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You are a beacon in the darkness of night.
You kiss me as the frost bites.
With highly charged most vicious teeth.
Which, sink in hard and fast.
It's ravenous.
As if a child of long past nights.
Hunger turns to starvation.
You swathed me with eternal mist.
Stranded in a land, in which I'm sorely lost.
(C)LIVVI
There was a man in nowhere land who would not take hold of my hand.
I offered medication to ease his then condition.
I possessed more information than he could receive.
He was confused.
Was muddled up.
He declined the contents of my cup.

My hand contained a magic ***, to help sad fellow to forget.
Magic *** held Librium, to help him heal, relieve his pain.
He was in an awful place.
Paranoia hit his face.
He shook like a *** of bright red jelly.
His palms were wet.
His face was sweaty.
He trusted none.
No-one at all.
I felt for him.

"There for the grace of God go I",
I've never drunk.
Never will.

The calming effect of the paranoia relieving pill.

The last I saw of such sorry soul.
He was successfully climbing out of the hole.
I wish him luck for future health.
(C)LIVVI
All at once the music stopped;
The calliope stopped spinning.
Atop the stallions we held hands
Convinced that we were winning –
For we were in the prime of life,
We held the golden ring,
Though the music stopped, we knew
Forever we would sing.

All at once the music stopped;
The Ferris wheel stopped turning.
Atop the city looking down,
We saw that lights were burning –
For we were in the evening and,
Our lives had passed midway,
And when the music stopped we knew
That we had had our day.

All at once the music stopped;
The carnival had ended.
And we held each other tightly,
As if our lives could be suspended –
For without the music and the lights,
Past and Present blended,
Our future was but memories
That we had resurrected.

All at once the music stopped;
The night was deathly still.
Alone, and scared I trembled,
Without a prayer, without a will–
For my life had been a carnival,
With my lover at my side,
But all alone, without my lover
I knew that I had also died.
Phil Lindsey  3/29/16
We all lost Mom over a year ago.  We all miss her, but Dad is the one that suffers most.  She was his life.
215

What is—”Paradise”—
Who live there—
Are they “Farmers”—
Do they “***”—
Do they know that this is “Amherst”—
And that I—am coming—too—

Do they wear “new shoes”—in “Eden”—
Is it always pleasant—there—
Won’t they scold us—when we’re homesick—
Or tell God—how cross we are—

You are sure there’s such a person
As “a Father”—in the sky—
So if I get lost—there—ever—
Or do what the Nurse calls “die”—
I shan’t walk the “Jasper”—barefoot—
Ransomed folks—won’t laugh at me—
Maybe—”Eden” a’n't so lonesome
As New England used to be!
In a dream I was a soldier
Rolling dice in the shadow of Christ
My head twisted, contorted, out of control
Away from my game to meet His Holy eyes
A heroic gaze staring purposefully into mine
He spoke with no words and thus unto me delivered
An enchanting message, One sent my spine to shiver.
'Twas of no average man, the soul with which I spoke
And as I understood him, I heard his corpse choke
up a gasp that sent the blood fleeing from my face,
And upon his magical message my soul seemed to shake.
"Of that you have done unto the least of thine brethren,
Thou hast done unto thee, thy lord, in heaven."
753

My Soul—accused me—And I quailed—
As Tongue of Diamond had reviled
All else accused me—and I smiled—
My Soul—that Morning—was My friend—

Her favor—is the best Disdain
Toward Artifice of Time—or Men—
But Her Disdain—’twere lighter bear
A finger of Enamelled Fire—
We shall have our little day.
Take my hand and travel still
Round and round the little way,
Up and down the little hill.

It is good to love again;
Scan the renovated skies,
Dip and drive the idling pen,
Sweetly tint the paling lies.

Trace the dripping, pierced heart,
Speak the fair, insistent verse,
Vow to God, and slip apart,
Little better, Little worse.

Would we need not know before
How shall end this prettiness;
One of us must love the more,
One of us shall love the less.

Thus it is, and so it goes;
We shall have our day, my dear.
Where, unwilling, dies the rose
Buds the new, another year.
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