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 Jul 2013 Lizabeth
Jennifer Freya
Standing in the sand,
My feet sunken into the softness,

I feel a sort of longing,
As the waves kiss my ankles,

That is more than the tug
And release of the water upon the shore.

I lose a bit of myself,
Feeling pulled to the ocean,

That is more that the grains of sand
Scraping away at my skin.

The foamy waters come
And take away pieces of my soul,

And with each wave,
I feel a greater desire.

The roaring of the sea
Seems to call my name,

And I look to the distant boats with envy,
For I wish to be in their place.

Looking back to my feet,
Feeling the water come and go,

I draw patterns in the sand
That disappear, quickly erased.

And I think how much that is to life:
A force that lets you create

Then takes all away in an instant,
Leaving behind a blank slate.

I draw a heart
And I smile.

But just like that,
It’s gone,

With only a vague imprint
That, too, fades.

And so I draw a conclusion,
Standing here upon the shores of time,

The call To Be is strong
And unavoidable,

But, in the end,
The sea will erase it all,

Leaving a faint shadow to call memory,
Which is doomed to disappear in the horizon.
 Jul 2013 Lizabeth
hello
house grave
 Jul 2013 Lizabeth
hello
flirting with death

by smoking my life away

throwing it down the toilet

starving my self of lifes good fortune

literally am waiting for

the grim reaper to
knock knock

on my door with a pretty grave

and a comforting hand

but if i had the chance

to re-think it all

i wouldn't give in just yet

feeling the simplest things

like the breeze on my face

a breath of fresh air after

being consumed by so many
tears

and the moments where you feel

like everything will be
alright

but then here i am

flirting with death

leading it on

with words of want

only to shoot it down

with the buts and maybes
and what ifs

death is a one time thing

life isn't always here to stay

so if we are born to die

do deadly things to feel alive

what is the real path

we are taking

if it all just feels like a
big circle?
 Jul 2013 Lizabeth
martin
Lives destroyed
His wasted too
No waiting virgins
Seventy two
 Jul 2013 Lizabeth
Chuck
It's time I write a morbid verse
Of a necrophiliac's scent
A love sonnet in a dark hearse
The way sick, evil love is meant

It's sure something to remember
The cold night shaped the mood sedate
'twas an eve of dark December
Beauty lured me to procreate

Though cold and stiff, love's not inept
Melody's morose symphony
I do believe with joy she wept
Dead, she deserves no sympathy
Not a necrophiliac! This was my attempt at dark, but I think it has a humorous quality, therefor, I failed. Bouts-Rimés is when another person gives you the end rhyme words. Soul gave these depressing words to me because most of my poems are lighthearted. I gave her a list of happy words because her poems are usually dark. Check hers out when she posts it.
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