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For I'm lost In a time and two places here deep In my thoughts sometime
not sure which of the two
I am In at any particular
A feeling of not really being totally aware of which place ought to be Its like being torn between two lover's Helen who left this life and Helen
now lives In the next, but In truth Helen I never completely let go for It's like being torn between two lover's that's how It
one In this life who I never let go the another who Is calling me to from the next world who Is waiting for me where one day I'll take my rightful along side her
for all
We will be together for all eternity never again to be parted forever and
Since my sweetheart has  been gone I now live In space that lies between Heaven

A place to where deep In
my mind all memories
and dream lay hidden
from the outside

And when feeling low Its
a place I can go to escape all the sorrow It's a place In my mind

that lies between
and Eart and to survive
through grief I've Ivented
this space In my

So I know when feeling
low there's a place I can
go to between
and Earth that lies
deep In my
love or hate
nothing in between

hot or cold
nothing quite the same

catching or losing
everything and nothing
losing interest faster than catching feelings.
Bus Poet Stop Apr 27
not much he reasons, resonating the question,
in the resounding places where both are congruent kept

we talk of lines all the time, line divisors of our
denominators and our numerators,
but truth and secrets are 1/1
so the rational number is always one indivisible whole,
with liberty for both,
when the glass shackles broken

but let us not dance around the marshmallow fire,
while watching clocks melt as our memory persists,
so secrets and truths have a rigorous solute/solution relationship,
yet, the dividing line melts over time and the answer

in all the poems that the body worked,
with experience, you can see the works becoming
the body solution blended,
undefined admixture, defined, refined, all just fine,
for the microscopic difference is in the eye of the beholder
but requires breaking the glass shackles

one will enchain
one will set you free
when their meld is melted
Sabastian Apr 10
Is it good to be strong?
Is it bad to be weak?
Is it wrong to fit in?
Or right to be unique?

Are you selfish if you want help?
Are you selfless if you give it?

Is there altruism in amicable lies?
Or selfishness in a fake smile?
Do you even know who I am?
Do I?

You always have both hands out ready to help anyone who needs it
I want to be like you, and I’m starting to see opportunities, but where you act on them, I do not. I guess that means I’m
Sweet bubbles dont cry
Or I'll hug you a lullaby
I'll sweep away every tear
And hold you close
Tight dear and near
No fear. Bubbles
Lets be clear
And wipe away the clouds

April 5 2019
I woke up to hearing her cry
Bubble guns and hugs

Empire Apr 3
What is this?
It's not Heaven
It's not ****
Sometimes it hurts
Sometimes it heals
It's this middle place
Where we feel everything
Some days it's Heaven
Some days it's ****
I just wish
It could make up its mind
Because on **** days
Weeks, months, years
The hope of just one Heaven day
Is too much to bear
“The love betweenness^ a mother and her son”
when it’s healthy strong and ancient,
like this, is for me, and it seems,
for you as well, almost a supernatural force in certain ways.
I know many other women who understand this.
It’s been probably the best surprise of my life.”.   Medusa

sometime, a commission needs a quiet time rumination,
a nine inning time out to birth a perfect game,
did your know your commentation was a commandation,
write me up, punch my ticket and jump back into murky waters,
where a hu-man boy child only gifted me a tertiary imagination, comprehensive incomprehension

this look upon differing and different, parenting parts of me,
with the bright den mother’s sun gazing eyes of a new motherland,
promotion to an incessant guardianship,
an ordered mathematical centrality,^
a forever buck private’s uniform shoulder stripe,

maternal rhymes with eternal for children go off and go on
about their lives, occasionally glancing backwards,
but a mother’s eyes are an all encompassing white canvass painting
that the artist continue-sly slyly forward refreshes,
repainted with each perpetual glancing thought

this mother woke, sensing her make male creation
is a gender separate separation,
a mystery needing learning, genes requiring a
crisper adult education,
a breast refilling is a sharing, eye to eye,
transferring a transformation,
between new meaningful, an analogy that its understanding swims
in both directions, across a natural division that unites,
and is better called an open boundary

daughters are different but the insanity~same,
a poem for another day

a supernatural surprise that occurs daily,
that you rightly appel it, as ancient  is correctly unsurprising

apologies; my insufficient words can’t explain this
dotted line division,
only that, I too am a student, my son a teacher,
and the understanding shared is instantaneous and confusing
as we go back and forth together,
travellers tween the dotted line spaces, absorbing his milky ways,
informations that were not ****** in me, or if were,
awaited this suckling’s coronation and education,
our differences are not a true division,
but a new manner of best embracing

which is why with good humor, our private joking, is that he
is my very own  nap-ster master,^^ we are an ordered centrality^
march 31 2019 9:37am
^Definition of betweenness
: the quality or state of being between two others in an ordered mathematical set
When the loneliness envelops me like cold dark water, and the waves come crashing over my head.
When between tired desperate gasps for air all I can do Is release water from my mouth.
To pretend for a few seconds longer that I am able to keep my lungs safe from this storm.
When all I can feel is pain and the self-made chaos swirls in menacing clouds above my head.

I think of letting you go, of a world where contentment and nice are worn as badges.
Until I remember that no world without you in is worth waking up in at all.
So I splutter up another lungful and pray for a few more seconds with you.
Johnson Mar 17
What is and somehow is there again
For the arms that gripped tight at the waist
Now seem to give way
To embrace this a new cold a formless shape

If life is the sum whole of one’s fleet joy
Somehow the light of life has never shone upon me  
This toil upon which vanity stole
Never again do I find such feelings arise
The death of all hope
The dreams that snuffed out

For long past memories seem to fill with hope
A promise of a chance for joy to resound again
A way to break this hold
And yet again I find myself alone as I am
In the greater distant as I choke

For in way it was never just what lies in between
What separates the two from them and me  
An endless divide for that which can never be crossed
Wanting to reach out yet the connection is invariably lost

The pain is not of the coming silence it brings
But to watch the days role by falling to their waste
Pining for what one can assume will never be
In the greater distant brought again to my knees
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