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I had the privilege
of the first house - fly
of the season
last Sunday
A sign of things to come
Keith  Wilson.  Windermere. UK. 2017.
In the tender parts
Of your naive heart
Footprints where
They went too far
So come to me
My precious friend
And I shall comfort
And help you mend
There's no magic
That cannot cure
So come to me
And have no fear
Trust these words
As true as lies
It gets better
On the other side
...
Traveler Tim
This house
slowly unraveling
peeling off in layers
            like citrus of sectioned
freshness
      squeezed out of bounds
                            my heart
                    all caught up
in rooms, furniture
f l y In g
no longer rooted
by familial gravity
My veins wrapped
in long strands of
              live wires
hugging each item tight
                 as if to unlock
       the memories that
scintillate within
and I
      radiate my  
            feelings of forever
to somehow imprint them
before they
whirl and swirl off
into the universe
Snippets of our lives
in angled slices
of colored mirror
a look
    a smile
       a glint in the eye
children laughing
               a garden surprise
               crazy kitchen singing
                      first solids and a bib
              first little sweet dance
      beatific smile from the crib
the bedroom for cuddles
little bugs wrapped in blankets,
so close and so dear
flanked by both of us,
guardians of light,
keeping out fears
Once, we claimed private time
velvet kisses down
trails of skin
hot lusted shadows
gently sliding within
This is how love corrupts
         how old batteries explode
            burning rust that erupts
                        as I break out
            from the mold
Now your words hit my skin
in bad chemical reaction
knives and arrows of rupture
as my bone marrow
                       gets fractured
Insides are spilling out
guts all over the floor
all this chaos created
as I split
     through
              the door
 May 2017 Scott F Hemingway
r
Farewell is a good word
it often returns

in the dark like Charon
floating by in my own
listing imagination

I hold light for his boat
and echo goodbye

like the long nights
follow days, without pain
death is only melancholy

she said you'll have to say it
soon, you know,
to your child and your wife
and, yes, even to yourself.
I let go,
I lost my grip,
I couldn't hold on
any longer,

I felt my disappointed heart
break in two
when it became obvious
that I was no longer
"the strong her."

Whist falling I realised,
as my life flashed before my eyes,
that I regretted
the day that I surrendered my wings,
the very lifesaving things,
I, now, needed,

My soul shattered,
before hitting the ground,
knowing that I would meet my end
defeated.

By Lady R.F  (C) 2017
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