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It was shallow water, rippling
a watery moon quivering
on the surface seen
It was night fire
burning water into steam
gray smoke screened
It was willful drowning
upon a lily bed of lies
parched a wilted garden
slowly withers, dies
To all who stop by here to read this poem and to those who have left comments, I thank you for your every kindness.
XO
~¤~ω~¤⊙¤~ω¤~

My father told me
this is Love
how two people show
tender feelings for
one another

My father held me
so very close
I had always wanted
To be his Special Girl
Number One in our
cloistered world

My father used his charm
to keep me in his arms
till he was done with me.

Then I became
Uncomfortable
Inconsolable
Unreachable
Unlovable

I beseech abusers everywhere
Please let the children be.

~¤~ω~¤¥⊙¥⊙¥¤~ω¤~
~Moonflower~Fluer de Luna~April 2015~
I beseech fathers, grandfathers,
uncles, brothers, teachers,
bosses, camp leaders,
cleargy and pedophiles everywhere
Please let the children be.
Carried like a scent on the wind,
she pulls me along quietly,
no point in fighting, I've lost.
Pushing me forward, to a red end,
love is in the air, force is present, ever so sly,
pushing, wind at my sail, don't land, it is of cost.
It doesn't get better.
It morphs, carves and twists bones and flesh, no end,
wailing and flowing from a cave in the twilight coldly,
cutting, killing, crushing, no stopping the bloodlust,
breathing into & for me, a forced life to lend,
never put to self indulgence, never boldly,
waves bleed port & starboard, tranquility's holocaust,
systematic & brutal, my ink ever wetter.
I am silver and exact. I have no preconceptions.
Whatever I see I swallow immediately
Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike.
I am not cruel, only truthful --
The eye of a little god, four-cornered.
Most of the time I meditate on the opposite wall.
It is pink, with speckles. I have looked at it so long
I think it is part of my heart. But it flickers.
Faces and darkness separate us over and over.

Now I am a lake. A woman bends over me,
Searching my reaches for what she really is.
Then she turns to those liars, the candles or the moon.
I see her back, and reflect it faithfully.
She rewards me with tears and an agitation of hands.
I am important to her. She comes and goes.
Each morning it is her face that replaces the darkness.
In me she has drowned a young girl, and in me an old woman
Rises toward her day after day, like a terrible fish.

— The End —