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I believe I've probably died a thousands deaths since my wife passed on but I'm still here for I have to be In order to keep her memory
alive
I have to remain here no one else can do this In the time I have left In this world, need to keep writing, some where some how someone will read her poems and publish
them
For all the world to
read and then I'll be allowed to rest In peace I will have kept my
promise
To make her known through out the world for the beautiful person she
was
Purpose In this to make my Helen known throughout the world for the beautiful person she really was
Philomena 13h
In that moment
Everything was perfect
A long night leading to a perfect day
I woke up in your arms
You were so much softer than the ground we were on
I opened my eyes to you and the rising sun
It was so bright
Brilliant reds and yellows across the skyline of a waking city
Streaking light across a crystal blue sky
brighter and brighter until I had to tear my tired eyes from the light
I turned to you, still laying in your arms
I remember first those brilliant eyes
They captivated me
Then your dark hair and warm smile
Until I was looking at your face
A face I had grown so used to
"is't it beautiful"
I turned again to the young morning sun
It really was beautiful
But not half as beautiful as you
Short but sweet times with a great man
I look at myself everyday
in the mirror and then realize
I've been given the most beautiful gift
I could ever ask for - my existence;
my chance of life;
my chance of love.
I'll tell you a story of a
the life I once lived with
a girl called Helen
for she was the love of
my
life
From school girl then to becoming my wife "*** she was truly the love of my life
A time I remember we did first meet we sat a park
there holding hands bitterly cold with snow on the ground
Then I walked Helen back home to bid her good night looked In her eyes then I knew she would become
wife
She gifted to me a wonderful son, for 20 years we did have but as so often In life fate showed It's hand, but that hand can sometimes be cruel
And stole from me the love of my life, that of my beautiful wife, and to
this very
day  
I'm still asking why was she taken from me, for I now have to face life all alone without my beautiful
wife called
Helen at my
side
I'm still asking why was Helen stolen from me when I needed her so much to stay with me
I'll tell you a story of a
the life I once lived with
a girl called Helen
for she was the love of
my
life
From school girl then to becoming my wife "*** she was truly the love of my life
A time I remember we did first meet we sat a park
there holding hands bitterly cold with snow on the ground
Then I walked Helen back home to bid her good night looked In her eyes then I knew she would become
wife
She gifted to me a wonderful son, for 20 years we did have but as so often In life fate showed It's hand, but that hand can sometimes be cruel
And stole from me the love of my life, that of my beautiful wife and to
this very
day  
I'm still asking why was she taken from me, for I now have to face life all alone without my beautiful
wife called
Helen at my
side
I'm still asking why was Helen stolen from me when I needed her so much to stay with me
You,
my loquacious tide
flow into my heart
then ebb into
evanescent dreams
metamorphosing
melancholy into
this new form
these eyes have never
seen

How are you so beautiful?

the heat arises
inside this vessel
when you are near
451 Fahrenheit
this palpitating page
burns for your words
burns
burns
burns
to hear you speak
to see you flow
through time
gracefully

How are you so graceful?

The curve of your smile
is contagious
if only while in the presence
of your vanilla scent
your skin,
your laugh,
your countenance,
how they are so radiant

How do I capture this firefly?
D A W N 1d
as you went home,
the faint scent of your
perfume
wafted around the room.
waiting,
hoping i would notice
the remnants you left
in hopes
that the entrails
of memories  of you
would keep me company
through the night.
people with great taste in perfume are a kink
It’s not often we come across,
A larger model placed upon Cosmopolitan cover.
An international magazine that are known for breaking the boundaries,
A magazine for women of all different sizes and colour,
The first magazine to outlet and break the stigma
Stories of unmarried women not only having ***, but also enjoying it

Their articles discusses the reality of women’s sexuality
Behavior, ****** encounters, health, and beauty
Their continuity to highlight body positivity,
With ranging from all types of sizes,
Promoting **** lingerie and swim suites,

A world of beauty and trends,
A platform to embrace all cultural backgrounds
A magazine which isn’t based on one particular kind of style,
Articles based on overcoming anxiety and regular exercise,
Encouraging women to endure their identity
Aimed for all different ages and disability,

Yet their heavily pointed at by society,
Told their promoting obesity,
Down with the plus sizes they say,
Vocalizing their disbelief,
I don’t want my daughter or girlfriend to look this way,

Unless they look like Kim Kardashian then that’s ok
Conflicted by a standard of beauty,
How Plus size models are perceived by the media,
Victimized by the size of their thighs and belly,
Told their appearance is inflicting bad habits,

Yet most billboards are promoting alcohol,
Yet most television adverts are selling fast food,
Most magazines are selling us an illusion of a 'Happy free life'
Articles on how you can get your life together in two minutes
A belief of how diets can lose weight in only 6 days!
Get rid of those dark circles and wrinkles using this cream!
How can we not forget the articles which sell us the fairytale wedding?
A life with no regrets is constantly forced down our necks
Yet we go along with it all,
We don’t pick holes and threaten

Models with ******* addictions,
Athletes who regularly use steroids,
Politicians who lie and betray,
Articles on celebrity’s downfalls and break-ups,
Wide-spread covers of the perfect toned body
Pornographic images of ***** and fannies,
Yet we point our finger at Cosmopolitan,
Rather than seeing a beautiful women on the front cover
this is a story of a 17-something boy
who left his home, his parents,
his friends, his town with a backpack that
contained two shirts, a few dollar bills,
his diary, a pen, and his battered copy of
Love in the Time of Cholera, he fancied
himself a writer, “I write fiction”, he told
his friends who thought of him as
pretentious and pompous, the first piece
he ever wrote was a poem,
an unstructured and ill-rhymed one,
he was one of those with a pretty face,
a cheeky attitude that has given up
on *** and was disdainfully aloof,
the first night away from home in
a new city, he slept in the bench of
a parking lot next to a homeless man
who stank of *****, cigarettes and
cheap whiskey, he had spent all the money
he had on train ticket and a water bottle,
the next morning, he woke up with
massive hunger pangs, at the time of
such suffering, there was only
one thing he wanted to do – he took out
his diary and wrote on hunger, despair,
and the prospect of never making it,
it was achingly poetic.
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