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Who has picked up pencil colors,
Such deep red colors,
And lighted a little red fire,
on that pine shrub:
Who, O Who, has made
this red cardinal!
On this colorless white
morning, who made my
morning, lucky with red!

© Manan sheel.
There's a woody house overthere.bring my steps solidly.crip crop... I'm freezing this time of the day it's not very shocking to be cold.
The weather is snowing with a box of cheer the winter have been carrying.I move towerd the woody the door.light the candles& sit on the cozy couch.breath deeply.bring my guitar& play the part you turn on your recorder.happily you drink your coffee.then I read a book about great says nothing breaks like a heart even you need someone help you sweep the pieces of your broken heart.then a sudden phone call arised.
Umm... hello? _ hi Kelsey.this is Mery. oh Mery I missed you are you? _ I'm fine.where are you now? _ I'm in the country resting in my cozy woody house._well Saturday is Mery Christmas .would you like to join us? _of course. Then....
Part of my novel that is imaginary
Burn it to the ground
alight with fire and energy
all the places we have found
all of what we failed, too be

Easy and mellowed traces
what we thought would lead us through
in and out of places
things we thought, were true

Onward and ever upward
we'll put it all behind
no matter hard or awkward
the signs
It's easy to go astray
wandering the wild
not sure if hunter, or prey
or simply nature broken and lost
this typewriter is my bird’s nest
and my fingers, like bird beaks
pecking away at the keys for
supplementary nourishment
and what appears on paper
is just pure regurgitation,
being retched into
the mouths
the ears
and the minds
of the reader.

I wanted my literature to
spread its wingspan and
fanned its radiant feathers.
so I can kick it out of the nest
and let it fly free with the other
nightingales and take my
sorrow away along with it

for I’m the Mother Songbird
and I’ve escaped the fires
of the world that have burned
the nest of my younglings
and left my with the grief
I can not bare and to fly

these words,
these words that burden
my damnation

and yet, I continue to sing
and sing and sing and sing.
be careful

near the fire

for i can see your heart

on your sleeve

and neither fire

nor gravity

nor time

will stop

to save you

and it is far too easy

to lose your balance

so if you are not convinced

by my words

then please believe

these burns

on my heart
for years i dreamed in black and white

then you appeared

flaming red

burning quickly and furiously

i couldn't take my eyes off of you

you were the only color i knew

but fire was foreign to me

its warmth so intense

i should have known better

than to stick my hand in.

you should have told me.

the feeling of your fire on my hands

the sight of my burned skin

brought tears to my eyes

and i begged for my shades of black and white

but colors are sights we cannot unsee

feelings we cannot forget

words we cannot keep quiet.

i learned not to look too long at you

for the spots in my vision that followed

i learned not to mistake hellfire

for heaven's white lights

i have discovered other colors since

none of which have yet blinded me

quite like you

my skin has healed from your fire

my nerves are far less sensitive.

the rain washed away

my last sentiments for you

and in its wake

a rainbow waits
fire danced

so elegantly

in your eyes

while my house was burning

and the match

was clenched between

your teeth
one-sided glass keeps your eyes from mine

hides half-remembered words from another day.

every excuse i've made to cover myself

never feels like your touch should.

selfish desires burn the ground beneath my feet

but your footsteps echo in another room

where the blood doesn't pound in your veins,

where the glass shows you yourself.

and maybe my fists could shatter that glass,

but i don't want to face

the look in your eyes

the red on my knuckles

my nerves screaming

my breath coming short

when you take up all the air in the room.

no, i'm staying over here

calling it biding my time,

watching sand rush through the hourglass,

trying to compensate for the days i spend

pretending that you can see me,

staring at the smudges my hands have left on the glass.

yes, i'm staying over here

while they tell me i'm wasting my time

waiting for you to remember

those half-forgotten words from another day
Amber E 3d
Those lips
The taste of them
A tenderness without name
Sending bursts of fire through my fingertips
And chills straight to my bones
Amelia 2d
crimson red
burning like a fire
scorching my wings
incinerating my feathers

i am trapped
my talons entangling around a metal bar
i descend slowly into the pits
of the red fire

this phoenix is broken
this phoenix cannot rise.
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