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The Lemur is enthroned on the heights of an island
In a luxurious villa, complete with a sauna and a pool
The Dormouse holds, modestly, a small pharmacy
Where people can buy necklaces, gemstones and pretty threads.

Every Monday morning the lemur fixes
His hair with a delicate ivory comb
Asks about the stock market in overflow
Swallowing a pure white powder in a row

His orange eyes threaten to explode
So he sits down, eats lobster and sated,
He doesn’t have a care in the world as descends the evening
His paw resting on a black jade cane stolen from the dormouse

Monday morning, the lemur, operational
Goes fast, pick and pickaxe at the mine
Extracting, sweaty, some beautiful spinel specimens
Hoping that one day at the Lemurian’s he would dine

For a trifle, the latter bought him
His most beautiful crystals and this without paying taxes
He became the leader of the island thanks to his kinsmen
The exotic animals knew something was wrong…

His only friends were the rich and the bohos
Under the yoke of this monkey, the island was a hellhole
Their chef was addicted to coconut powder
Whoever dared to say it was put in irons

When finally, an evening he overdosed
Nobody buried him among his friends
The Dormouse humbly undertook to do so
At the hole where he dug, he found a stone

The moral of the fable, listen to it then,
Who shows compassion exists with reason
Do not judge too fast, because we're leaving too early
Nature often rewards us in her own way.

September 11, 2019
Nancy, translated on November 17, 2019
They say the most beautiful gems are the hardest to grow:
They are rare, precious, and unique
Their journeys are long, hard, painful and slow
But their beauty is of greatest value

They begin as any other rock, average and ugly:
Rough, pointed, and unrefined
Then circumstances pressure them, hold them snugly
'til in the heated heart of earth they are purified

Once formed, they must surface, they must be found:
Rooted, probed, and undermined
Rugged rocks from the cold underground
Are saved from the dark to be seen in the light

The sparkle is there, but still under the surface:
Remote, perdu, and unknown
Cut and ground to reach their true purpose
The glittering gems are at last revealed

When I look at this process, I see my own story
Fallen, broken, and remade
First dying inside, then raised up to glory...
You see my little gem beginning to show
Strive to love the unlovable...because they may be diamonds in the rough.
Joanna May 27
The heart beats to give life, not death, and it is made to run this inner race, I confess.

To give forth its treasure to those who have a need and see the value of the harvested seed.

The heart beats to shed light on any who would not give up the fight.

To walk in a world of too much talk, and to live as a beacon versus too many lies.

The heart beats to keep it from turning to stone when left with unnecessary and suffocating ties.

For within, the heart, a story is told of an adventure not to be ignored that must unfold.
To read more of my writings go to: http://reflectionsoflight7.wixsite.com/home
astrid Feb 8
I lay down
your creamy expanse
unto the marble surface,
as if milk made love with
the stars in the galaxies.

I write you out
as pleasant simmer
of pulverized charcoal
and bloated glycerine.

I splatter and spread
fine dusts of Carica
in temperate motion
to touch the sleek edges
of the vanilla branches
on your person.

I hold and dip
my feathery digit
amongst rose water
to grasp the flowers
that frames your face,
like light morganites
that hail from the west.

I cast you off
as the blue sea engulfs
the life from the waters
where life swims with
stable beginnings
and whirlwinds of stories.

I finish you
by letting molten pearls
lither your dark onyx orbs,
surrounded by your lakes of gelatinous almond,
like shooting comets
finding rest on land,
as lightning's faint and close
but never quite touch.

I made you
with intrinsic detail and rawness
to give you the life
that you may never have.
may these words show its own form of art.

090219; 07:29 --- revison due to incompleteness from original file
Vexren4000 Nov 2018
A precious gem,
Glimmering in light,
Dancing with promise,
Naught but a rock.

©BAS
Thomas Bodoh Sep 2018
Spellbinding sparkling queues of pearly faces
Seethe in a gemstone sea of lips and beaks.
Veiling night, my Nirvana, leads us places
Fraught with clandestine lies and feathered peaks.
The hidden eyes reflect the burning light
Rampant within the painful lifelong dance
And swivel southward, scorched with silent fright;
Parades of fiends swing by at ev'ry glance.
Burn the voiceless witches! Condemn the dead!
Slash the hopeless visages to the night!
Raccoons, exposing drooling mouths unfed--
Charming music conceals their true delight.
I, the regisseur, perform my role
Then fade behind the mask that chokes my soul.
Shane Willey Dec 2017
Colors of yellow flood the room
Birds fly by with vibrant plumes.
The walls are studded with glowing rocks.
The sharp edges of the wall give me shocks.

Up and down the corridor, they shimmer.
Reflecting off each other, they glimmer.
Amber, cyan, cerulean, amethyst.
Colors like potions of an alchemist.

They diminish and increase with time.
But look stunning and full in their prime.
Like hearts of the cave, fractured in millions.
Each one is a different civilian.

They radiate beauty, energy, light.
Not one corner remains dark as night.
The tunnel is long, twists and turns.
Walking this length, my feet have no burns.

This cave of wonders has it's value.
My experience turn this from profit to view.
The cave is a city of lively animation.
I have stepped into the next dimension.
How did you feel when reading this poem?
Oskar Erikson Nov 2016
Malachite.
Lapis Lazuli.
Refreshing Sun or Moonlight
Please
renew me.
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