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To love and be loved

We all crave the same fiery temptation

To feel and to be numb

We contrast the beauty of love

To be broken and to be rebuilt

We have all seen an illusion of love

To smile and to cry

We fear love because sometimes love hurts

To drown and to float

We sink in despair, waiting to be rescued

To be confident and to be insecure

We weren’t born the same

Most of us hate ourselves

Wishing to be remade

Or maybe wishing to never exist at all

To be heard and to be ignored

We hold everything inside because everyone on the outside is too busy to listen

To be untruthful or to be truthful?

Truthfully. .

We are blinded by our fears

So far deep in our tears

We run from love because we never been chased by love

We accept less because we think that’s all we deserve

We reject love because we are tired of getting hurt

We feel like we are ugly because he or she is more appealing

We camouflage ourselves because we feel like society will judge us

We die inside because we never felt alive

We limit love because we never experienced it’s measures

To love and be loved ?

We will never understand it’s depth

Why?

Because first we have to **love ourselves
 Feb 2016 Andrei Corre
Joyce
We feel what
we write.
We struggle over
what might.
In our head is the battle
that we fight.
Sometimes we just
want to know.
Do I stay or should I go.
In our mind so much thinking.
We stare at this wall
without even blinking.
In life we feel different emotions.
A trusting heart brings
love and devotion.
I was the world's
biggest contradiction

and
I danced back and forth
between the lines
so much
that when I finally decided
it was time to be myself

I couldn't remember
who that was anymore
.
It was many and many a year ago,
  In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
  By the name of ANNABEL LEE;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
  Than to love and be loved by me.

I was a child and she was a child,
  In this kingdom by the sea:
But we loved with a love that was more than love—
  I and my ANNABEL LEE;
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
  Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago,
  In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
  My beautiful ANNABEL LEE;
So that her highborn kinsmen came
  And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
  In this kingdom by the sea.

The angels, not half so happy in heaven,
  Went envying her and me—
Yes!—that was the reason (as all men know,
  In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
  Chilling and killing my ANNABEL LEE.

But our love it was stronger by far than the love
  Of those who were older than we—
  Of many far wiser than we—
And neither the angels in heaven above,
  Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
  Of the beautiful ANNABEL LEE.

For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
  Of the beautiful ANNABEL LEE;
And the stars never rise but I see the bright eyes
  Of the beautiful ANNABEL LEE;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling, my darling, my life and my bride,
  In her sepulchre there by the sea—
  In her tomb by the side of the sea.
 Feb 2016 Andrei Corre
vinny
blood from Gods spill
soaks the forest floor
her Holy release
gimme more petrichor*

take a hit
lose control
your hardwired
dontcha know?

sweat it out
carried away
blood from stone
the hard way

slow mo
throttle it back
when the sky pours
mother absorbs

face down
one with earth
this sacred interface
our right from birth

blood from Gods spill
soaks the forest floor
redemption salvation
*my sweet petrichor
i couldn't figure out why i loved to ride by bike in the rain so much!  i thank my ancestors for this they needed to know when it would rain to exist!
Who, or why, or which, or what, Is the Akond of SWAT?

Is he tall or short, or dark or fair?
Does he sit on a stool or a sofa or a chair,
                or SQUAT,
        The Akond of Swat?

Is he wise or foolish, young or old?
Does he drink his soup and his coffee cold,
                or HOT,
        The Akond of Swat?

Does he sing or whistle, jabber or talk,
And when riding abroad does he gallop or walk
                or TROT,
        The Akond of Swat?

Does he wear a turban, a fez, or a hat?
Does he sleep on a mattress, a bed, or a mat,
                or COT,
        The Akond of Swat?

When he writes a copy in round-hand size,
Does he cross his T's and finish his I's
                with a DOT,
        The Akond of Swat?

Can he write a letter concisely clear
Without a speck or a smudge or smear
                or BLOT,
        The Akond of Swat?

Do his people like him extremely well?
Or do they, whenever they can, rebel,
                or PLOT,
        At the Akond of Swat?

If he catches them then, either old or young,
Does he have them chopped in pieces or hung,
                or SHOT,
        The Akond of Swat?

Do his people **** in the lanes or park?
Or even at times, when days are dark,
                GAROTTE,
        The Akond of Swat?

Does he study the wants of his own dominion?
Or doesn't he care for public opinion
                a JOT,
        The Akond of Swat?

To amuse his mind do his people show him
Pictures, or any one's last new poem,
                or WHAT,
        For the Akond of Swat?

At night if he suddenly screams and wakes,
Do they bring him only a few small cakes,
                or a LOT,
        For the Akond of Swat?

Does he live on turnips, tea, or tripe?
Does he like his shawl to be marked with a stripe,
                or a DOT,
        The Akond of Swat?

Does he like to lie on his back in a boat
Like the lady who lived in that isle remote,
                SHALLOTT,
        The Akond of Swat?

Is he quiet, or always making a fuss?
Is his steward a Swiss or a Swede or Russ,
                or a SCOT,
        The Akond of Swat?

Does like to sit by the calm blue wave?
Or to sleep and snore in a dark green cave,
                or a GROTT,
        The Akond of Swat?

Does he drink small beer from a silver jug?
Or a bowl? or a glass? or a cup? or a mug?
                or a ***,
        The Akond of Swat?

Does he beat his wife with a gold-topped pipe,
When she let the gooseberries grow too ripe,
                or ROT,
        The Akond of Swat?

Does he wear a white tie when he dines with friends,
And tie it neat in a bow with ends,
                or a KNOT.
        The Akond of Swat?

Does he like new cream, and hate mince-pies?
When he looks at the sun does he wink his eyes,
                or NOT,
        The Akond of Swat?

Does he teach his subjects to roast and bake?
Does he sail about on an inland lake
                in a YACHT,
        The Akond of Swat?

Some one, or nobody, knows I wot
Who or which or why or what
        Is the Akond of Swat?
 Feb 2016 Andrei Corre
amabel
One crumpled paper after another
into the trash can.
I can't seem to get these thoughts
out onto paper.
There is something
You need to understand about me
I'm older now
I've loved and I've lost

I've lived with regret
After doing someone wrong
Who didn't deserve it

I've judged myself
Wondering if I would ever again
Feel right
Wondering if I would even be able to feel again

Yet I find myself still here
In one piece
And not at all crass or harsh
But only seeing things more vividly

I understand now
That sometimes love and beauty and good things
Mostly only come in moments

I recognize and acknowledge them
While they are at my front door
I take my time saying hello
Instead of goodbye

The memories that will last
Will mostly be made up of moments
I still feel lucky for them
 Feb 2016 Andrei Corre
nate1990
It's always growing
Collecting dust
This mountain of thoughts
Harboring rust.

Omitting a dark reflection
I can't help but stare
To ominous to wonder
How many might be there.

Unfocused, unkempt
Far to entangled to muse
This mountain of thoughts
Has left me confused

Too soon had I lost
Controll of it all
This mountain of thoughts
Needs to withdrawal.

Bleed out and purge
Alleviate the Pain
This mountain of thoughts
To much for my brain
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