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we can't escape the honest final fact
of what we are but knowledge of the when
evades our thought for women and for men
the whole affair requires a lot of tact
while ancient legions trooper and cataphract
do battle to control both hill and fen
while we are in the grip of thought again
having no choice but fearing still to act
all voyages must come at last to port
or end at the sea-bottom ever lost
those are the options and we cannot choose
the fate that we are given time is short
as we find out we have to pay the cost
of all delaying and we always lose
As I rushed home, I thought about

The last thing that I'd read

"Can we go out to fly my kite?

Before I go to bed."

A text was sent by my young son

To go and fly his kite

I texted back "no problem son,"

"We'll go do that tonight"

Once I got home, I went to change

And he changed his clothes too

The sun was still up shining

And the kite would help the view

The wind was blowing briskly

Just enough to fly it right

And if others were out flying too

It would really be a sight

I told my son, to dress up warm

For the wind did hold a chill

But, flying kites with my young boy

Well, it gave my heart a thrill

He gathered up his kite

And then he raced me to the door

I picked up my hat that had

Been knocked upon the floor

He raced me up the street as we

made our way out to the park

He wanted to be first

to get there before it did get dark

He held his kite so tightly,

I myself thought it would break

It was a black and golden box kite

With a tail just like a snake

We bought it up in Chinatown

At a little antique shop

When the wind hit it just perfect

It would just hover and then stop

Of all the kites he owned

This was his favorite one

I think it was his favorite

Because it danced beneath the sun.

We got there, I let out the string

And I got it in the air

And once it became airborne

I tied it to his chair

My son, can't hold the kite string

Can't control the way it flies

He's confined to his blue wheelchair

Until the day he dies

He controls it with his finger

Races all around the place

And when we get out flying kites

There's such a smile on his face

He backs it up, the kite responds

Flying high up in the sky

"i wish that I could be that free"

"I wish that I could fly"

"One day son, you will be free"

"You'll be as mobile as that kite

You'll be moving like you used to do

"On your feet, you'll be so light"

He was injured in an accident

But, that's not here nor there,

He was hit by a drunk driver

He was too **** drunk to care

But for now, my boy is smiling

We're out flying kites at night

And as long as we're toghether

Then our world is still all right.
Laying here alone
upon a bed
of unread poetry...

inkstained fingers
smudge my eyes
and
taint my lips.

I scream in exclamation marks!

If only one line
one word
could describe my need
of you
would I even know it...

want...no

desire...not even close

Forever...forever tastes right upon my tongue

if only
if only

If only that one word could be ours

would I write no more.
For someone special to let them know three words are two too many
 Feb 2012 Melissa Thorne
Rob
Silver field shimmer in the moonlight,
Silver field glow,
Silence, in the face of the lady,
As she bathes the world below.

Cool and Pale, her gift she gives,
Never forced but enraptured,
Serene Siren of all with a heart,
Grasped at, but never captured.
RD © 2012
geometry of the  expectent night,
transcends to immerse in the grandeur
of galaxies beyond time,
manifests as **grand stillness.
Black lake reflects a trail of ivory plumes,
Cockatiel's alabaster tail of feathers.
Such loveliness can only be the moon's,
Which skinny-dips in lunar altogethers.

Raccoons catch fish along the shore,
Fastidious paws clutching their prizes.
She paddles her canoe with silent oar,
Observing nature's soft nocturne disguises.

Silhouetted loons rock low upon the waves,
Asleep till sunlight sets them to their songs.
Her wake bisects the path the moon engraves,
As wilderness whispers tranquilly she belongs.

She'll stay the night foregoing comfort fire,
Moonlight enough by which to pitch a tent.
And come tomorrow should anyone inquire,
No trace reveals her overnight encampment.
Love begins
                                  with one hello
Then it goes
                                          with a sad goodbye
Yet it'll try
                                     with one more hi
      
If it won't work
                                      then smile and go
               _Wait for the right one
                                               and say one more hello.
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