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 Mar 2018 Sarah Spang
****** spittle drips from your lips
where once I tasted the proclivity
for hand rolled cigarettes and whiskey;
my saviour incarnate in a stranger’s fist.

I wear your words like welts upon my back,
five lashes, unseen by the eye yet palpable.
Lesions I pick, agape and weeping
like the feeble mouths of infants screaming. 

This was never mine to mourn.
I’m licking your wounds now, your finger in my own;
and back to you again I’m bourne.
If I were the rain,
I'd be dying to touch the earth,
cascading from nimbus clouds,
desperate to quench your thirst.

Yearning to bring new life
and glistening morning dew,
to a cold and arid place
where a garden never grew.

Today the sun may shine,
tomorrow may be the same,
but somewhere on the horizon
are skies that I'll reclaim.

I'd shower you with tenderness
and promises never untrue.
If I were the rain,
I'd be falling for you.
I've met Sapphire -- she was like the sea. She could appear as a raging storm or the complete embodiment of tranquility. Graceful, calm, comforting and yet at the same time tempestuous, untamed and misunderstood. Those who wade in the shallow would never know the unfathomable depths of her being. For beneath her unstable surface lies untold understanding, wisdom, and a love that is both unimaginable and sincere.

I could have laid there in the sand for Eternity, enclosed in the gentle hush of her misty words, letting her waves crash upon me in hopes that I’d eventually be pulled under.

I've met Ruby -- she was like a wildfire and I the dry tinder, all too eager to satisfy her audacious passion and unquenchable desire. I was the moth; the unshakable temptation of her aura's alluring danger was too tantalizing, too enticing to resist. Bewitched by her crimson lips, sultry figure, blazing eyes and seductive gestures, I was foolishly fanatical to be her dancing marionette, my strings effortlessly compelled to be wrapped around her finger.

Yet I could never find contentment in feeling her warmth from a safe distance. I yearned for the uncertainty of smothering the flames for a chance to be engulfed in the immortal inferno of reckless devotion.

I've met Topaz -- she was like the sunlight and the stars. Joyous and blindingly shining with youthful exuberance, her childlike innocence was a boon that beamed upon every soul she touched. Spirited and seemingly teeming with a never ending supply of infectious laughter and a smile that could melt even the most frostbitten heart. Hopelessly trying to keep up with her fervent spontaneity proved as futile as trying to catch a shooting star with a butterfly net.

I am forever blessed that she shone upon my life. A single day basking in her radiance was worth more than the perpetuity of a solitudinous existence.

I've met Emerald -- she was like a lush forest. I sat beneath her trees in the shade of her leaves, embraced by the gentle caress of her touch. Her serene ambrosial breeze carried soothing whispers of kindness and compassion that were unrivaled by any earthly delights. We planted seeds that took root in our hearts and entangled our souls with the everlasting abundance of euphoric elation, harmony, and deliverance.

Yet every flower that flourishes in the spring will willingly wilt in the fall, and the seeds that lie dormant beneath the snow bear no commitment to bloom. What we hoped would blossom through the passing of time would only amount to us growing apart.

But I've never met anyone like you -- You are a Diamond. Given just the smallest glint of light, you shine with the complete spectrum of incomparable quintessence. You encompass the entirety of all the different colors and hues of every jewel I have ever known. Unparalleled and peerless in your very nature, unprecedented and unsurpassed in your beauty.

You are ineffable. All my attempts to describe you will only prove to be ultimately inadequate, but you are the most precious gem to me and I will be, forever and always,
Will you be my Valentine? <3
I knew you as a person
who wore daffodils in her hair;
dancing barefoot in the fields.
Always unpredictable,
your aura, like an aurora of Pandora's open box.
Recklessly compassionate in your unrelenting affection.

I remember when they told me
that you had passed away.
I watched as they returned your body to the earth.
They say that you're in heaven now,
but I don't know how this can be true
when every day I still feel you in my heart.

Maybe your daisy chain was a halo
and the fields that you danced on were clouds.
I think I finally understand.
I knew you as a person,
but maybe you weren't.
Maybe you were just an angel
that got lost along the way.
This is my first attempt at a free verse poem, please feel free to send me a message with feedback or critique. I honestly don't know what I am doing and writing this was a huge challenge for me. This is for anyone who has lost someone close to them in their lives. People die, but they live on in the hearts and souls of the people who loved and cherished them. Carry their spirits into the new world and they will live on forever.
I tell myself that this is it,
when the day is done.
When I wake I'll start anew,
but tomorrow never comes.

Tomorrow becomes today
more quickly than the last,
more quickly than the bottles empty
more weeks and months go past.

I buy the drink, the drink buys me
another day to run.
The demons waiting patiently
for when the day is done.

Tomorrow becomes today;
I waste it like before,
I waste it getting wasted,
but I'm wasting so much more

My friends, my health, my family
and those I cherish most;
watch the boy they used to love,
becoming just a ghost.

Tomorrow becomes today,
I may have missed it all,
I may have missed the last chance
just to never miss last call

I tell myself that this is it
when the day is done,
but the circle remains unbroken
and tomorrow never comes.
What price do we place on freedom
in a world of consumer slaves?
Do we measure it in the lives
of soldiers sent to their graves?

Do we measure it in the families
who lost dads, husbands, sons;
and trust the politicians
whose solution is always guns?

Do we measure it in the comfort
of never knowing first hand
the way that a child feels
growing up in a war-torn land?

What is the cost? What will it take
for us to wake and see:
if this were the path to freedom
wouldn't everyone be free?

If hate will only breed more hate
and if war only breeds more war,
it ultimately begs the question:
is "peace" worth fighting for?
Time is not a war to be waged;
there can never be a winner.
At the end we're all the same;
the anointed and the sinner.

Take up your arms and you will find
you'll leave with less than you had;
all the fruits of your trying labor
will surely have gone bad.

Instead of changing the world around
try instead to be the change;
raise the white flag and you will earn
from a war you didn't engage.

If there's a lesson to be learned:
you need not hold the line.
All the anger and hate will depart
through the gentle surrender to time.
It started as a puncture,
but the seam slowly ripped;
a thimble can't protect
from a poison needle tip.

She tried to mend it
by making more holes;
the tear only grew
and grew out of control.

At the spinning wheel
her life would quickly dwindle;
frantic attempts to hem
were depleting the spindle.

What started as a puncture
of seductive sedation
fueled the abuse
of machined perforation.

"Don't mourn a living corpse"
were the last words she said
as she drew the needle
that held the last thread.
 Jan 2017 Sarah Spang
The moon is sitting
hauntingly beautiful
on her window
lovely wisps of pink scattered sky
glancing at her behind the trees
she imagines your hands
on her night skin
and she wants to write poetry
on your palm
she wants to write anything
about the oceans and the stars
and she wants it all
to mean something.

And tonight
she misses you so bad.

It ceased to hurt me, though so slow
I could not feel the Anguish go—
But only knew by looking back—
That something—had benumbed the Track—

Nor when it altered, I could say,
For I had worn it, every day,
As constant as the Childish frock—
I hung upon the Peg, at night.

But not the Grief—that nestled close
As needles—ladies softly press
To Cushions Cheeks—
To keep their place—

Nor what consoled it, I could trace—
Except, whereas ’twas Wilderness—
It’s better—almost Peace—
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