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To this body
Death does as it should,
Consigns the shell
To the firewood
And sets the spirit free.


Close to the fire
the heat singes me.

I know it's only the prelude
to the fiery furnace
licking my skin with flaming tongues
reducing me to powdered ashes
disappearing and in no time fading
what was me but in an instant
dusts in urns and upon wall
and years after maybe one's
untimely rains of dusty memories.
Crematorium, Dec 16 2017 midnight.
spinning round and round, i
cry into the eternity,
that i've chosen to hide myself in,
i can't go back now.

this dark pain in me,
stains the grey clouds, till it
seeps into my skin, continuing,
i'm just tired of numbness,
i don't know if i can ever
survive the empty night.

if you pushed me one more step,
if i told you how i felt,
we might not return from here,
we could never turn back.
if i took just one more step,
if i closed my eyes, made a choice,
maybe it won't matter then,
because all will fade to black.

maybe this is all a dream,
maybe nothing else is real,
you and everyone around,
blurring faded figurines.
maybe my heart stopped existing,
the moment i breathed the night,
paralyzed in uncertainty, i
fall into a deep nightmare.

will time start turning again?
will i find myself again?
in this icy world where i have paused,
but the world keeps on flowing.
maybe someday i won't mind,
maybe one day it won't matter,
because i will use these hands and
make it all fade to black.
No, she isn't a poet
has never inked one
she takes off my weight
gets my things done

so I have enough time
to afford in a way
the luxury of rhyme
clever wordplay!

No, she isn't a poet
not written one line
clean is her slate
sees I'm fine

so I have enough space
and hour of my own
to indulge the grace
of thoughts mind grown!

No, she isn't a poet
no way she would be
she does her best
to see I'm happy

so my words run smooth
poems are easy born
truth and half truth
are spun night and morn!

No, she isn't a poet
cares not a bit
from her toil's sweat
my poems birth sweet

poems aren't her art
in the sun and showers
she grows from her heart
our garden's best flowers!
A tribute to the great gardener she is.
(5 years on hp this day, thanks to all my poet friends, you gifted me a rewarding journey)
 Mar 2018 S Smoothie
Poetic T
A fluency within a displacement
                                 of symmetry.
      Empathy lingers after factual
      embers leave charcoal stains.

                 The nib static,
                                          so much
                          without a gesture
                                  of movement.
Love
Was all it was.

All it is.
When too too often
I
The hardest choice
An awful decision

The reason.
Caught up,
By & in this
fragrence
The long lost
Remains devastating
As beautiful, as dangerous
Stirring the fantasies
My foolish wants
Adrift
longing to be
weightless the kiss
I entertain
As an idle question
Once more the
Unlearned lesson
Oh the way she looks
Timeless, but different
wrapped and adorned
By how many years?
Her eyes hold my breath
So much inner dialog
and I know, I do
Caution.

Glutton for punishment
Rolling with the waves
upon an ocean of you
Knowing no Horizon approaching
only the sun reflecting
surface turmoil distorting reason
  why do you hold me lost
I asked the Stars and moon
but they don't hear me
you own the air and its winds
Refuse to carry the words away from me up and down,  Rising to begin another  fall,
rolling with no helm, no sail catching adrift lost and exactly where you want me at the mercy of this place
ocean of my memories, Lost
Clutching onto this vessel
Crestented 'Loss'
feeling lost missing
You
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