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How dare I sulk
over dust which has
slipped between my fingers
when poppies are rattling
in damp air
when daises smile up
beaming at their sun
clover and grass gleam
green and iridescent;
the dust which I lost
panged me so to no
avail until today I saw
this was the food
for early June creation.
I wrote this on my Iphone 5 after a run last May. I ended up running through a field of poppies, daisies and other gorgeous little baby flowers whose names I don't know (but would love to get to know)..

I was feeling angsty and melancholic, still processing this situation I was in with this immature dude. I realized he wasn't really into me when I had invested so much emotion.  But who has time for moping around when the world is so vibrant and amazing ?  So, essentially this is about Gratitude and Getting Over It !
As the man on screen aims
His rifle towards the zombie's head,
I picture myself holding the pistol
To mine.
Tighten my finger over the cold trigger.
Pop
The popcorn in my microwave
And dust on the shelves
Are all that hits my ear.

I'm fighting the zombie.
The sunken eyed ghoul that
Haunts my mirror.
Doesn't really mean anything. Just wanted to write about something.
Grace Haak Sep 5
Your words put out my passionate fire
You ignore my calls of lust
Your breath ***** in all thoughts of desire
And I'm left breathing in our love of dust.
I used to think you felt the same
But the dust now hardens to rock
Now I'm a broken, burning flame
And time is ticking on the clock.
You write me letters of your love
But it's full of lime and sour
I pray to heaven's hope above
That we can last just another hour.
But time is up, and so are we
The fire has reduced to ash
The smoke has cleared and it's easy to see
That you left me with an incurable ****.
Poetic T Sep 4
I may have tripped
            over my own feet.

But at least when I stumble.

I know its my own steps that
                      got me here.

Laughing that the shoelaces of life,
               made me dust off..


And not watching  my step,
           but make sure if I do

trip again

its my own fault.

          And not someone else,

getting in the way of my walk.
People do like mischief and chatter,
Really, what does it all matter?
It is only about chaff and stuff,
In 100 years, we shall all be dust,
This is what makes me meaner,
As I empty more dust from the vacuum cleaner,
We shall all be a little pile of dust,
And our pets, a tiny heap of fluff!
Feedback welcome.
Lyrical Dream Aug 26
When I die,
grind my dry bones into dust,
sift the stardust from the ashes,
and throw my ashes to the sea so that I may become one with the rain and touch all the places I never got to see...
this is my death wish
Hallow Canvas.

You will have seen it shut.
Traumatized.
Mortified.
In muck.
Realizing it's the only combatant of it's astronaut collection.
The real slow of the slow.
Hired to build a balloon palace in plastic.
Wavering.
Hovering in total silence.
Though it doesn't know any better.
Still.
You cut it's head off.
Taste the innards.
Tastes like cinnamon on a yellow rustic cup.
I think it's going to be ok.
We just need a little hug.


Garrett Johnson.
Floyd took my pink socks.
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