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We are not really broken
until we are broken
       and then we mend
and break again
      until our bones
become smashed
to smithereens
mapped into tiny lines
         and cracks
with some darkness
        in between
white matter, crushed
             into jigsaw pieces,
laden with blood, with spit, with silt
until the despair
that fear releases
interacts with self-blame
           and guilt
And how they weigh upon us,
these layers of pain
like heavy blankets
on our contours, in the dark
the maze of our pasts
thick upon us
as we strive to envision
                             a spark
perhaps just a tiny glowing,
at first, a barely felt
shadow of light
a glimmer, a whisper of
           knowing,
a drive urging us on
           to fight
and all of our minerals
rub off in sparkling crystals
as we brush up
against the walls
of that ever-blackened tunnel
as we stumble
and steady the fall
feeling a subterranean rumble
a shifting of perspective
as we battle questions,
spinning thick
into the whirlpool of our yearning
into molten metals, slick
We might think we can snap
                           with the ease
of a lonely brittle star
that tomorrow
could be a tribute,
              in lacerations
to the last trace
            of who we are
but it can happen, as we
sit upon, plan the edge
              of our last breath        
                       deep, subtle beats
                        of truth rise up
                to repel the scent
          of death
and, in pulses of light
                  it drifts
bends in willowy arcs
upon our soul it trips
******* light out
from the dark
and all the sharpened hooks
that kept us chained
         to the abyss
are released as
              we break free
into heaven's rolling kiss
feeling the flutters
of a new, kind breeze upon our skin
as Life's vast impulse
courses through us
     and simply wins
and the only demise
we're mourning
is the death of
          of a dormancy,
a resistance to again
receive and give
as we embrace
those little, precious instincts
that tell us to keep on
and choose
            to live
For those precious to me who go through things unbearable but still come out ok. This is for you because I believe in you no matter what. May you always be truly ok...and may joy find the light of your being again

Several pieces were listened to, some are my "usual" favorites but they fit.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vyrpRzdvp5U
(Add the beginning of last link to these ;) )
www.youtube.com/watch?v=GAiceRuLX1I
www.youtube.com/watch?v=JVhDfzV941E
www.youtube.com/watch?v=4efGQgC5pd4
and, enough heavy!! www.youtube.com/watch?v=DfLcA3M8820
Celestial wayfarers of the night
Dancing damsels with the light
Fading phantoms at Phoebes’ sight
I thought I shall post a minusclue of a poem for a change !
 Sep 2016 Rainey Birthwright
D
-

my favorite poems are the ones I don't want you to read,
about more than blind love, they're about the suffering.
a contradiction, they're the ones I want you to read,
because they're filled with the words
I don't even have the courage to breath.
another thing, I want you to read this one too,
but I know I wont show it for then you'd know the truth.
I guess I'm lucky that you don't have an interest in my poetry.. yeah, so lucky..

Edit: people keep liking this poem and it literally ***** to me lol this is not one of my favorite poems, as the title may suggest.
This is just a bit of humor I found
****,
alluring
Petting,
purring
your eyes
your smile ....
been
awhile
sundressed
caressed
turquoise
dreams
silent
screams
sweet
perfume
dreaming
looms
dance 'round...
  lovely
sounds
come in  close
need a dose...
don't
take eyes
or try
to pry
my hands
off  
of you

my boy
blue
loving
true
sigh
I try...
said I
wouldn't,
couldn't
shouldn't
do it ...
blew it
I did it
again
not JUST
friends
getting
  drink
by  
kitchen sink
on the brink
drunken
.... sunken
loving you
  tonight
feeling right
your gentle
hands
**** man

as we move
in a groove
wanna fly....
no goodbyes
touching skin...
moving in
red lipstick
did the trick
your here

so queer
I look...
a crook
theif in the night
a delight
the empty
waiting paper
perhaps
I thought
a caper
beckoning
my wanting
haunting
skin
as we begin
lean into kiss...
can't miss

a fulfilled wish
puckered fish
waiting lips
& fingertips....
seducing,
reducing
breaking
shaking
inhibitions
down
drown...
                  i
                   ­ n
                      g
writing,
fighting
burning,
learning
I am stuck
thunderstruck
frightning
lightning
so exciting
a giant puddle of ink...
you think
you can
make me
take me..
then
forsake me?
leave me
bearing
after sharing
seductive
words
still unheard
my point of inspiration
doubting
in frustration
bleeding...
needing
just
another

...... poem...
and a beautiful burden you are.


Cherie Nolan © 2016 *smile
started this for fun yesterday and I never know where the stuff is going or where it came from really... errr yeah.
Metaphorically speaking...
point of inspiration- person..
place or thing? Was about writing poetry though thoughts, what you think?... hmmmm....food for thought anyway! Have a beautiful day!
There's intense romance
in walking in the rain
under an umbrella.

It's akin to being with your girlfriend
in the rain.

My umbrella like my girlfriend is old

she has enough leaking holes
to lick my hair and face
rolling like a rivulet
reaching up to the groin
where it creates a puddle of desire
when I grab her harder
and push thru the fluid
thirsting and thrusting
like I do with my girlfriend.

But you know the best part comes
when my umbrella asks me
to throw her away
and reach the ******
as the sky cracks
to pour a blinding rain.
~
we are breathing the same air
we are looking at the same skies
we are living in the same world*

but why are our hearts are not beating in the same rhythm?

©IGMS
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