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Lauren Miller Jan 2013
Smoke and Scent ensnare my body,
Awakening my deepest thoughts.
Lauren Miller Jan 2013
Though I do love you,
I often think:
Possibly in being with you,
  my own identity might
                                     S
                                               I
                    
                                                     N
                        
                                      ­                  K
                        
                                                          ?


Th­ese ideas sadden my heart
Truly, the tone of them stinks
Really, I want to be with you, love
But does your head ever also
T          H          I          N          K?


As you gaze at me so lovingly,
Do you ever see my eyes
+             B                
              L              
I
N
K
­                       ?
                     +
I don't know what is happening to me,
But I feel a break in our link.


Please, help me fix this.
The cheerless wine of departure, I do not want to drink.
Assist me in being rid of my doubts, my dear,
Until our hearts are once more in

     **S                               N                                  
              Y              ­                      C
Lauren Miller Dec 2012
In a a moment, they breathe their last
Their soul can in smoke escape
There is no more pain from their past
Given a coin, their being now reshape

The innocence is gone
Twenty precious ones have fallen
The angels cease their song
Their guide to Styx is calling

Over the river they must travel
To meet the Lady and Lord
The dead waters have no current to babble
now that the Fates have cut short almost thirty cords
My heart goes out to the families that lost their beloved children in the elementary school shooting in Connecticut today. It was not their time, and I wish there was an explanation for such senseless destruction of pure life. They are all in my prayers.
Lauren Miller Dec 2012
I need a hug,
but not a quick,
lazy hug
during which the touch feels like less of a comforting gesture,
but more of an awkward happening
with limp arms hanging like gigantic weights,
pulling you into the floor.
Not one where you aren't ever really sure if you should hang on
for just a moment more,
or if you should let go,
and release into an uncomfortable silence
that lasts until someone coughs hesitantly.
The sound reverberating through the atomosphere,
leaving a heavy draft of atypical embarrassment at the contact,
waiting for someone else to bring up some random topic of discussion
to break the icy and heavy silence.



No.



I need a real hug.
The kind where someone who loves you see your pain
even though you might not say anything.
Reading the waters behind your smiling eyes,
seeing the hidden hurt behind your irises,
they grab you,
perhaps by your slightly shacking shoulders,
and pull you into their warm encasement.
Holding you tightly
and safely
in their care.
And the two of you just hang onto this affectionate moment
of profound concern among brethren of a species
The kind where time seems to stop
in admiration of this subtle outpouring of unified allegiance
before which the universe bows.
I need the kind of hug that demonstrates a fierce loyalty.
Devotion that knows
should the object of such intense friendship fall into the pit,
from whence none return unscathed in some way,
they will throw down a rope
a foothold
a salvation,
and they will pull that person from the depths of the darkness
maybe even at the risk of falling in themselves.



Yes.



That is the kind of esoteric gesture
that can be so impactful on those in pain,
regardless of whether that pain be great or small.
And should you find that you receive love like that,
treasure it.
And should you find that you give love like that,
never forget how special and rare someone like you is.
Lauren Miller Nov 2012
Greet everyday,
eyes full of tears for her loss
He wonders of what

Known in the morning-
but gone by the night
Through his hands like sand

Meeting new people
though they are the same
Doctors can't help him

Where have the times gone
Identities learned anew
A mind lost to age
Lauren Miller Nov 2012
Up the Stairs,
              Turn and then another flight.
                               But she doesn't care.
                          Her tiny feet stomp across the ground

                                                   pat-pat-pat-pat-pat-pat

              Her smile grows wide as the great...
                                                        ­                        vast...
                                 ­                                                           sea.
 ­                                                                 ­                                             She finally arrives at the door.
                                 She is so small, her tiny heart is bursting with excitement.
                                                     ­             
                               thump-boom-boom-thump-boom-boom

             With a gleeful squeal she pushes open the door, as mother follows exhausted....
                                            chasing­ her little one

  When she enters, the smell of knowledge greets her nose in welcome
                                                         ­                            she inhales deeply                      
                                                                ­                                                                 ­                her young mind
                                                            ­                                                                 ­                              yearning...
                                                 The forest of books
                                        the voices whisper to her from all around

A kindly face peeks at her from behind a desk,
                                                                ­            behind glasses which rest on a nose
                                                            ­                                                    a nose nestled in sacred text

                              the small hand points to the volumes:
                                                       desiring....hoping.....praying
             From behind the desk,
                                               a smile, understanding
                                                 ­                                                                 ­               a nod

Joyous! Glorious!...a leap of exhilaration
                                                    ­                                         small feet make their sprint once again

                                                          ­           *pat-pat-pat-pat-pat-pat
Lauren Miller Oct 2012
Into the car drearily I go
There's no avoiding it, this I know
Headphones are in; world is out
As the music comes on, I try not to pout
I stare out the window full of despair
Every Sunday morning, it's the same affair

As I watch the rolling hills, trees, and skies
The image of a lone raven reaches my eyes
He's sitting atop a branch, seemingly divine
His piercing dark eyes are looking to mine
I smile widely, knowing why he appears
He leaps from the tree, his flight easing my fears
He soars through the air, the master of the wind
In our hearts I know we are kin
As he disappears, I see the grass flutter
In the flowing air, the trees too shudder
I know the winds and know their names
I hear their voices making their claims
When I see the sun, in his bright glory
I met a smiling face who recites me a story
A story on the wind, of fires and dancing
A story of forests and May Day romancing
A story of ancestors and honor and pride
A story of candles and spirits that guide
The story is my comfort as we continue to drive
I find myself feeling suddenly alive

But soon my time in the car has come to an end
I say goodbye to my natural friends
Away from my weekly prison, I wish I could fly
Fly past the cross and over the sky
But I’m no raven that soars through the clouds
I am a child stuck on the ground.
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