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schuyler Feb 2018
,i am the darkest hue of color

;not quite black

,i am with the faintest trace of chroma

;not quite black

(yet
  Feb 2018 schuyler
Robert Frost
How countlessly they congregate
  O’er our tumultuous snow,
Which flows in shapes as tall as trees
  When wintry winds do blow!—

As if with keenness for our fate,
  Our faltering few steps on
To white rest, and a place of rest
  Invisible at dawn,—

And yet with neither love nor hate,
  Those stars like some snow-white
Minerva’s snow-white marble eyes
  Without the gift of sight.
  Feb 2018 schuyler
Robert Frost
I have been one acquainted with the night.
I have walked out in rain—and back in rain.
I have outwalked the furthest city light.

I have looked down the saddest city lane.
I have passed by the watchman on his beat
And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain.

I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet
When far away an interrupted cry
Came over houses from another street,

But not to call me back or say good-by;
And further still at an unearthly height
One luminary clock against the sky

Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right.
I have been one acquainted with the night.
  Jan 2018 schuyler
Dawnstar
gardener
I am not ready
don't pluck me
  Jan 2018 schuyler
Melissa S
One pulls me down in a sea of tenderness
safe gentle lapping waves of love and comfort
so soothing like a warm summer pond in the south
He is my anchor

The other loves me like a wild forbidden passionate rush
an all consuming type of love, making the world disappear
clinging to a life raft in a turbulent sea
He is my storm

Enticing waters with the luminous waves that can tempt the dead from their bed. My soul longs for both. I cannot drift off to peaceful sleep until the waves of desire find their sweet release. A wondrous storm of love in a turbulent sea or a steadfast anchor that has taken hold on a part of me
schuyler Jan 2018
dampened gravel crunches underfoot as i approach the bank.
still, as the ashen valves in my heart, the glassy surface reflects my watery figure.
daringly, unhesitantly, i peer.
what i see would have forced a shaky breath to escape my throat and form a dispairing cloud in the icy air.
but now, what i see does not even allow a flinch.
for the pith of my bones was glowing through my raw skin;

and my eyes, once slate, had turned
an inky obsidian.
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