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 Jun 2016 Justise Rieves
Sinai
I'm on a strike
I refuse
To spend the rest of autumn
Pretending to be whole without you
And I swear
I will not leave this bed
Until I wake up and find you in it
 Jun 2016 Justise Rieves
Sinai
I will be honest
I just want to write anything about you
Even though the words are buried lately
Under all the highways in between us
And even through the silence
I am too far to hear your love

Maybe I feel this
Need to engrave you with my ink
So I will never forget how to feel you
 Jun 2016 Justise Rieves
Sinai
I thought of love all this time as something
I had to find
So I spent my life searching
Just to watch it leave

And then him
He didn't just love me
He remindend me
I was never anything but love
Walking in dim thoughts
with the sound of rain outside.
The dripping pattern takes
me on a pitter-patting journey.
I'm neither here, nor there,
and yet somewhere
I must be.
Craving to be healthy,
in mind, body and soul.
Content perhaps?
Aware of who I am
and who I will
always be.
Is anyone like this?
Really?
Or are we a collected
mass of android
arms reaching
lamely for
robot parts?
Artificial emotions that
fester out like
***** mud shoes left
in the hallway.
We yawn internally
to avoid the truth
that we are bored
with one another.

Raindrops continue, as
does my doubting heart
as it wraps around
the possibility of
funerals and
Requiem Masses.
Long faces and
sighing masking
the indifference
of striving.
Together in mood
but far apart
in disposition.

Carry on, rain,
carry on. Slip
your wetness
against the dry spell
of my perception.
I can see. Or, I can
close my eyes to
imagine that the
tomorrow of thought
becomes the infested
reality I will be living.

I spend too many
careless storms wishing
for other days to arrive.
The meaning of leaves in
a refreshing cool wind
He chose to live
for friendship
Not for that
other thing
Refreshing cool wind on a cross and died. He chose to live for friendship, live for survival, not for that thing any more. This is the meaning of it clung to her old leaves new myriads? Of lingering leaves
[coco, 11 nov 2011]
I wish I could write like E.A. Poe,
Where dark and sombre, rule the flow,
There's death and despair at every turn,
To have his skill I truly yearn.

Villainous, evil, haunting, macabre,
A poet version of the Marquis De Sade,
His writings dark, visionary, bleak,
Providing no signs of the hope you seek.

A poetic genius, without compare,
His delivery leaves you within Satan's glare,
And why I know this thing for sure,
I wish I could write like E.A. Poe.*

© Cinco Espiritus Creation
2016
It jumped on my table
I waved it away
It's a bit unstable
I guess you could say
It chewed my fence
I shouted it to stop
It's brains a bit dense
The penny needs to drop
It snook into my house
I showed it the door
I'd rather it be a mouse
They don't leave mess on my floor
It seems to have disappeared
I looked around the block
Run away I feared
My sorrows a shock
It still hasn't returned
I hope it's safe and well
Well heres something I've learned
I even miss it's smell
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