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Can you not
Spare a soft word
You look at her
With devouring eyes
Grasp her in your arms
Pull her close
Anger when another dares touch
But yet
You do not speak
Not what she needs to hear
Tell her she is beautiful
When you hold her near
Speak not only with actions at hand
You are woman, I am man
When you stake your claim
For the world to see
Lean towards her ear
Whisper you are mine my dear
Be not only a lover of the flesh
Speak that she is tantalizing
When both you mesh
It should not be hard
To utter the sound
From your gullet
Out of your mouth
Those lips produce
Ectasy abound
Create more
With words from whence for
What does it take to feel alive?

The hug of a mother? The pull of a trigger? A new high to desire?

The social networking of this world has lost its true form and art. The mouth is not for lying rather for cleansing.

Honesty is a form of quenching.

You'll never lose the people and things that truly matter, those are the artifacts and tools to feel alive. Life itself.
whispers of sea
where the cold storm
gathers in the grey
sky, and the waves
pound the shore
running back
pushing down
arching like
fiery cats,
the ache of the storm
a tearful cloud
the song of
a poem.
thank you to all my friends at this website for their continued support of one of the things i love in this world which is poetry. i've only just realised this is the daily today and i just wish i had more spare time at the moment to write and review. thank you again to everyone.
Nothing remains,
not  one  rhizome,
stem, or hairy root

travels, shoots, or buries
itself during barren  fall;
only  impending winter

resides in my garden
this unpredictable season,
and it is waiting for spring.

— The End —