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 Feb 2016 Magg M
SøułSurvivør
far
 Feb 2016 Magg M
SøułSurvivør
far
~~~


do not go
far

past pale
mountains
where
shadows lurk

for you
have further
to go
you have more
time
you have more
work

all
have bones
with
cracks and
poison
shards

dying is
easy
grief work
is
HARD

we
press
our faces
to the
rotting
glass

and
only hope
and
wonder if
this too
shall pass

is the
boulder's press
on the
shoulder blade

better
than clotted
earth
from
spades
~?~

but tho
the world
be a
gloss
and
painted black

the
colors
still
GLOW

benieth
shellac

take
the knife
you'd use
in vain
to

faint

scratch
the surface
PEEL
the
PAINT

there's
a
RAINBOW
beneath
dark rust

you can find it
in
lunar
dust

finally
through
all the
shifting sands
of years

you'll find
it was
reflecting

through

your

TEARS




soulsurvivor


~~~­
For all those who grieve.

Though life seems to have
Lost its colors
It is the very waters of grief
That become

PRISMS
it is the night
lit by the moon  
    best if it’s full
that gives strange shadows to familiar things
when poets are supposedly inspired
to write about their pain   their love  
     often the same
important thoughts of life and death
their joys of the quotidian   and
that you catch the day
and live it like it were your last

    you never know
    just a split second
    and your life has turned into your past

benignly, though, the moonlight introduces softer thoughts
of passion and of the beloved
    distant in space but always close in mind
romantic moments lingering in afterthoughts

some times  I think  that if it were not for the distance
that always separates those who have pined
for their reunion
the world’s treasure of poetry might just be half
of what it is today

the same may well be true for all the lines
penned under tears about that unrequited love
addressed to those unwilling subjects of desire
who often  in the course of writing
turn into objects of the writers’ ire

the moonlight’s pristine shine
    in fact a mere reflection of the sun
for a few hours of the night
changes our vision
opens up doors to different worlds
    full of desire, hope, and desperation
allows us glimpses of ourselves
that daylight never shows

we feel we can speak words
under the pale light of the moon
or the dark corners of the night
that would not make much sense
under the brilliance of the sun

the quiet splendor of the moonlight’s grace
lets us experience that other space
we tend to close and keep apart
in our hasty tour of every day

that’s why
in our few calm moments
we all should listen to what they
    our poets
have to say about the night
the moon’s  strange light
and how it keeps their thoughts in flight
you know you have reached advanced maturity
when the most exciting nightly event
is falling down the stairs in the dark  and
surviving with only minor cuts and bruises
 Feb 2016 Magg M
The Dedpoet
Alone
 Feb 2016 Magg M
The Dedpoet
In the birdhouse I built,
The youngling flies off for the first time
Looking back

With hope for you
       I whispered your name

I wanted nothing more than the world for you,
So much,
I invented new ones.

     We made moons at the cliff
In a word of spoken poetry.

   The rivers split
And we became found.
  
     I caught all the petals in the wind
To recreate a flower.

      I taught you how to fly,
And you became a bird.

    I'm just an old fool
           Who pieces together
                  The broken heart.
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