I do not know you yet, but I am wondering what you might be doing right now.

Do you ever wonder what I would feel like in your arms under thick sheets in winter with the window slightly cracked open?

I do not know you yet but I love you too.

28/4/2017

Saying goodbye is hard, but I'll do it over and over again until we don't have to anymore.

Nothing has really changed.
JAC 17h

Waiting to see the love of my life
Home as a husband, in love with a wife
In a dream I can see it, she'll walk through the door
So I'm waiting to see the love of my life.

She'll be with child, and happy as me
We'll hear the news and shout happily
Find comfort inside a home of our own
For she'll be with child, and happy as me.

I'll be a good father, your mom loves you so
We'll show you love denied to us so
You'll grow up and be so much better than me
So I'll be a good father, your mom loves you so.

I'm waiting to see my love, my wife
We made it so far, we were good to this life
Our love has grown up now, with loves of their own
Now I'm waiting to see my love, my life.

FOR WHEN ONE DOOR CLOSES
ANOTHER DOOR WILL OPEN
FOR THE LOVE OF A FATHER
WILL ALWAYS BE UNSPOKEN


SOMETIMES A DECISION IS MADE
THAT CAN ALWAYS BE FORGIVEN
DON'T LET YOUR HEART EVER FALL DOWN
OR GUILT WILL ALWAYS STRICKEN


FORGIVENESS FROM YOURSELF WILL
LET YOUR HEART SOAR LIKE A DOVE
FOR YOUR FATHER WILL FORGIVE YOU
BECAUSE THE DECISION CAME FROM LOVE

A WORK COLLEGE HAS HAD TO MAKE A VERY HARD DECISION. HE HAD TO PUT HIS FATHER IN A RETIREMENT HOME HIS HEART IS HEAVY AND FULL OF GUILT.

"A home" -
the name itself captures
a beautiful imagery in our mind & heart.
I see people each day
rushing back to their homes
soon after the working hours ends
ticking to the clock..
And I sit, just sit for a while...
thinking my home is far..
As I stay in a rented place -
a so called home which I call
for a while..
But I miss my home
A home - "where my beloved family lives..
a lively space with special people's heart
making it precious as an overall art.

Missing my family from far..not that far
but not nearby though..

I wrap myself in his arms,
His warmth enveloping me,
Soothing me in a way
Nothing else ever has.

His breath tickles my ear
And I laugh, turning
To kiss his sweet lips,
For he is mine and mine alone.

I think of him daily,
Lingering in the sound of his laugh
And the pure joy in his smile.

He shields me from the cold black wind
That often threatens to overwhelm me.

Though I am sometimes loathe to admit it,
He saves me.

...

I only hope he will never go.

Because two hours away is entirely too far, sometimes.
4.25.2017

I lost my path twice
as I climb the silent hills
through the misty forest
by the Paraná river

I thought my compass was broken
that every roads and rounds
lead nowhere I planned
but home

Yet, it turns out to be
that I'm the one who's broken
and sometimes the only way is not
by escaping or go around it

Instead, by embracing it

I stand at the forefront
of human existence
and all that stands
is an empty vessel
of idealism
and missed opportunity.

A shallow mass
of pathetic selfishness
instead of selflessness;
a common mistake
of mixing words
that sound eerily too similar.

All the people
that stood here,
may become hardened
or maybe they never stood here at all.

Maybe they sat
at the center of the world
where they never crawled out of,
so they never saw all the beauty
or opportunity
that rested
right above their heads.

These are the burial grounds
for a peaceful existence:
one where equality lies,
still alive,
but buried so deep,
that it hides right outside of thought--
and each person mistakes
helping themselves
for helping the world.

Reading yet another article where prejudice minds keep our doors shut.  We should be building each other up not tearing the world down.
Elaise G 5d

Can't everything just go back to where they belong?
Back to where nothing was ever wrong.
I've cared for too long,
now I can no longer hear your song.

I'm pretty sure that I'm the only one who hasn't moved on yet.

When I close my eyes I can see a valley
Between two mountains, the sun sets
Sending glimmers off the surface of the water
That light up the side of the hill I rest upon.
I hear my son,
Playing with his brother
Their laughter filling the air behind me,
Tranquility filling the air in front.
I can see the village below,
At the foot of this hill where I rest.
Strung up lights begin to shine
As a churrascaria becomes busy.
The smoke from the burning meat,
lifts up through the air and
drifted around by the calm breeze
as it came to settle under my nose.
But then my eyes open to the smoke from tailpipes,
stuck in traffic the smell of gasoline filling my car
And the sun setting between large buildings
Sending blinding glimmers toward my windshield.

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