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Waterfall tresses
       Moonlit Cascades
           of honeysuckles
               Lillies
  Heavenly Sunflowers
          And salsa dancing roses
       WithIn the vineyard Luminous
            Ballerina gypsies
          With bohemian evening dresses
    Waltz with Exotic romance
     And their lotus gaze sweetly ablaze
The rain wears its exquisite fountains
     The clouds its velvet handkerchiefs

Reynaldo Casison
My English teacher said
The opposite of love
Is hate.
But it's not hate,
It's apathy.
Hate still breathes,
It's fiery, raw, and real.
But apathy?
Apathy is a void
Where nothing's left to feel.
No anger, no tears,
Just empty.
So if you ask what's worse,
Hate or apathy,
I'd say apathy,
The silence,
The hollow space,
Where nothing is felt
And nothing is left
Between us.
 Mar 28 Maryann I
silvervi
It's ok to feel discomfort in the body.
It's ok. Observe it, sensations are ever-changing. Nothing wrong with it.
 Mar 24 Maryann I
Zeno
Carousel
 Mar 24 Maryann I
Zeno
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I don't know what I was looking for,
in the honey draped lights flashing
in my eyes
And the sound of music
that keeps on playing and playing

And the wind that laps over my face
as the world turns,
Like horses running on axis,
weaving through the lines of shadow
and fireworks
And in their trail, I found
stardust that shimmers and shimmers

I found it confusing sometimes
In the endless mirrors and lights
that spirals in my mind
Like vines coiled around poles
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And the looming sweetness that lingers,
like pink foam swirling in my mouth

I smiled towards the dying sunset,
thinking it would last forever
I try not to close my eyes
and not be blinded
by the world slowly slipping
away

Before the music dies
Before the yellow stars burn out
You might not hear my voice
or even remember my name
But I just want you to know that

I was here

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time stops in winter

here.



we find it manageably quiet.



today we drives to conwy busy

with people making holidays

is lovely.



yet i cannot find it easy.



i buys the trousers i have wanted for such a long time

from the pound rail.



look at cakes as is my hobby.



talk about angels and return home.



quiet.

apart from the men laying  tarmacadam opposite.



it smells nice as does the creosote from yesterday.



while the music plays softly.
I have loved you
From the moment our eyes
Met across the crowded street
On that scorching summer day

And though summer
Soon came to a bitter end
I have loved you through
Every season ever since

And I guess I always will
 Mar 21 Maryann I
Piyush
A white feather bird,
Sitting on my grill,
Under the quiet moon,
As the world stands still.

It tilts its head,
Eyes dark yet bright,
Speaking in silence,
In the hush of the night.

"Why are you sad?"
It asks with a sigh,
"Are you afraid?"
As stars fill the sky.

"What do you want?"
Its voice lingers near,
"Is it difficult?"
Soft, yet so clear.

I stare at the bird,
Yet words do not flow,
For how do I answer,
What I barely know?
It is just me who is not answering anything and it's the white feather bird who knows everything.
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