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She was nature, beautiful
But deadly, her cheeks as
Scornful as a rose, the smile hid
The thorns underneath.

Her presence though unseen,
Could be felt, like the sun's warm
Breath on bare winter skin.

She led him somewhere secret
As the night lures the stars,
As clouds gorge on the
Fragile light of the moon.

Over the crumbled bodies
Of leaves, into the alien
Land of tranquility.

When he woke, hands burning,
There was nothing left to see.
Only a faint feeling glistening
In the air, a failing heart and
A tongue full of dreams.
© copyright
My words are but a shooting star
To be seen in all its glory
But as shooting stars fade in an instant
So do my words to be read once
Then fade into obscurity
 Mar 2016 Marie Lancaster
Morgan
I'm rain
but not the kind of rain
people drink coffee and stare at
from studio apartment windows
and under pretty white gazebos ,

I'm rain
but not the kind of rain
that falls soft at first,
and then harder,
and then soft again,

I'm rain
but not the kind of rain
that smells sweet
and makes flowers grow
in the spring time,

I'm rain
but not the kind of rain
that collects in pretty puddles
in the pavement
so that toddlers in rubber boots
can jump in and splash
their parents,

I'm rain
but not the kind of rain
that lulls crying teenagers
to sleep in their warm beds
or makes lovers miss one an other,

I'm rain
but not the kind of rain
people watch and listen to
with gentle acceptance,

I'm the kind of rain
that falls fast and hard,

the kind of rain that is cold
and hurts sun burnt shoulders
when it hits them,

the kind of rain that washes
pretty chalk paintings off of
drive ways in suburbs
without a second thought,

the kind of rain that
seeps through ceiling tiles
turning cozy little homes into
chaotic whirlwinds of
anxiety and destruction,

the kind of rain that
makes your joints ache
and your eyes red,

the kind of rain that
gets the kids out of the pool
and sprinting inside,
cold, wet, and uncomfortable,

the kind of rain that
washes leafs into
your gutters,

you curse it all week long,

the kind of rain that
only wanted to touch the earth,

to feel some semblance of warmth,

but the kind of rain that
doesn't know how to
leave the thunder at home,

the kind of rain who
breaks the things
it loves,
no matter how
hard it tries to be
gentle...
-

Millions of people follow
One leader can change the world


[10W]
SoulSurvivor
(c) 2/22/2016
More spring cleaning today
I'll try to be on site tonight
(God willing and the crick don't rise)
We’re looking into each other’s eyes;
it’s 4am.
We’re sat in a hospital room, I’m reciting your favourite verse.
You’re ragged and stitched together;
I just wish it was from being loved.
I just wish my love could make you Real.

I knew from day one, no one and no thing,
not even love, could take you away and finally
set your soul free.

So
I gave you all of me.

It wasn’t hard to give away.
Within moments of witnessing your smile; the one
held in your eyes widening your stare,
you crushed through my ribs with warmth and love,
held my heart in your hand, promising no matter
the distance and land between us, my heart would remain
safe – beneath your bruised chest.

Tonight, I’m alone.
It’s been 17 days since I last saw you.
I’m in the park where we always walked,
where our love was made tangible by etchings in wood.
The bark now crumbles
and the decay mirrors the gradual corrosion
of what was once, and will
never be, again.

© Sia Jane
Incredibly honoured to be daily poem.
I've had such encouragement from all of you here, and I am forever grateful.
Without too much self deprecation, I deserve this spot no more than many of you other great writers out there.
You inspire me daily too <3
Much love and light always, Sia <3


Re-working old writes with some new ideas <3
 Mar 2016 Marie Lancaster
Pax
loneliness has defined
this old soul.
Bittersweet melody
has tuned my way of
living.

I don't know how much
my heart could stand
the weight and wait
for that simple moment,
that single spark
to feel alive
and stop breathing
the ashen smog of reality.
http://hellopoetry.com/poem/1410725/ashen-fields/
from ashen gray to ashen fields
comes, ashen smog...

do they care if I'm loved?

perhaps I'm too comfortable on my
own space and too confined to be bothered.

thank you for reading,
me...
~~<♡>~~

The gift of tounges
the Spirit gives
reside within
where goodness lives

He wants to sing
He wants to speak
all Holiness
is what He seeks

Lovely language
in woven prose
Poetry
that no one knows

God's music found
in angel's Voice
Heaven's sound
in verbal lace

Fasting makes
the flesh man thin
Holy Spirit
groans within

Now deep prayers
we do not know
With these we're healed
from head to toe

The Holy Ghost
dispelling haunts
only God
can answer wants

Removing
root and branch
the weeds
Jesus Christ
knows what we need

The greatest voice
that's ever sung
could never match

The Gift of Tounges


SoulSurvivor
(C) 3/18/2016
I will be at work most of the day
but here's my prayer for you
In my heavenly language
I have an impression of what the words
mean, and the English is as close to
the translation as God has provided.

Ne' yon de' ska port d ye' tiende'
Lyan de' ska te' tiende' se'kahn
Toor be' seek e' ste' diah
Le' neste' por tiende' diem

Taste e' contentest la'


May you find blessings in the
small things of life
Life is comprised of the minute
God resides in the little prayers
said throughout the day

Go in Peace

~~<♡>~~
winter chills my bones
fiercer every season

her warmth i seek
with the prayer

O God, let her grow not older

When i snuggle into her
hear her lips' quiver

..........let him grow not older
Aren't we praying enough?
Has our love gone cold?
Why is there so much heartache?
Why is peace rare like precious gold?
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