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annh Aug 2020
I rest my head on her shoulder,
The shoulder of the earth;
Cradled in her warmth,
Caught by shifting currents,
Cleansed by ****-frost’s pervasive bite;
Tutored by seasons’ changes.

Musing to myself that she has faith in me,
That I have something to offer her;
Negotiating with my intellect,
Letting my imagination run wild,
Enough to entertain the idea that
I am capable of something more than this.

‘In the end, the bedrock of existence is not made up of the family, or work, or what others say or think of you, but of moments like this when you are exalted by a transcendent power that is more serene than love. Life dispenses them parsimoniously; our feeble hearts could not stand more.’
- Nicolas Bouvier, The Way of the World
aspen wilde Jun 2020
my head rising and falling as you breathe,
not wanting to be that heavy burden upon your chest.
my cheek pressed to your side,
i can feel you beating, i can feel your life.
my eyes, glossy, watch your neck pulsate,
knowing the warm, loving blood is running through your veins.
my hands grab at your shirt, longing to feel our bond,
your hands twitch and tap, as you've drifted off.
my sensitive ears take in your torturous breaths,
piercing the air, screaming like gunshots, hungry for her love.
you pull me in tight, cradling my head,
tugging on my finger, snatching the string of my life.
this string is buried deep within me,
my umbilical cord, the one that wasn't stolen.
cut, biologically,
yet still waiting to be rightfully possessed.
now i'm giving it to you,
you've got my life, soft in your hands.
so grant me yours,
i'm begging, just this little thing.
i can save it,
just please, let me in.
a daughter desperately needing to save her true dad
Alan S Bailey Mar 2015
Cradled in her care, life begins young and fair,
Somehow over space and time
We seem to know  what's really there,
And when we die we are strewn
Like fallen angels made of dead leaves,
Around the yard of nature to be raked,
No matter what we want to believe,
Through all the years that it will take.

No matter how far we will traverse,
Even with unquestioned religion well rehearsed,
Renewed in morning dew, mile after mile,
All become the fruit of a compost pile.*

But that's not true, is it?
Life began with one quick sentence,
A crack of light-it must be legit,
Moulded clay, a rib from Adam,
In the end we all just turn to dust,
Hell will freeze over if it must,
So you can never ever trust us again,
New-age science is just stupidity then.
unnamed Dec 2014
My Future lay cradled asleep;
I kissed the sweet mouth and she smiled
My Future lay cradled asleep;
I kissed the sweet mouth and she smiled

— The End —