eyes of absence!
Oh the roses of the *****! Oh your voice, slow and sad!

Body of my woman, I will persist in your grace.
My thirst, my boundless desire, my shifting road!
Dark river-beds where the eternal thirst flows
and weariness follows, and the infinite ache.

— The End —