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My dreams tend to be set to a theme of past emotions and pain
Maybe one day get to live with
warm loving
dreams
What other kind              of creature could divide        
        Each different thing             into its different sides                
  With chaos versus             order, dark and light
The stark duality of         wrong and right
We even split the very        world in two
With human versus human,       we and you
But still no matter how much      we divide
Each thing has infinitely many      sides
Each dream
Each night
So much going on behind eyes sight
At the brow
Eyes closed
Information flooding in
Tween sleep and awakening
Consciously aware
As shapes cascade from here to there
Transparency to the skin
Though structure clearly seen
Triangles
Squares
Circles
Hexagonal
Not flat in form
Life to the structures
A sense of crystalline
knowing
Bathing beneath the rim
Although not really sure of what I'm seeing
Or indeed to feel
As of now
As of yet
 Feb 2018 Michael J Simpson
EMD
Three white doves cannot fit in a nest
    But if the extra cannot find a mate
Then where should it fly at springtime’s end?
That lonely little dove, caught between two worlds
   The little dove left alone to mourn what it could not have
      Mourning it’s lost love in a lonely, empty little nest
         Perched precarious and pretty on a windowsill
            Little grey dove, mourning the morning
Touch my face tenderly
My hands have gone numb
Bang!
I heard a firework go off.
I don't see any lights.
Oh, I think that was a garage door falling shut.
Or maybe someone slamming a door.

I don't want to think about what it might have actually been.
It's not like summer has come and gone months ago.
It's not like nobody has garages around here.
It's not like people slam doors loud enough for it to echo around the inside of my school.
It's not like I'm scared for me and my friends every time I enter the building.
It's not like that, I swear.

Everyone is scared.
Everyone is lashing out.
Everyone is on their toes.
Everyone is trying to become home-schooled.

We want to leave.
Not for boredom,
not for the next best thing.
But for safety,
for home.

Who's coming in the door next?
Who's going to stop them?
Who's going to survive?
Who is going to die?
A pillar from core to air
Vines twisting twining intersecting overlapping pushing
under loosely thread
Tightening as they grow
Constricting
Breathing more
Air is dense
Light is the floor
Holly prickling pillow
Soft warm sinking sand as the door
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