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Where have you gone
O, sweet child?

Where have you gone
You innocent youth?

Why have you changed
O, sweet child

Why did you grow
You innocent youth?

Free in your childish mind
Free from the harsh reality

Come, sweet child,
I wish to cover you
in the cloak of ignorance
to hide you from the world

But I am too late,
for you are already grown up
the world has changed you
in your mind
the world has hit you
with the harsh reality
and the world was unkind,
unforgiving, and cruel
He is the tumultuous ocean,
The twisting, rolling sea
That feigns a certain gentleness
Until its rage breaks free

So vast and so unending
And limitless in worth
I took him once for granted
As I wandered through the surf.

Without the tumulus ocean
Without its rolling seas
Without the tide that tosses me
And never sets me free

The arid, fallow earth would crack
Beneath my burning feet
Reminding me of which I lost
And dried up with the heat

But salt leaves me to languish
No sweetness he can quench
Time will only tell from here
If love can fill this trench.
 Aug 2014 Syreena Phelps
leena
maybe i should start drinking everyday
cause you liked me better when i was drunk..
 Aug 2014 Syreena Phelps
Joeysguy
Our First Pregnancy
By Joeysguy

When we were young and before she was my wife
I didn’t know she was going to be the love of my life

I miss those special times that we had
I miss all the times so very bad

I don’t know where I found a talent to write poems late in my life
It must come from the woman I loved who was my wife

Over the years we have had arguments and called each other names
Like little kids playing silly games

In a picture of my wife the sun shines in her hair and makes it glow
To me she looks like my loving angel with a halo

Thinking back on our first pregnancy
That was hard for my wife and me

Some times she had morning sickness
At times she had made a mess

In that nine month period of time
She had fallen for the third time

My heart was divided in quarters
My wife my son and my two daughters

I think my heart will become whole
That day that my wife takes my soul
 Jul 2014 Syreena Phelps
bukowski
the beauty that comes
from that little black pen
of yours
is more than what will ever
come from the stars
and the moon,
or the sun
and a clear blue sky;
your mind is working
so fast
and your pen still manages
to keep up with your train of thoughts;
your words scribbled on paper
are better than any
misty lake
on a cold Sunday morning
or a silent forest
on a dark Tuesday night;
your pen carries every single
emotion
from your brain
to the paper it is dancing over;
your beauty is
written through
that little black pen
and you should never
stop writing,
even when you feel empty,
you can find something
to write about;
never
stop
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