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 Apr 2017 M Harris
sunprincess
Sweet pleasures of life
Sun, air, food, water
dreamland,
and a poet's sweet kiss
xoxo
 Apr 2017 M Harris
sunprincess
"Behold stars are above,
and stars are below
And so," says the magician
"There is no up
there is no down,
There's only us
going around and around"
xoxo
 Apr 2017 M Harris
sweet mercy
what do I know about the universe?
It's wide, It seems like eternity
And when I think about it,
I dig upon its wholeness and get lost

But it's a trap
No matter how I wanted to get out,
I'm trapped.
It feels like there's no escaping the chaos
And almost feel like I'm drowning
Along with the stars, through out the galaxies

Yet I seek redemption
So I search for a multiverse there is
That maybe away from all these familiarity
I'd witness a grand diversion,
be somewhere and claim beautiful ignorance,
But without knowing anything about it, is reaching
the top and purest of nirvana.
491

While it is alive
Until Death touches it
While it and I lap one Air
Dwell in one Blood
Under one Sacrament
Show me Division can split or pare—

Love is like Life—merely longer
Love is like Death, during the Grave
Love is the Fellow of the Resurrection
Scooping up the Dust and chanting “Live”!
I spent my boyhood avoiding
      the disgrace of my differences.
Creating alternate empires that
      I ruled with stoic passion.
I gave out negative vibrations, as a boy,
      to control the level of association.
Built walls and lived within them,
       perfectly encased in sarcastic wisdom.
Does not take too long to understand
       that being yourself is not suggested.
Eager advocates educate the boy that his
      differences must be suppressed.
Be the same. Be the same. Be the same.
      Moulded and conformed, unaware
of the boyhood desiring to think for self.
       I spent my boyhood reading books
that opened libraries of imagination.
      Absorbing the solitary creations
of so many magnificent lives. They presented
      me with echoes of alternatives.
I never have understood the slicked back
      membrane of uncentred filters.
Solitary self-confinement made so
       much more tickled sense to me.
I passed out scented cigars of me
       to ear-drums inclined to not listen.
They agreed to, and supported,
       the numbness of not thinking.
Letting the self-declared prophets
       dictate how we must believe.
I spent my boyhood being the boy
      that did not fit the paper model.
Set it on fire. Set it on fire. Let the
       message always be that a man
must indicate his own set of standards.
She jammed her tongue down my throat
and the taste took me back to simpler times
truth be told, I loved it, her kiss reminds me of my favorite ice cream
but it leaves a bad aftertaste, it's a killer addiction, like poison
she slowly eats me alive, I'm addicted to the heartbreak....
 Apr 2017 M Harris
Scarlet Niamh
Where dawn meets the sea she lies, broken,
her laugh echoing the moon
and pouring with salt
across the morning waves.
~~ Her laugh is too beautiful to ignore. ~~
This is a place I don't dare to visit
the room is enclosed by four walls,
there are misshaped windows
with metal bars that laced the brick
as stained as a lifetime smoker's teeth.
The grey wall bleed a terrible stench
that brings back memories of pig farms
in the morning after a dampened night,
the walls are coated with red sludge
that is enough to reduce a grown man
to his knees with pleas of destroying
the savage assault on his senses.
In the middle of the room sits a chair
that is positioned right under a bulb
of light that spreads a dimmed vision
to the entirety of the room, the chair
is locked inside a cage as large a space
as the cabinet of a common kitchen.
The bulb swings from its loose wires
that seems to exist as a tangled mess
with the red intersecting the yellow
and in various points the wire
seems to have been stripped of its
dignity with copper exposed in points
that have rusted against the times.
It seems that the swinging light
may never be fixed to a single space
in the vast expanse of the ceiling,
so it throws shadows against the walls
where the chair is mere distortions
between light and dark.
The chair is trapped in a cage
with a lock that seems impossible
to ever penetrate and the break
in the metal bars that has rusted away
is too small for any hand to fit through.
The mildew grows in the corners
where the ground meets the wall
and against one of the four the green
grimy mildew meets the red sludge
enough to give of a yellow colour.
I recognise something against one
of the four walls, it calls for my eyes
and screams for my ears. It reiterates
this is the inside of my mind and
so far I'm making colours of everything
I could ever find.
I've been running my whole life
and in every single light, I am
another shadow casted against walls-
forever imprisoned.
 Apr 2017 M Harris
Vivi Greene
I guess
the greatest secret for every human
is the not knowing
of what’s going on
in the head of the ones
surrounding you.
now just realize
that they are aching to know
the same of you.
this paradox
sounds easy to get solved,
but so hard to become reality.
 Apr 2017 M Harris
Mike Hauser
She woke up with wings on her heels
Which brought to mind, that's all she wrote
With no need for shoes to escape the blues
Although she did grab a coat

She floated an inch off to the door
Leaving no prints on the linoleum floor
Opening it wide to the great outside
At that very moment she was seen no more
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