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Poet scan your blanket of
verses looking for
the missing songs we
buried in the wrinkles of
floral flannel.

Where are the sounds of
midnight?  the verses
of the wind through our
tangled hair?

Poet curve your arm around
me as the last breath breathes
kisses to the night.
Tomorrow's poem is unborn.

Let us fold the dawn into a
syllable, the night into
a song.


Caroline Shank
Blue and green
Side by side
glittered in the dark
Achromatic leaves on the trees
Golden yellows
Glowed in the back
Festive lights glow through the night
Colours never fail
In their journey of spreading light
Inspired by the decorations on the streets
Lose yourself
give everything away
your heart won't break
and your SOUL will stay
Staring into the eyes of an angels
She emotes her powerful energy into your soul
Just because something looks pleasant doesn't mean it is good for you. A pretty berry can be poison. A elegant person can be brutally cold and condescending, while a person of lesser stature may be warm in welcoming. They say do not judge a book by it's cover. Many persons hide what they truly are. Like a plant that appears to be a delicate flower, only to ensnare you once you have gotten to close, saying what ugliness truly is, often depends on what you define as beautiful for yourself.
I would like to go there -
This place,
This somewhere anew.
It would be here,
My love,
My dear love with you.
O’, cherish me there home,
Our place,
For us young to rest.
Forever pure,
Heavened,
Laid upon God’s vest.
For I love you dearly,
My love...
That's...!
where some, they
sleep and awake
some, born under
some die there and
some explore their
treasure under
bridge
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