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Some time's my heart is made of stone
and some days blood drips down it like
a rose petal falls off it's stems in the
middle of a hot summer night.

I get days where i'm filled with
anger, jealousy and then
grieve myself
within until the morning
seems....
Just for once, why isn't it me?

Is there a curse, lying beneath the earth,
or is it just me living alone in a life
where everyone seems to be free.
Sometimes my heart turns to cold stone, when the core ignites, my night fills with a hurtful site.
My morning was a sunshine with a beautiful start.
That morning,
I remember...
My heart was at peace
My home screamed love and joy
I didn't understand the excitement

Well we said goodbyes to each other
and went our separate ways
Heck! that was my last goodbye
I got hit by a car and died on the spot

The morning ended in tears
then there was a new hello from grief and trauma
introducing themselves to my parents
Anne Curtin May 14
When will her heart stop?

Will she take her last breath tonight?

When will my phone ring?

Nobody knows -

Not even her.
Emily Mar 29
“How do you deal with a dying friend?”
asked the child to the tree,
who had lived for so many years,
the tall giant much older than he.

“You remember them in the wind,
and in the dirt beneath your feet,
you remember their laughter in the forest,
even if you do not feel complete.

You remember their name
in every person you meet,
you remember them by being strong,
so the goodbye can be bittersweet.

For in life we are who we care for,
both the sickly and the sweet,
so remember those who said goodbye,
and hope that in the next life you’ll meet.”

The tree replied these words to the boy,
hoping he would heed,
for soon the poor boy will realize,
the tree is much wiser than he.
Whimsical youth
absentmindedly fell -
cliffside,
abruptly.

Love to the stars,
oath taken to stone;
to help you,
instruct me.

~

Stillness the moorland
of cherry pie kiss,
unwilling
fruition.

Patience, wise virtue
foremothers instilled,
jeune fille
in submission.

~

Tame was the Beast
at the mountain's heart deep,
lethargic,
sleepwalking.

Wild was the Princess
in her dreams of pink sweet
sins, secrets,
unspoken.

~

Long were the years
under fallen rocks over.
Now doubtlessly
older.

Black was one night,
set her sadness alight,
but the ash left
her colder.

~

Monsters awakened,
set the footpath ablaze,
hopelessly
grieving.

Freedom I call
you, trying to persuade
you, truth
unforgiving.
Sarah Mar 12
It hangs in the air. It’s stifling. We carry it in our hearts. It’s heavy.
We grieve the missing pieces, but also the empty spaces they belong to.
The parts of ourselves with muscle memories that no longer have a purpose. Parts of ourselves that become inaccessible, and try as we might, we can never enter that space again.

How do you hold a hand that isn’t there?
my emotions are mine,
whether they're
true or false, I'll never
know
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qM9YuGaoBCU&t=932s
Flatfielder Nov 2020
Long journeys he longs for
Connect and disband
Histories follies
Yet approaching an end
A decision or movement
Into reality
When emotions give way
To a homeless gullibility
When leaning
Over this blackened soil
Once home to a testament
Of generational coils
Bounced through the ages
By successions of systems
Generated and foiled
(c)near_lane7
Gone back to a site
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