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Fully blasted scenery, where i once called home
Tweeting of birds resting in the tree as a tone
Another chaos has to began
Cover! Hide! —said the woman to her son

Clear water turned into red, how could we conquer the world with no more dread
I wished the i could repent
I wished, I didn't left

Messy world I created,
Are once the world I wished I have painted.
Random thoughts. Come and share yours with me.
Give me brushes and
something colorful
not tested on
a thing
with a heartbeat
and watch me go!
I love me.
I know how
I like      to look.
Think that this
face is
for you?
Think again.
Think that      This Face
is for you      and your. . .
Think again.
Think again.
Lyn-Purcell Aug 30

The tongue is dipped into
sun-like ink. Prepared and
with its slick tip, it makes its  
trail from the body, to shoulder,
to neck and to lip,
Round and round, focused,

Soft, slow and steady
upon a body of the finest ivory.
Teasing as it swirls, twists and
turns, to make a body with love
and beauty.

As it rightfully desires to be marked,
to be loved,
to be teased,
and desired.

So when the tongue moves away,
and the trail finally sets, I hold
up the bashful body as if it were
sacred. I watch it glow and
instinctively know, that
it will stand the
test of time.

A beauty above all else...

Something rather sensual about painting a ceramic bowl ;)
Lyn ***
Two two two

One plus one equals two

My parents are also two

My eyes, my ears are two

My legs, my hands are two

Two two two

The clock goes and leads to two

The weather is cold and I slept

The dark is there ,and the fear appeared

I covered my face fearing from ghosts

I got up feeling of that ghosts

I tried to sleep , I saw them here

I cry, I cry ,till see my mother

I pointed at them here and there

I feel with horror and fear

My mother turned the light on

The ghost disappears

Two two two

The weather is good and I eat sweet

I play a lot, the time is passed

I forget to brush teeth

I forget the clean

After days they hurt me and must clean

It is harm, the brush safer
the time   we must get our fun
I want you to be the paint that drips on my canvas
our bodies brush to create something beautiful
Amanda Jun 26
Please do not be alarmed if I
End up needing more than I should
It's just that life has whittled me down
Rarely do things feel this good

A simple brush across skin
I forget about my past
I cannot think of a single reason
You wouldn't want this to last

Look how much things have changed
I am ready for something real
Take my hand, pull me away
Show me what it means to feel
Written 11-1-11
Lyn-Purcell Jun 13
my hand      
Walk with me      
through dalihian    

              ­   under the
                   crown of gold light

the lake            
Under trees            
A silvern rope              

             the rope
              swing to pond
               Swim beneath the

Lights dance past            
Strokes of painter's              

          greens, pinks
          Pure   in  beats
          Music    for    our

well  up                ­  
and  fall  at                  
the beautiful                

        love fly
        on the wings
          of hope and peace

to     the        
world of  dreams        
Ride   the  winds  of      

          hold  hands  with
           my  lost  inner

the dark skies            
     Shadows behind              

                          ­        is  now
                                   tender   flame
                                Don't hang,  lantern
Lanterns poems, my lastest obsession!
I just let the words flow here. And reading it makes me feel so happy.
Like I'm lighting the lanterns of my inner child's dream...
Makes me feel so warm and fuzzy inside, it's almost unreal.
Truly. These poems are making me happier. A level of happiness I haven't felt in such a long time. I'm definitely going to do more of these! ^.^
Love you, everyone! Thanks so much for 84 followers!
You're the bomb!
Be back soon!
Lyn ***
TD May 16
With red-stained fingertips
I traced lines on clouds
to make them more real to me.

Penciling my eyes with kohl
I began to see
past their dark circled frames.

Laying my laden brush
to a blank canvas
I viewed heaven

as mine.
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