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 Apr 2015 Michelle
Death-throws
Snap
 Apr 2015 Michelle
Death-throws
Love me all the same
please
Love me all the same
I speak about my paradise like  its my own apocalypse
despising my own empty cranium
hold me  higher my love
dont ever let me go
I built empires on the sands of your mind
a grain out of place and civilizations  crumble and burn
love me all the same
please
love me all the same
you broken sonet
you fouled field
our pasts are fickle and ripe with pain
our falicies where religions decades ago and generations before
they where truths
whispered in hushed shadows
and murmured between soulless corpses
I am a drunk who rambles about sobriety
my dear love me all the same
please love me all the same
my feilds are cracked with fractures more then skin deep
the mountains in my mind are carved from the pebbles of the souls
ive crushed beneath my foot,
you have no idea the weight i carry withen myself
too much for a legion of mules to bare
but just enough weight to bend my sanity,
my dear i beg you
please love me all the same
 Apr 2015 Michelle
leigh walker
Sometimes it's nice
to let your toes
sink into the mud
beneath you
Watch the dimly
lit sky above you
permeated by clouds
Just like your mind
clouded by deep
thoughts of
Wanderlust.
 Apr 2015 Michelle
CA Guilfoyle
It was shallow water, rippling
a watery moon quivering
on the surface seen
It was night fire
burning water into steam
gray smoke screened
It was willful drowning
upon a lily bed of lies
parched a wilted garden
slowly withers, dies
To all who stop by here to read this poem and to those who have left comments, I thank you for your every kindness.
XO
He’s no musician.
He doesn't make melodies through violin and guitar strings.
Yet he composed, haunting ballads in dramatic tempos,
Rhyming every lyric,
Harmonizing, making it dance in a musical euphony.

He’s no seamster.
Yet he cuts and he traces,
plain words and printed phrases;
Then he sews and he weaves it skilfully,
into a lovely concrete poetry.

He’s no painter.
He just has a palette of pigmented letters,
splashing colorful lines on his blank canvass.
A blast of contained evocative memories,
Streaking and shading mixtures of kaleidoscopic imagery.

He’s no storyteller.
Yet from him, I heard the most romantic tales-
One, of the moon and its lover sea.
Reciprocating shy glances, whispering I love you’s,
while kissing behind the sprawling mountains.
Though the dawn will come, they do not fear.
For after the majestic tribal sun leaves his stage,
There’ll the lovers be once again reunited.

He's no poet.**
Yet he writes--
stanzas and verses.
And oh! it revives,
every strand of emotion,
every sense of intuition,
Inside me.
A lyrical perception,
Sheer perfection,
Arousing perpetual reactions,
From me.
I am not good at this. I just want to express my pure gratitude, appreciation and awe for you.

"I am no poet. Never thought of myself as one. Just a guy dabbling clumsily in words"
Yet even, everything you do amaze me.


Thank you all wonderful people on Hello Poetry. I just realized this moment that this poem was featured as Daily poem yesterday.  I have never imagined any of my work will be posted as daily. Thank you all for the hearts, re-post,share, comments and messages. You really made my heart and soul so happy. :)
And most of all, thanks to the man who inspire me to write this one. :)
(04.14.2015)
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