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1445

Death is the supple Suitor
That wins at last—
It is a stealthy Wooing
Conducted first
By pallid innuendoes
And dim approach
But brave at last with Bugles
And a bisected Coach
It bears away in triumph
To Troth unknown
And Kindred as responsive
As Porcelain.
Your thoughts
my soul...two magnets
playing a game of give and take

My thoughts
your soul...two crowns of thorns
bleeding drops of rain

Cornered...tortured

Mysteries unfold
time stands still
breath stops...heart skips

I'd rather wear the crown of thorns
then never to have known
the moments of bliss that unfold
in the torturous corners of our minds

Twisted pleasures
in body, mind and spirit...



© 2019 Lily Mae
Violet buntings
Lamps and jasmine sticks
The temple of peace
mirrored reflections of a thousand selves
in
one body,one soul
an infinty, she was
Whether a comma, or colon:
Punctuation slows my rolling
I need no period. When I end
no Capitalization when I begin
Rulelessly I flow my art
  Not a single!
Exclamation mark
Are you not the one
Who'll know?
Where a question mark
No longer goes

Warp the structure
Bend the lines
Put in repeat
Let emotion unwind
Make yourself
Your poetry's the best
Be your own ruler
Pass your own test

Take your own road
Where ever it leads
Lover or hater
It's all poetry!
Traveler Tim
.


Hay
No matter who you are
You have my deepest respect!

Vanity
All is vanity
The meanings of passion
The aesthetic expression
The lines we draw and stay within
Even love is beyond intent
Vanity transcends
Flowing from our pens
And so we breathe again
yesterday, the universe seemed as if it was a mirage; I saw planets beyond planets, a moon beyond moons; oh the minutes were soft and golden; they melted to liquid, into a million, into manifold, into one...

~perhaps this was what nobody told me: perhaps I am
more than the mass of resentment and regret that I had so greatly condemned, then became...
~

and as I fell asleep; folded and cradled in the warm arms of the universe, I understood, I truly understood...

~that it was forgiveness that made everything beautiful once more...~
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qBD7vhU28ck
Of your tongue and your anger,
They can fail you anytime.
4/9/2020
Is a poet still a poet
If they do not write?

A journal gathering dust,
But a yearning to write.
Am I still a poet
Without my inner light?
I'm sorry I haven't written a while! Love you all
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