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How we treat Nature
Tells a lot about our nature
Do we make reality so fearsome
That we have to run away from it
Why this inherent phobia of reality
That we have to cower before it
Whereas the lies we tend to believe
And create a web of life around it
Reality is not an illusion
It’s how we perceive the world around us
In reality, kindness prevails
In reality, we owe allegiance to integrity
So many emotions are mixed
In the cauldron of the mind
Boiling with rage
Fired by the dried logs of time
Entrapped in the bubbles
Are the memories
Stirred with the ladle of life
Cauldron kept hot
Till the fire burns with rage
A transformation so beautiful
Can emerge from a cocoon
Months in tranquility
Praying for the moments of splendor  
When hope gets wings
To kiss the beautiful flowers
It’s a magical journey
There’s sunshine and love
Winged angels perched on flowers
Strange
How little changes
Can bring about
A great divide

Once
Our humor was in sync
Now
Sometimes
I don't recognize you at all

I know we grow
and change
But...
I never thought
I would find
Your humor so repulsive

Funny
Queer even
How little changes
Can bring about
A great divide

As I ponder
This chasm
That has opened
Between us
I feel my heart
cracking
Well, maybe just a little
10/10/2014
Sad by changes I see in one I love
 Oct 2014 Shadows Rising
David
Despite impending loneliness threatening to suffocate me, one optimistic thought came my way as I strolled wearily homeward today from my work at the library.
Some compensations for isolation might prove as written in the following list.

1) I am not required to retire to bed or awaken at any given hour.
2) I possess the rare ability of being allowed the choice of my own meals and also the given time at which I prefer to eat, whether it be meager or hearty portion of vittles. Perhaps I may fast from breakfast altogether, and then again may feast upon indigestible dainties such as doughnuts or fruitcake upon retiring, accompanied by a novel of my given choice.
3) I am free to write poetry or from such to refrain according to my mood.
4) If I spill my tea or bread and butter falls onto the floor, who cares?
5) Nobody can demand me to clean the house even if it looks quite untidy.
6) If I sing or hum out of tune, there is no risk of anyone laughing at me.
7) If I fall into a trance of reverie and am out of touch with reality, who can upbraid me?

The list could go on and on interminably, but to sum the matter up, in short, I can most thoroughly indulge in all my whims be they ever so eccentric in tranquil solitude with no threat of a wife to nag or henpeck me. I am free to cry, laugh, sing, daydream, talk to myself, and every other foolish or wise thing a healthy man might crave to accomplish.
Thus musing upon these blessings, I strolled homeward with a lighter heart despite life's insurmountable obstacles.
copyright David upon August 11, 2014
There is a strange magic.
It circles the head.
Entrances the user before falling to bed.
A grimoir of magic, which feeds a black ***.
Perfection in a cauldron.
It's full of hubble bubble.
Feeds the *** with a potion.
Learned potions.
Touch it,
It sparks.
It's alive.
*** has a marvellous aura.
Satanic or fairy white.
A *** full of magic.
Hell it's hot.
(c) Livvi
A grimoir is a book of spells.
The beautiful girl.
And the broken boy.

Maybe one of them can find some joy.
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