You’re paying homage to me
with your touch along my curves and edges.
With your golden, intense eyes.
With your kiss, your adoration.

This paid homage stirs me,
shakes out hidden grief,
reopens closed space,
unlocks dammed love.
Starts a new journey of ‘we’.

You’re paying homage to me,
aiming to reach me.
Intentionally, joyfully,
breaking down my
solitary
reality.

What is reality, in our life each day.
I suppose we know, if were happy, or sad,
We can see if the weather, is good, or bad,
Is it real, for politicians, never to agree,
and the news media, keeping us sad.

The daily soap opera, is it all false,
none of it true,
Everywhere we go, cameras, recording you,
A few commit crimes, were all watched, accused,
This don’t feel like, reality & freedom,
More of A dark feeling of blue.





                                                                            Tom Maxwell 
                                                                           03/10/2019AD                                          
                                                                         3:00 AM

Different feelings
All kind of emotions
Precious memories
written down.
A notebook with notes
A box with sometimes
handwritten notes.
A collection of
pieces of the soul
put together
Fragile , precious
To be handled with care and respect.

Shell✨🐚

.

Pictures capture the deepest memories,
taking us back in times of old,
journeying through a mere image,
to how things used to be.

Pictures tell the best stories,
no need for words to explain.
They speak intentionally on our behalf,
narrating moments we hold so dear.

Pictures renew lost feelings,
and leave us wishing to relive such moments.
We become nostalgic about the past
but all we have are the memories to keep.

Pictures keep moments alive,
tear them to pieces or burn them to ashes
but the mind's pictures never fade,
they're with you wherever you go.

it’s funny how I
write of things I
know and things I
don’t- and someone,
somewhere,
has lived
through my
poetry and prose.

poetry and prose | shevaun stonem