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 Mar 2015 Larissa
Joanna
Gone
 Mar 2015 Larissa
Joanna
He felt nothing, I felt everything,
You were always my sweetest nightmare.
You destroyed me and I apoligized,
You are someone else's poetry now.
© Joanna Mrsich. All rights reserved
"When you look at me baby, what do you see?"
You said, as you softly rest you hand on my knee.
Briefly, my eyes broke free from your piercing glare and as if my mind was gasping for air,
I gently ran my hand through your hair, still feeling the warmth on my face from your stare,
With a low, mellow voice and a sigh, I finally found the words to speak.
"Darling, if only you knew how often this question comfronts me, how often this question has silenced me. With every passing day I share with you beside me, this question. apears in my mind and slowly
it cripples me."
I could see the confusion grow in your eyes as your mind danced in disbelief.
"You see, this question has not haunted me daily because of an answer I fear, if that were the case my thoughts would be clear.
This question repeats in my head with asnwers that have no end,
It digs deeper with every glimpse of understanding, accounting for many nights without sleep.
This question I think, is meant to be answered another day.
Not today, this question can only be answered when there are no other days ahead of me."
I let my hand brush  against your cheek slighty, just before resting under your chin.
Lightly I lift your face towards mine and just before our lips meet, I softly say.
"So baby, let me hold on to this answer,
let it grow within me. Just as my love for you grows with each passing day, the light  i see in your eyes grows elegantly. When our days together finally reach their end and we lay our heads down to sleep. I will take your hand once again, look into your eyes and explain every detail of this angel I see before me, then I will kiss your lips one last time. Laying you to rest with a smile as we close our eyes …"

A question without an end, can only be answered, once you reach the end..."

- Brandon Stephenson
This ones pretty deep...
 Mar 2015 Larissa
Bruised Orange
'It'll get bad reviews, we should scrap the project before it breaks the budget.'*


We sit and talk art and beauty, love and fear,
my heart cracking open, and you,
rushing in.

We sit and talk,
play at this deadly game,
ignore the consequences,
shun the inconsistencies. The

words,
words,
words,
they swirl,
and
we slip,
we slip,
we slip.

It's a real cliffhanger.

Hearts on sleeves,
music weaves,
stories come to light.

Secrets, oozing out between
the well crafted lines of
our carefully scripted plot.

We sit and talk circles around
the herds of white elephants
that come to watch the show.
Mocking us, they laugh
as we tiptoe through fields of daffodils
under dark skies with rainbows.

(Scene change now)

In dark of night
I squeeze out hope
from my heart.
God ****** hope
twists up and knifes
me in the side,
leaves me bleeding on the floor.

And you,  fool you are,
rush to my aid.
If you're saving me,
who's saving you?

You, with your secret decoder ring
from your box of caramel corn, cracking
my heart, you peel my layers.

Your questions run deep but your feet will run faster, and

I'll fall,
I'll fall,
I'll fall.

Gravity's a real drag;
I've felt it's pull before.

Me, with my third eye see the pan and play.
This show will end leaving us all sitting in our seats
wanting another thirty minutes,
a tidier ending.

This ain't Disney.

We'll feel like we've been
ripped,
ripped,
ripped.

No refunds here,
go file your complaint with the man upstairs.

The audience stands, turns to go.

White elephants know there's no silver lining,
no *** of gold.
They threw popcorn at the screen, but you didn't notice.

I always hated white elephants;
I thought you did too.
Who invited them to the show?

We step outside,
no curtain call,
no applause.

Hail falls down on this sunny blue day.

Afraid to touch you, but
I want to catch you in my mouth.

Would you please just go away,
before I end up with lumps
on my head,
in my throat?

My eyes blinded by the sun,
the hail,
this ill fated show.

 Mar 2015 Larissa
SE Reimer
touching
 Mar 2015 Larissa
SE Reimer
~

the true art of loving is
to never stop touching!

touching, holding,
caressing, stroking...
such is the nature of
love's connection;
a twine intertwined
through touch,
the stringing,
the *******,
the fingers that clasp,
that reach out to grasp;
oh marvelous,
tenderest touch!

why is it that
any of us stop?
would we,
could we,
if we really knew?
that touch was a gift
one of the few
that gifts immortality,
gives liberality;
indeed,
would we
ever,
or
never
stop touching?

and God could only
know why
we would ever ask
to be left alone,
cold as a stone,
the untouchable we;
how could we deny
that one, that only
who for our heart longs
truest mate of our soul.

babies need it,
toddlers do it,
children want it,
teens use it,
young ones wish it,
lovers gift it,
mid-lifers pine and
seniors return to it...
there is never
a stage or
a cycle of life
where we should
or ever could
cease to be needing it
ever stop touching
or being touched.

for touch is
love's connection,
the umbilical chord,
a neuron cable,
the neutron bundle,
oh blanket of hope...
it feeds us,
a life line,
an air line
that needs us;
a love line to
the divine
that renews us,
and will
inevitably,
ultimately,
eventually,
totally
hold us,
as we walk
the path through,
eternity past,
present and
what is to come!

for touch...
indivisible from love,
and love never dies;
love never ceases!

yes,
the true art of touching is
to never stop loving!


~

*post script.

we watched so many who loved
stop touching through the years
and then wonder what happened
as embers once hot grew cold.
touch is a gift,
to be shared
and not hoarded!
 Mar 2015 Larissa
k
Maybe
 Mar 2015 Larissa
k
Maybe I'll eat a sandwich
even after I know you've gone to sleep,
and maybe I'll keep buying you presents
everywhere that I ever visit,
maybe I'll pretend you keep giving me shot glasses
from each place that i know you've been,
maybe I'll think of you
each night before I can fall asleep
and maybe even then I'll see you in my dreams.
maybe I'll write stories of you
what we've done and what we could've done,
and maybe I'll write you letters
like I always have but never showed you,
maybe I'll smell you and hear you and taste you
in everything that I do.
maybe I'll find your old grey sweater
and smile at the things you always left behind,
maybe I'll fall asleep with my hand clasped in its other
since yours isn't here anymore,
maybe I'll hear the songs we loved to sing
even if I can't really hear them without you listening too.
maybe I'll taste that *** you always drank,
puckering perfect lips because it tastes
like ***** and good memories,
maybe I'll see 'your city' again
remembering what my first lobster tasted like,
and maybe I'll get a bruise and it will remind me
of how much messy fun I always had being around you.
maybe I'll fall in love again.
and maybe so will you.
maybe I'll be happy again.
and maybe so will you.
but I don't think
we ever will.
I don't have the time to criticize you,
I'm too busy improving myself.
 Feb 2015 Larissa
Endless Horizon
Today wasn't like any other day.
Today is a special day.
Today is the day
...That I forgot about you for a moment
...That I didn't care
...That my problems seemingly vanished
...That my wrongdoings were forgiven
...That I made new friendships
...That I mended old ones.
Today is a special day
Because,
Today is the day that
I was finally
Set
*Free.
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