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Stars are angel’s eyes

past loved one’s smiles

gazing at us lovingly

shining bright so we can see

the sun protects them in the day

radiating light so they can lay

next time you see a full moon

he’s filling in, new stars coming soon
Living in an endless war
Feeling what I don't want to feel
Scars in my mind, shallow yet so alarming

The deeper, the steeper they are
The more time they need to heal
New ones bloom when the old ones are still calming

Searching for the open door
Weakness? Ignorance? Misplaced zeal?
There must be a reason why these feelings are swarming

Not like a green branch cut to be reborn
Nor like a tree stem forever forlorn
Between hope and despair I kneel
Illusive whispers around me humming

Too dark to discover beyond the imperfections
Too stuck and lost in so many questions
As my fake smiles conceal
A desperate loner screaming

Forgotten healed scars have stained my innocence
But also shielded me with resilience
Again, will I be turning the wheel
In the search for balance, will I be roaming
                                                                                                        ~Epic Monkey
 Jun 2013 Shadow Walker
Amethyst
she asked why i cry so often,
everything seemed well.
i choked on a missing answer
and climbed onto a plated roof.
my shaking hand pointed
up to a nearly black sky.
i replied, i do not cry for you
or for me. i cry for the stars
that are hidden behind city lights.
the stars that will never bee seen.
the stars who hold so much
beauty and life, but we do not
posses the ability to cherish
the natural embers so we fill
the city with artifical sunshine
to protect us from the predicted
dangers of the moon and the stars.

*i cry for the stars that are hidden behind the city lights.
This doesn't really make a lot of sense. I found it in an old journal so I figured I would upload it anyway.
There she lay with her body uneven
she found comfort in the sunlight
sweet orange and brown fur a mess
from the playing the day before this
residing on the back of the couch
her favorite place to lay
mistake me not for she is not a cat
but a dog I can assure you that
the sweetest of pups that I know
I could never ever let her go
Bella Jane is my baby
absolute favorite lady
ears are floppy
snout so scruffy
eyes a beautiful brown with a touch of orange
she is my doggy in the window
my sweet young Bella Jane
is never ashamed
for she is unique
now that is what makes her so sweet
There might be quite a few poems about my favorite dog. She is just the greatest pup in the world. :)
Her eyes green and so bold
she was peering out the window
watching, waiting
so majestically she sat with her tail hanging low
ears were ready to listen
fur was slightly flustered
as she was watching, waiting
the colors intertwined in her fur
gray, black, orange, beautiful
so old and yet so small
she surly is the best kitty of them all
Sassy Elizabeth is the meower I know
for she is my cat in the window
Watching my cat Sassy made me wanna write something for my cute kitty. :)
 Jun 2013 Shadow Walker
Amethyst
i finally
reached the top
of the ladder
but then the rungs
gave out and
i fell back
down
down
*down
old poem, figured i post it anyway
 Jun 2013 Shadow Walker
st64
stripes and spots can change..
growling inside

teasing a cat in a cage
even a small big cat
can prove a pretty hazardous thing

wait till it's free....


S T, 12 June 2013
:)
"Your eyes look wild," she says with tired concern.
It must be true, but it can't be helped.

My thoughts feel feral,
gnawing at themselves like a confused animal
with a wounded foot.

In your dream this morning you were running late,
fumbling with leather straps of equipment
that used to fit you better.

You heard their voices through the walls.
Sounds without form.
Your friends are skating on fresh ice.

Lonely, hungry, bleeding in the brush
the feral does not wish for company.
He does not remember he is alone.

But cold skin wishes for sun,
empty bellies whisper of food,
thirst does not ask, but orders a drink.
Your next breath is not a choice.

Life does not always find a way,
but Death does,
like water finding the end of every crack.

What Life finds it steals from Death,
and plays with like a toy,
until the toy becomes the player.
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