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 Apr 2018 N Paul
Hannah Jo
Not even all the love in the world could stitch you back together the very same way again. I know that now. I know.
And maybe someday he will see it that way too.
Maybe someday he will see that we are all fighting our own personal battles, and sometimes those battles don't fit well together.
Sometimes our battles put together just create a whole new war.
Sometimes those wars aren't worth putting your boots back on for.
And sometimes it's the hardest thing, taking off your armor and giving up when you've been so used to constant day to day war cries and shrapnel.
To let chaos consume you, to wait for it to pass over, is paralyzing.
But all I know is you are tired, and you are too beautiful and wild to be kept down for long.
All I know is I want you to find your calm after the storm.
 Mar 2018 N Paul
 Mar 2018 N Paul
The sky is matching the blue of the sea,
This place is a treasure for me,
The lighthouse is sitting on a rocky island;
Near the shore with cool sand.

The sun is ready to sink in the sky,
Yet the Lighthouse remains sitting on it's island on high,
The blue waves are in motion;
In the sapphire ocean.

Oh, such beauty is seen here,
This place I hold very dear,
With the green moss growing on the island;
Which stands next to the shore of sand.

I love the sky of blue,
With it's pretty white clouds passing through,
This place is so pretty;
This place is lovely!

I love this place don't you see?
That I hold this place dear to me?
This place is so beautiful I could cry;
This place that I can only see in my mind's eye.

I'm not over her,
Though painful,
Without it,


The foundation of my childhood home,
Became the foundation,
Of an inferno.
She is the firewood,
She is the flames,
She is fulminating,
Just as a name.

It horrifies me she will never feel the heat,
Nor see the lights,
As this will never scald her skin,
Nor scorch her eyes.
Edited July 2018... This poems really angry, My bad... aha.
 Aug 2016 N Paul
Lora Lee
I know
you must go
but before
you do—
please understand
that this knowing
and feeling of
                       y o u
even before we met
was never limited
                     to this place
it is a continuum
    on the spectrum
        of time and space
that power
of seeing into the soul's eye
recognition of spirit
talking straight into "I"
gentle wisdom, soft words
with burning truth
hard lessons learned
from the echoes of youth
reaching out, into skies
  voices in the night
ready to battle enemies
for each other's spirit-fight
       and no matter
           where you go
into the dark , into stars
I am here. You are there.
A couple million miles,
but not really so far
I will always
         listen to it..
that quiet vibe
beneath the surface
and I know that sometimes
changing place
is also changing purpose
So, yeah, while I will miss seeing
the letters of your name
that is not the real essence
that is not the aim
A slight switch for you
                          in direction,
but on the same road we stay
let's face it:
Our hearts
are bound up
with each other
For my friend P.
 Aug 2016 N Paul
 Aug 2016 N Paul
Write. Write so much your hand aches from long nights spent love-making to your paper. Write because the word dandelion is beautiful, and so are girls and so is life. Think less about why he hurt you and more about words similar to fearless or independent. Question the stanzas, but stop at nothing to bleed the pain of yesterday.

Write- because this isn't art- this is survival.
Somethings we must keep reminding ourselves.
 Aug 2016 N Paul
Jor For
Billy Shakes: poetry! Tis nothing but the product of vile fantasy, a pox on art and the cogitation of righteous men.

Billy Wordsy: And though with poetesses I often lie, my hate of the poem I cannot descry

Em Dicksdaughter: i had no time for,--
Poetry as once I thought--
Words puzzling leads to nought--

Langs Huwed: when you see words on a pa-
Ge I will kindly ask misters and misses that they remember MY work. My so-
Ng. That the workers may not write ... to the weary sax toon of fanatic reds.

Sylvie Path:a shock of light Pierces an empty **** coach corpse
Flowers shudder at the thought of the hateful word: Poetry

DD Goings: a poet slapped my(****** whole )face once and i(neverlikingpoetry) strapped him with dynamite.
Just a writing exercise to try and shake the dust and rust
 Aug 2016 N Paul
Little Bear
1)  get a canvas

2)  get some unicorn paint

3)  paint a unicorn

4)  realize you can't paint a unicorn

5)  cry

6)  paint the moon

7)  put glitter and a horn on the moon

8)  pretend it's a fat unicorn

9)  be happy

10) show your dog

11) call the dog back into the room

12) show your dog again

13) get a new dog

14) show that dog

15) tell that dog it's being too critical

16) ask that dog to leave

17) put the picture in the bin

18) decide never to paint unicorns again

19) eat chocolate

20) decide to paint a dragon
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