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Lilly Gibbons Mar 2015
Be my reflection,
Understand my worries,
Read my thoughts,
See my vision,
Walk my walk,
Feel my tears,
Mimic my smile,
Hear my stomach growl,
Listen to grunts,
******* wants,
Drown my sorrows,
Forgive my condolences,
Help my thirst,
Hold my hand,
Bathe my skin,
Fight my battles,
Spark my curiosity,
But more than that, be you!
Lilly Gibbons Mar 2015
She
She who perched on the windowsill,
Allowing time to float through,
White, grey clouds passing slowly,
Admiring books on wooden shelves,
How valiant they stand,
Against the race first and second place,
Each page a testament to dedication,
Covers touching, a balancing act in motion.
She who perched, deserted,
Coins carefully scraped from bottoms of bags,
Pockets emptied deep into the night,
How those notes slipped so easily
from hand to stranger in times gone by.
She who prayed silently
For an unfound discovery,
How great she became at singing the others tune,
Rejoicing in poets long gone,
Humming the others lyrics so frequently.
Lilly Gibbons Feb 2015
There was a place where a light wind blew
And swished away the leaves,
Pushing past the great, exposing the new,
Meandering through the trees.
A place where many trod but few could see.
Where all had been and come to pass
But more than often leave.
Considered by none, walked on by many,
This place was no ones first time,
A venue so guilty of mass interception,
Now a place that is momentarily mine.
Fingers sweetly stained, ripe for a licking,
Bushes bow to greet, the artist who is picking.
Carefully placed signs to protect outsider intrusions,
No handprints or footprints in sight.
All access not granted, made more appealing
By the unmasked blanket of night.
Bowed branches hung slightly,
Not tampered, cut or blown.
This dwelling reserved for nobodies pleasure,
Leaving the lost be unknown.
Lilly Gibbons Feb 2015
On your heart I shall place
All that is mine and yours to chase,
On your lips I shall pour,
Sweet mutterings of everything that I adore.
In the early dew I shall struggle to part,
So sure you occupy a space in my heart.
Lilly Gibbons Feb 2015
There's a truth in the last moments you share
With yourself before sleep invades
It's those minutes that capture rare plots you construct
From bits and bobs gathered along the way,
Where everything is reckless, hope is renewed,
Manifestations of moments once true,
And all of the doubts that persist in real time
Subside to reveal who is who.
Deliberate intentions of force.
It cannot be examined nor researched in full,
Who is it that is teaching this course?
This awareness is yet unexplained.
A yearning for life, a wanting for more.
A manufactured reality, can it be obtained?
Lilly Gibbons Feb 2015
A fence keeps them out,
Stroking the makeshift gates
The contents withheld, they will never know.
Blocks, sticks, plastic, tape hide what we shouldn't take
Only in innocence will the wonders unfold.
Bickering of imagined enemies, a friend or a foe?
Concrete upon concrete, blocking reality,
Enabling the disabled creative.
Reaching for nothing's, plotting new crimes,
Against generations above.
Makeshift gates working wonders, doing what you love.
Orderly Queue For Reason.
Standing, talking, laughing, humming,
All familiar pattern of living.
Not looking up or down, Straight will lead to the light.
Direction dictated by someone's saying,
Study backwards, look forward but not too far ahead.
Outside the trees are swaying, branches beating their drums.
Inside the mind is playing but sooner or later succumbs,
To daylight and being and just staying true
To whatever it is that is not misconceived.
The clocks move sideways, their handles reach to control the next phase.
And I being honest, not causing scandal, learn to live in an orderly way.
Lilly Gibbons Feb 2015
Palms sprinkled with white dust,
Stiffened in the frosted gaze if the sea.
Speckled mountains stand protective over miniature villages below.
New light strikes hidden ridges, cliffs tempting us to leap,
Meandering rivers flowing parallel to wandering tribes,
Hear the Parakeeps chirping, they don't have to hide,
Land so unfiltered, untamed by the norm,
Obscure now a pleasure, a rose with no thorns.
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