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Ms Ann Thrope Jun 2014
It’s what propels us all

Made kingdoms rise & fall

Told the grass to bend in the breeze

Caused a wrist to slit & bleed

Severed fingers, toes, & ears

Helped men conquer their fears

Influenced cowards to run & hide

Encouraged good woman to sin & lie

Butterflies so intense you could hurl

& it’s worth all the pain in the world
Written Circa October 2011
Ms Ann Thrope Jun 2014
Mad
Look at the happy people

Are they not all mad?

They’ll empty out their pockets

To give more, they wish they had

& they’ll do it with a smile

Because they genuinely care

May God bless the crazy people

Who give a **** when life’s not fair
Written Circa October 2011
Ms Ann Thrope Jun 2014
I was too young

Too young to know

That selling your soul

Is never condoned

By the angels above

or even demons in hell

Now as a misfit

In misery, I dwell

BUT my decision was

NOT made in hast

Instead, it determined

A sweet lover's fate

& if the angels above

Cannot understand

Then this sacrifice is one

I will gladly withstand

& with no hesitation

I’d quickly defend

That in the name of love

I’d do it again…
Written Circa September 2011
Ms Ann Thrope Jun 2014
The Sunflower is awfully bigheaded

For being so tall & gangly

With fiery blooms, rough around the edges

He’s quite a sight to see annually

He looks down upon all the other flowers

With his head so high in the sky

This makes the other flowers jealous

But they fail to realize the sunflower lives a lie

Because the problem with the sunflower

Is that he turns his back on the sun

Creating the misconception

That he does not need anyone

But through the circadian rhythm

His leaves continuously change

Eluding the very revelation

That the sunflower causes his own pain

So as the sun begins to set

The sunflower realizes what he’s done

He faces the darkness with much regret

Realizing he cannot live without the sun
Written circa September 2011
Ms Ann Thrope Jun 2014
The rudiments of love are vested deep within the soul. Like the bleeding sands of time, our feelings can't control--An aggregation of desire, filled by many things. The light that fuels our fire, embellishes our surroundings.

We shut our eyes but cannot sleep,

we hold our breath,

clinch our teeth.

We tremble at the slightest brush, our hearts awaken from this rush! & just when we expect the flame to yield, it torches the entire battlefield!

This leaves behind a humble scene, of ash, & smoke, & broken dreams... At which point only time can heal, but merely to form another battlefield?

I believe that we were made for more, that pain is something we should endure, that life is more than a half-filled glass, but a powerful teacher of poise & class! & I, for one, will never mistake the advantages of a lost-love fate!
Written circa August 21, 2012
Ms Ann Thrope Jun 2014
Where does the time go
Since it so rapidly slips away
Once it's gone, it's gone for good
Leaving me wishing it had stayed

The challenge is then to endure
It's ever-lasting fleet
So cherish every moment
& Exploit every opportunity

This proves to be more difficult
When dreams dissolve in thin air
It seems freedom is more restrictive
Than others are made aware

Therefore, it takes a tenacious person
Brave enough to tackle a wall
Just when it was suppose to shatter
The wall proved it refused to fall

Equally headstrong & tormented
You vowed to forever pursue
This obsession with my confinement
Was ultimately the end of me & you

Thus, when you declared forever
it appeared to be a lie
But I realize now more clearly than ever
That it is simply the end of time
Written circa December 3, 2010
At Forum Cleansers
Ms Ann Thrope Jun 2014
A child strutted down a gray gravel lane
That laid between a rose garden fenced frame
The young boy ran his fingers thru the brush
Filling the air with a strong floral musk
When suddenly, he retracted his hand with a wince
When it snagged some thorns on the rose garden fence
He cried aloud as his fingers ran red
The kind of yelp his mother did dread
So she descended from the house which they lived
To find her young son waist-deep in roses
She pucked him from the garden with care
& inquired in the first place, why he was in there
He replied to his mother, he wanted it dead
To **** the rose that had caused him to bled
She cleared her throat, smiled, then said,
“My dearest child, do not be misled. Killing the rose won’t cure your bloodshed.”
This made the boy cry even harder it seemed
He already killed the rose in a vengeful fury
His mother smoothed the tears from his cheeks
Cleared her throat & again began to speak,
“It’s ok to feel bad. It’s all apart of life. After all, what is happiness if not in contrast to strife?”
Written circa November 24, 2011 **Dedicated to Knox James Alexander
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