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 Feb 2016 Poppy Perry
Cold-Bones
We receive this blessing of whats called a life.
By all means, inhale it's beauty.
Live each day with reckless intentions.
But beware and rebuild your catastrophic paths.
Take your mistakes as a gift and learn from them.
Cause karma like always, make's its rounds.
The stereo type  perspective of life is obvious.
Enjoy the sun's radiant rays and own the heat.
Don't be normal.
Keep people guessing on the edge of their seat.
Because in reality, those who follow and are normal,
are force to
crumble.
Let your beauty make your foes stumble.
Hate is a weak emotion.
So never show it, but loath it.
Let your heart go and feel its motion.
But a broken heart, i really can not explain that emotion.
I hear the rain outside my window
which is strangely reassuring
that even though the wind blows
I am completely secure in
safely behind a pane of glass
it's similar to how I view the world
hidden behind this here mask
but maybe I should open the window?
- and stick my head outside
to be free and let it out, you know?
- the tears the rain can hide
what use is storing up these troubles?
- saving them for a rainy day
peace of mind should be above all
which is why I urge you to pray
but don't worry this isn't a sermon
I'm only asking you to feel the rain
then you can embrace your demons
rather than hiding behind the pain.
The sky was blue the day we met
not a single cloud in sight
truth is all I saw was you
framed by the morning light.

Gray will be the colour of my hair
if you ever leave my head
sometimes I still stare
when I'm alone in bed
seared into my memory
like a red hot poker
you once lay next to me
now I can't even hold her
an indentation on these white sheets
from an angel just as pure
I used to watch you sleep
now I watch the light beneath the door
half expecting it to open
for you to somehow return
the other half lies broken
as the glow of candles burn.

Blue was the colour the day we met
but orange was the day you died
whilst I stood and watched the sunset
on my beautiful bride.

"You laid so peacefully
now you sleep solitary
taken with a piece of me
that piece I had to bury."
https://www.instagram.com/p/Bz82IbVHjfC
our lives are fraught with numbers

so many fractions of a second faster in a race  
most wins on record   best jury votes
highest flight   deepest dive   most goals
meters of rising sea levels
millions of refugees   and more displaced
tens of thousands  honor killings
thousands of deaths with Ebola  
millions of Zika virus victims next year
billions of deficit or profit in import/export
    or the stock exchange
votes in elections    or for beauty queens

polls    tweets   virtual friends  & followers
likes on the social media    on hellopoetry

we have been taught to measure our status
our importance   and the significance of our lives
in clicks of other peoples’ digital devices

even our time has been reduced to numbers
the digital has long replaced the comprehensive
instead of the round dial that shows 12 hours
    suggesting the duration of a normal day
we have a punctual display  without the whole
the cyclical has lost against the linear

0101010101010101010101010101010101
we all look forward to our numbered future
no past  and very little present

our hands on smart phones    homes    TVs
    pushing a button makes things move
    swishing a screen displays the world

over all that we easily forget
that we ourselves have been reduced to numbers
    of customers for businesses
    of voters for the politicians
    of workers for the corporations
    of citizens for our nations
digital quantities we have become

and if we take a global view
we are part of the seven billion plus
that currently inhabit our earth


all of which do expect their individuality
be honored  and their dignity respected

numbers don’t  honor individuality
they simply count the units
items  or people  are for them the same

it’s left to us to find a way
that leaves the numbers in their place
yet guarantees us dignity
as individual members of the human race
when our mind is full of great ideas
we want to write them down
yet there are times when we  discover
that there is no connection from our brain
to all the instruments we use
to transcribe our flighty thoughts
    to give them shape on paper, screen, or in the sand

sometimes it helps to pause a bit and reconsider
what we do really want to say  
    focus and concentrate
    articulate precisely yet suggestively
our indomitable urge to formulate
    the turmoil of emotions we may harbor
    our wild ideas of revolution
    the overbearing pain of loss and separation
    grey landscapes of depression
    attractions of dramatic suicide
also the joy and pleasures of deep love
    of unexpected friendships found
        where even angels fear to tread
    the happiness of our children
    the love we recognize
        often too late
    our parents have bestowed on us

et cetera  et cetera

the catalogue of our themes
expands through our lives
so do the challenges
of how to tell the tale

it helps to aim for clarity
we have to  let our instruments of writing know
which of our turbulently swirling thoughts
should earn the privilege
to become words
    and be communicated
to people who
    before they read our verse
have no idea at all
    that we exist
love  
dove
bird
hurt pain rain
washing laundry dryer  shrunk
too hot   summer  beach  tanned skins
bikini girls   lifeguards  bodybuilders  
Schwarzenegger
robocop criminals politicians votes
lobbyists corporations   special interests
stock exchange oil price pipelines
pollution profits   leaded water   oily shores
banking wall street   99percent
wealth CEOs distribution education defloration
exploitation union struggle macjobs
Walmart amazon   tax evasion    offshore banking
islands caimans reptiles alligators walruses
snapping turtles  manatees  albatrosses
birds
dove
love
just for fun, sort of ...
I have seen the stars dance in the shadows.
I saw the world outside my window.

Screaming faces-
Telling time with countless voices.

Ticking clocks-
Counting the skipping of the rocks.

Brushing slacks.
Footsteps jumping the cracks.

Distance watching the sunset-
Remembering the first time they met.

The painter looking out to life;
Ready to embrace it as his wife.

Raindrops stuck in memory-
Of the children's agony.

White skies-
Baptizing the sinner's tie.

History holding creation's stories-
Telling future glories.

Courage finding the opportunity-
To fight insecurity
With His purity.

Sunday shoes-
Taping to the rhythm of Blues.

Heaven singing from above-
Waiting for its truelove.

How do we see life in our minds?
How do we wait for the counting of clocks?
How do we measure the depth of our walk?
How do we climb the mountain of time?
Copyright © 2016 Paul Forbes All Rights Reserved
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