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Where is utopia or disappointment in death?
Or maybe the stretched-out black silence
is death in hell
when neither the devil sings to lead you to him,
nor does God.
a suicide,
lying in the darkness at a crossroads.
I am not afraid of death,
It has simply taken root,
Killing everyone in its reach...
I never attend funerals.
She's like the essence of a coral rose
a latent bloomer with a heart of gold
And when she speaks to me in prose
deep inside, she opens doors of old

Rosy cheeked and full of vitality
a thriving blush in my garden of love
Infused with life and immortality
she's been sent from up above

A rose by any name will always be so neat  
like cupid wings when flown across the sky
Filled with ample beauty she's replete
soft and mellow, like a gentle sigh  

She's the perfume of my scented days,  
perfect and valuable in every way.
 Feb 13 Rabiu Ameen
Emma
snow white egrets glide,  

tip-toeing through reeds so green,  

morning whispers peace.
Good morning dear hellopoetry poets ❣️ wish you a day full of strength and inspiration, been feeling stuck in a rut of late... some healing is taking place as I keep writing about the same time in my life...
The forest hums with secrets

Maidenhair ferns, wood sorrel, and creeping thyme weave through the undergrowth,
while ghost pipe blooms pale beneath the watchful old fir.
Tiny mushrooms...chanterelles, inkcaps, and fly agaric...rise from the moss,
their caps jeweled with dew that shimmers in the hush of moonlight.

A ring of toadstools, aglow with otherworldly luster,
beckons the Faerie Queen to her midnight waltz.
Silver wings flicker like whispers in the dark,
and the song of the forest...a siren’s melody...
calls the lost to dance.
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