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When I die, dear Mother
don't give my body away
to science.

I'd rather have it given away to poetry.

I want people to cut me open
and observe
how my bones were riddled with
melancholic verses of joyful pasts.

They have to see
the scarlet of my blood was the hue
I stole from the sunsets of
wishful thoughts.

Dear Mother,
give my body away
to the art of writing:
for they have to look past
everything they have ever learned.

They must know
of how much I loved and I lost,
and how that made the twine of my ribs
a story to tell.
Haven't written anything new in months.
Let your heart drown in tears
To cleanse away the wound
From it shall spring eternal fountain
Of inspirations, to open your heart
To Love, Hope, and inspiration
Muses will come to drink from it
And poetry shall flow through you
Every particle of you enamored
By the sweet water, flows eternally
Replenish the soul and turn the tide
To delve deeper in to self-belief
And, embrace knowledge to fight a stormy world
Poetry is the panacea for a recuperating soul
For there is the eternal fountain to drink from*



















© Amitav (Radiance)
What will I do when I run out of words to express my love for you?

Will I be consumed by my sorrow if it has nowhere to go?
Will my heart stop whispering your name
Will I stop imagining your weight in place of others
Will my torment end

Will other lovers haunt my dreams
Will I give myself freely to them
Will I love unbound and bright as fire
Will my heart sing of joy

Or will I disappear
curling like black smoke into the ether
silent ruin my comfort
cold longing my grave.

While you, my sweetest muse
my beautiful love
go on, unaware, unmoved
by the diminishing of my light.
The trouble with Hello Poetry
Is that I fall in love daily
Held under so many captivating spells
moulded and crafted by all walks of life
I find myself longing for all of you
the broken, the fallen, the bruised
the saints, the sinners
the righteous, the dispossessed
the holy, the unholy
all meet here
to speak of life
as they feel it
as only we know it.
Onwards, upwards
Downward spirals
kindness, cruelty
crashing through boundaries
bounding across oceans
carried on wistful sighs and broken dreams
The trouble with Hello Poetry
Is that it breaks my heart
Then brings me back to love again
All within an hour.
 Jun 2014 Lea Anne Mousso
CC
Run
 Jun 2014 Lea Anne Mousso
CC
Run
Run
The taste of blood swelling in your throat
Run
Ignoring your aching feet
Run
Run
Run for joy
Run for fear
Gasping for air
Run
Tears stinging your face
Clouding your vision
Run
Sweat stained clothes
Air blocked ears
Run
Heart drumming
Threatening to tire out of your chest
Run
Stumble
Get back up
Run
Scraped knobby knees
Pounding head
Run
Have you reached your destination yet ?
If not
Run !
 Jun 2014 Lea Anne Mousso
danny
there's a certain beauty in the unknown.
a certain beauty in not knowing if
you're as crazy about me as i am about you.

there's a certain beauty in knowing that
my heart is ******* in such a knot that even
a seasoned boy-scout would cringe at the sight of it,
all because of you.

so many nights i have spent looking at the moon,
hoping you were doing the same.

and oh-so many nights have been spent swallowing
pills with various numbers inscribed on their very surface,
just to try to forget about your absence.

but the thing about the unknown and drugs and the moon
is that none of them can even come close to the beauty
that you possess.
My life has been painted onto canvas
I am not a painting strewn through
Museum walls
Not yet
Black for the loss
Red for spilt blood
And blue and purple for bruises
Yellow struck up from
The bottom
Childhood memories
Sea foam green
For the waves carrying me onward
Watercolors
Built on messy strokes inside garage walls
And too much caffeine late at night
My purpose has not yet been decided
If I am to be
A landscape or a face
Or maybe an animal
But I am
Beautiful
I don’t hang inside
Museum walls
Not yet
But I am still,
Beautiful
As the painter and
The painting
 Jun 2014 Lea Anne Mousso
Love
A poet in love is like a match soaked in gasoline,
And when a poet falls in love,
With someone no more than another poet themselves,
A catastrophe is created.
all roads lead to somewhere.

where?
that i don't know.

barefooted thoughts,
how will i deal with loss?
to the times you felt alone
in the crowd.
when the promise of another
lifetime wore you out.

those stolen images, familiar feelings
that woke you up.
the empty streets, rainy days that
made you sad.

for the old soul who never
looked back.
the soul who stopped dreaming.
i’m your memory reaching out
from the past.

i say.
carry on,
carry on.
it wasn’t a lie
and this one’s for you.
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