It's there,
           in that Treasure Chest
Locked up tight,
          next to my bed
I don't know who has the
                     k e y
At night,
             I can hear it inside
It's not too loud,
        but it whispers to me~
                    "let  
                           me
                                out"
I do not cry,
but I say to it very gently~
           "I have
                    to wait
                            for the
                                    key"

When someone finds it,
          Will you let me know?
My heart's still
          b e a  t i n  g
            in that treasure chest
Although it's been broke
                It's wants to be
                              f r e e
          So please,
    Help me unlock my broken heart that's been torn all
                         a  p ar  t
     Release it back into me,
            So I can love,

             B
                       r
                              e
                               ­     a
                                         t
                                           h
                                           e
             and
Finally be free...  

*Do
      you  
           have
                  the
                      key?

I have a tiny teddy bear, with a tartan collar.
It has a bell attached, just so I can hear it playing.
It sits silently on my pillow during daylight hours.
I gave it a name.
"Edward Surprisingly."
Someone bought it a rain hat.
Can't remember who.
I swear, that I heard the ringing it's jingly jangly bell the other night.
The darkness seemed to echo through the atmosphere of night.

Today I went to work.
I got in rather late.
Went into my bedroom.
Just to change my clothes.
I parked my posterior on my bed.
Expected to find him.
Smiling at me in a bear sort of way.
On my bed, right next to my pillow.
Nothing's there.
Not hide nor heel of Edward.
My ever faithful loving bear.
Heard a strange ringing running through my head.
Went off to investigate.
Edward, my lovely diminunitive friend, was curled up in my grandsons bed.
Maybe,
Just maybe Edward, had realised that the baby loves a teddy bear.
Rather more than me.
He felt that I'd neglected him.
He thought I didn't care.
I did.
Edward was my confidante.
He knows all things good and true.
A few bad things too.
Hoping in my heart of hearts,
that he doesn't tell you.
If he did I'm lucky, as baby, he so cannot speak.
My secret's safe with him as well.

(C) Livvi

I plucked a tiny flower from the verge at the side of the lane.
It was so delicate.
It looked so lonely, sitting there all alone.
I stuck it under the edge of my collar.
Attached alongside my remembrance day poppy.
I heard the hooves of the the day bays horses's shoes clicking and clacking into the morning.
I witnessed the lone rider, hair in a net ******* under her hat.
I smelled the exceptional air.
No vehicles passed through this place.
So very quiet.
The field laid upon the left hand side looked so inviting.
Maybe I'd walk over it on my way back home.

Got back into my house.
Reviewed my flowers.
The bright red memorial.
It poppy triggered more emotion than the tiny roadside treat.
I pressed my little roadside flower in the middle of a poetry book.
Between the pages laced with guilt,  I stole it's life away.
My tiny paper poppy will fall into the bin.
Next year, a  beautiful fresh one will be reborn of pure love.
Acknowledge the soldiers, acknowledge the flowers.
(C) Livvi

And she sank into your eyes.
A transfixed fixture captured in the dark.
A camera image.
Stored in an antiquated box camera.
Locked away.
Awaiting revelation.

A chimera, maybe a feature of a potent imagination.
She's prowling through the shadowy lands.
In the contorted universal time.

He knows she's there.
She haunts his heart and feeds his mind.
Almost feels it.
He feels her very being, she feels him without pain sensation.
She feeds him emotion from a dessert spoon.
Just because she's sweet.
He holds her tight in his darkest moments.
And yet she saw him crying.
A child without a handkerchief.
Wipe your eyes sweet heart, she smiles.
She is waiting.
(C) Livvi

The spirits of the dead.
They're fleeced as naked sheep.
They hang cold and desperate.
Howling over desolate isolated moorland.
Screaming on the gale.
The linger just a moment, where man nor beast exist.
This ethereal racket, caused by the sharp and biting gorse bush.
It's scratching wounds, deep into grey shadows,
Left overs of spoiled souls.
(C) Livvi