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 Feb 2015 Mike Fashé
Adam Childs
My soul rests within the
tranquility of the empty valley

I nestle in a beautiful space
a carved out place,
As I lie between
two proud mountains  

Open to the sky
I make a restful sigh
As I enjoy this giant
emptiness

Blustering winds pass through
as the valleys edges are
brushed by busy grasses  
And tickled by the
Sweeping clouds

While many cattle graze
a silent centre has a
grateful gaze

As eons pass the empty
center sits to watch seasons
spiral past.

With her rolling mountains
and rotating valley
she see her endless time

And drinks it slowly
Like a delicious wine

How I enjoy the sweet open valley
I am in awe of the limitless nature of the human mind
How it stretches infinitely inwards
Containing a private universe that would be forever in isolation
Unless that individual chooses to launch out shooting stars
Rocket ships from other worlds in the form of music, poetry, art
We are sending satellite signals out from our galaxies
Desperately holding cups to our ears
Tightrope walking on the string theory
Because the world needed yet another teenage poem with space imagery.
As we all have someone in our lifes we love or hate... vengeance is bittersweet. Id love to go bust down the door of her house. And not **** her, but her family... to hurt her soul, like shes done mine. Have her stand there alone with nothing left but emptiness... but I cant. It would destroy me,  take my "heaven". **** maybe hell wouldnt be so bad if I got in with the right people. But im scared. I love life and my biggest fear is death. For a man with nothing, I feel I have the most to lose... myself in bitter sweet nothingness...
 Jul 2014 Mike Fashé
Kelsey Bohn
Green grass, large trees
The world around nothing but rustling leaves,and a million sounds, but none that honking horns or engine rumbles
Nature is the perfect place
This night has fallen so must I into the sleep so dear only the the singing birds slinging their melodies hear the last dying crickets in the gray glow of the first hint of the sunrisen day.

Catlike and furtive, creeping toward the last of this or that odd prey, these words unwind till the thread runs out.

All heart within but stark without.
Goodnight, 2:30. You made my day.
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