She was a daisy dipped in cyanide,

     her petals when they descended
    like tears corroding
           what ever they fell upon.

Kissing her was like razor wire
on
          my senses,
and everyone
                        lacerated deep.
Scaring me every time we touched,
But what is a touch without painful ****.
If we were each a penny,
         and were thrown

in to a wishing well.

We would float,

     because who wants
to be like all the rest..


Its always good to be yourselves,
            not  to drown in a well of
others  wishes of
how we should be.
We where never a masterpiece,
              more like a jigsaw piece
                                           missing parts..

But we spent that time not worrying
                        whether we would


find them.


We knew that every part
would connect,
               sooner or later.

And if it didn't,
It just added to the mystery
              of what our finished picture
would be.

It takes a life time
                        to find where we connect,
never let that burden you.
                        Its all part of the fun.
I want, I want isn't an I...

       Its my family to be safe
beyond the uncertain moments


tomorrow brings.
20 words my thoughts on what I want in 2019
We are all green houses,

              never let anyone throw
a rock though your widows..

As there just jealous that's growing
                                          within.

Some may be infertile within,
               cold and un-growing.
No seed of compassion sprouts within.

But you are a virtual rainforest of
                       creative imaginings..
            So growth forth and no rock
shall ever come through your  greenhouse...
There are tracks that flow thorough
the simplistic white trails,
a view where many would
            see nothing but
                              blinding avenues.

But there is always a path winding

Never letting the confusion of white
    show that there are steps beyond
                                   the powdered reflections.

Though we may make a crease in the hillside
                          of destiny remember that new
                          memoirs will always fall
                                           covering our failings.



We are on a ***** of pure white,
and only we can make a wrong turn.
                                What avalanches may fall
are of our own false footsteps.

Learning from where we fell.
                         If we don't get up
it shows that we trod wrong and where
buried beneath the white covering our ever mistake.
Woeful trepidations cling to me,
                  like morning cobwebs.
                                  The dew of hostility
          filtering into my subconscious.


And the spider feeds on the woven
                       chrysalis of my despairs.
I'm in a closet of silk and the fangs are
                                        gentle but intrusive..

Every dewdrop falling evaporates
                                            on my forehead.
Falling into the morning haze of despondency .
           Fear is a word that I awaken to,
                                 beyond the sunrise.


Forever in a web of dewdrops collecting
                       evermore on my thoughts.
Are the weakness of self a demise or
rather a strength,  to weave my own web on.
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