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"Tell me what the skies were like when you were young."

"They were black, sometimes with a hint of purple. I preferred the night skies. Gazing deeply at long-gone stars that still shone so very bright."

"Now, can you recall the first time you wet yourself?"

"Strange question, OK, well I was sitting in the family living room. It was a cold winter evening, and we had no form of heating. Our overcoats and blankets from our beds were strewn over us to keep the chills at bay.
This night, my Father had decided to allow me to stay up late to watch a film (I usually went to bed at 6.45 pm exactly).
As the film started there was lots of haunting spooky music and visuals, my God it was Damien: Omen 2. I was instantly in a panic as the previous time I was allowed to stay up late was for The Omen, and it terrified me.
This time I tried to remain calm, but my body was in turmoil. I started to feel the urge to urinate, yet did not want to show I was scared in any way or leave the comfort of my blankets.
Eventually, I had no choice and ran like the wind to the toilet, leaving a wet trail behind me.
Laughter erupted from my siblings and my Father, culminating in a thrashing from his leather belt."

"What about your Mother?"

"She just sat there, smoking a roll-up, looking into thin air."

"Alright Richard, I think that's enough for this session, I'll see you next week."

"Thank you, Doctor, just one thing…"

"What's that?"

"Can I use your toilet please?"
Yet another repost from the vaults!
Perhaps the words weren't meant to be,
Touched, soft, by serendipity?
Perhaps enough's enough, my friend,
Where excess risked a blemished end?
Take solace in your secret smile
Knowing it's all been reconciled...
Like ripples on a calming sea,
What's meant to be...is meant to be.

M@Foxglove.Taranaki.NZ
Taking the alternate point of view in support of Melancholy of Innocence's lovely work "Whispering to the Vanished"
At first, time will settle for a minute of your time. But in the end it will claim everything, sans the end. So I sharpen time and run with it. I make it mine to bring to ruin with. I wield it like a sword. I give it out of fear, take it out of regret. I battle and **** for it, hold others hostage with it. Time doesn't want salute or tribute. It wants you to forgot it's there. Just turn your head as it chews the road you built. This non-negotiable is often called the great equalizer. It's my friend until it's not. And I know that day is quickly coming.
From the 'Checklist Before Commencing on a Dream.'

https://hellopoetry.com/poem/4793791/checklist-before-commencing-on-a-dream/
We
Some people aren't open to talks
others don't even entertain jokes,
because their daily moments are
a chaos, of sadness, pain, of anger,
of rising from varying rejections.

We.....are the heroes,
or the villains...or the sacrificed,
characters...in glorious times,
struggles, described in verses;
we know...for we are those writers,
our poems are colored with our lives.

We create our own rhythms, from
calm or tempestuous days and nights,
we hear ourselves
in gentle or loud voices
we hide...among our limited choices,
we turn numb
we become blind, due to despair,
yet, with a little love,
we get by, and...in time,
our poems become our lifetime hymns,
bringing us back to those days,
how we tried, and
learned our lessons.

sally b

Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
March 2, 2025
 Mar 25 Melissa S
Cné
Poet
 Mar 25 Melissa S
Cné
His colloquy, vintage, rich and bold
Unveiling nuances, young and old
Subtleties dance, like fireflies at night
Whispered innuendos, a gentle, sweet delight

His flavor, a lingering caress
Savoring bliss, in each
tender address
In this sensory waltz, entwined
A delicate balance of taste and design

Where words become wine,
and wine becomes art
Relentless aftertaste, a deliberate
imprint on the heart
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