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Halcyon grass in absent wind;
your conscience drifts away.

Alone, you watch the rising tide;
above, it ties you in.

Lost, lost, lost;
as you were, among the reeds...
 Apr 2013 Martha ter Horst
Emma
S                  O                   M                   E                  W                   H                   E                   R                  E

U
  between-----between-----between-----bet­ween-----between-----between-----between-----between
S


sprouted­
a
wall

Hurdling over it used to be fun.
until it grew, and we had to mount it
but even then, the feat of
                                                                ­                                 g
                                 F                                                   n
                               A                                          i
                    ­            L        &                 b
                                      L             m
                                  I
                           ­       l      |     N
                                    c          |         G  
                                  IT
made me appreciate seeing you more

but now it has
become so big
that our voices
are barely able
to attain the pe
ak; even the m
emories of you
have trouble re
-aching me pa
st the obstacle
that i now see
instead of you
r soft, soft eyes

I miss the touch of your palm against my palm
Now I can only press it against this disdainful and cold brick wall,
hoping that you might be pressing your hand against the same brick,
just on the other side.
hoping that my warmth might eventually sink through to you,
that my rain/tears might corrode the clay
hoping that maybe, maybe, maybe

you will hope the same thing too.
 Apr 2013 Martha ter Horst
AA Phi
Yea
Maybe I am

The short days
And a shorter temper
Or

Maybe I am
a sucker
a servile infant
clearing the scraps of
the undeserved

I guess
I could be
Or
maybe
I am just
gasoline and cash

or at least
I will be

one day.

Maybe I am
a host
a host for life
and that’s all

Or maybe
I am a universe
the
Universe.

Maybe I am
a persistent memory
for few
an empty vessel
to many

Or maybe I am
the diluted pieces
of potential

Maybe I should
have left

that corner

where I was not
alone but not quite
Together

Maybe I am
alive
We find ourselves injected
by the aesthetic needle
and infected from the vain.
The jaws of life offer freedom
within the confines of imprisonment.
Serve your time
or become the clock
that's ticking away our lives

— The End —