Your shadow is like the clouds
In my desert sky
Your smile is the morning shines
At my lazy door
I will never lift myself up
If I can't see you anymore.
I need you so much in my life
That’s probably why.

I am just a body but you’re its soul
And one and only heart
I am just a bird and you’re its song
And free wings
I can’t think of a new day without you
And your silent art.
Take it easy, I really love you
Please don't be shy!

I’m just alone and you’re like raindrops
And falling on my lips
I’m just the wave but you’re its ocean
Full of deep-water
I am the moon and you are the sun
To shine it all around.
If you take me away forever
Then I will die!
trf 16h
Seventeen years, our lives were spent,
cleaning pee stains to pay your rent,
hiking miles as humid summer sweats,
held you in my arms, till last breath.

The soil grows doggy bones,
heaven knows what earth has sewn,
eleven A.M. I had to let you go,
now pushing daisies, you're not alone.

Hush puppy, for now  
I'll join you someday, somehow
In the morning, I'll have a grin
 Tonight these tears trace down my chin

As a canine Abby, your years were long,
one-one-nine, till we rang the gong,
enduring length is now a sad sad song,
but you're strength helps me carry on.

Puppy grub, dark walks in the rain,
lucky love doesn't die in vane,
as I pulled up to scratched window panes,
my bad day turned alone to fame.

Hush puppy, for now
I'll join you someday, somehow
 In the morning, I'll have a grin
 Tonight these tears trace down my chin
I wore a black suit and tie to an appointment with the veterinary clinic today. After feeding my dog her favorite meal, Chik-Fil-et, I told my mama to leave the room to myself, Abby, the doctor and a shot of pentobarbital. I cried in the parking lot afterwords until a security guard knocked on my car's window. I told him I just left the funeral of my best friend. He said I'm sorry, but you are parked in a resident's spot. I told him to fuck off.
Shauna 1d
The year was 1892,
Where the sun glowed like never before.
Her soft mahogany curls were elegantly folded into her head,
The pink blush vibrant against her porcelain skin.
Her easel was flooded with elaborate strokes,
The tones gathered from the glorious flowers erected in the fenced off garden.
The authentic golden beauty was aching from behind her, arching forward toward the warm summer morning beams.
"How funny," she whispered, "They remind me of you."
The canvas illuminated the "you" she had just mentioned, the man positioned in a gorgeous array of scenery, yet he was the focus; the true vision in her mind's eye. She wondered where he was, and why he had not yet answered her artist's call.
Her back curved toward the sunflowers and golden rods behind her in a hand-painted vase, and she made a gesture with her hands.
"I will marry you someday."
That's when a soft patter broke the silence - she was being beckoned beyond her dwelling on this day.
Inspired by "At the Easel," by James N. Lee.
Unmotivated Tears

I used to criticize
The eyes
Of those I knew
Who, at
Drops of a hat
Shed tears of ardor: God-knows-what.

Ascribing it
To vitamins and lack thereof,
Past, present and/or too much ‘love’.
Too something/something out of balance;
Nothing but a prevalence
Of yin or yang
Ganging up
On both those ducts.

Uncaring and unfeelingly –  I used to be.
Now, at eighty-three it’s me.
I may need hormone therapy.
Or is it age sagacity  -
Unmotivated tears
Based on a grasp of life’s chimere
That takes in all -
An all which makes one engineered
By tears
One must defer to.

Unmotivated Tears 4.24.2018 I Is Always You Is We; Nature Of & In Reality; Circling Round Aging; Arlene Corwin
Sofia 1d
The eros if you never feel
You shall not hurt, you shall not bend
Fortunate you will be, though unfortunate too
A case of pain so sweet and incurable too
Why does the homeless man starve?
Why am I stuck, hungry and alone
In this niche I’m trying to carve?

Why does the world avoid acknowledging reason?
Why is the thinker ostracised,
Nay, persecuted, like a rebel hung for treason?

Why does the neurotic partner abuse the other?
Why do we lose our shit
And become violent like a wife-beating, drunken father?

Why do we poison ourselves?
Why do we smoke, snort, shoot up and drink?
Why do we abuse our temple,
Like a supernova’s collapse, on the brink
Of wiping out us
And everything around us.

If I had to answer
All of these burning questions
I could do so with one stroke,
No concessions;
We are purposeless and disconnected.
We are infected,
A sickness that eats one on the inside
Like an ingestion of bisulphide –
This sickness I speak of
Is a sickness of the mind and the heart;
It is the reason for dying art
The reason everything feels
Like we’re on our way to hell on an express cart.

This greed, this marauder of souls
Swallowing us all, we become
Sentient, wandering, black holes
To consume everything.
Trying to fill up the void
The one on the inside,
The one that has destroyed
Our sense of communal love.

This anxiety, this harbinger of malevolence
Even in benevolence
It finds a way to ruin things.
It can befall even the greatest of all,
No one is immune, not even kings.
Is the culmination of our fears
It is a beast that will leave you in tears
It is rooted
In our fear of the unknown
This terror
Of setting out, alone.

Alone, we are afraid.
Is easier to fulfil
It is far easier
To harbour ill will
To shoot and kill
To hunt down, to chase the thrill
Of feeling superior.

Our planet, our lives,
Everything can be better.
Well, am I wrong?
There's nothing new under the sun.

I don't think I'll ever get over
that phrase.
Because honestly,
I'll always feel like I have
something to contribute.

Born to late to explore the world,
science is all I got left.


leave me something
I was feeling hopeless that day.
I wish I could tell myself that it would be ok!
Things get better!
It hurts, you know.
That I wasn't there, to save you.
I wouldn't have been able to anyway,
but I would have tried.
So I will remember you,
I'll see you in your brothers,
And hear you in every piece.
And I'd like to dedicate this writing,
In loving memory.

Dedicated to Edgar.
Edgar was a cello, not a person.
But a cello that I loved dearly.
This was written the day that I found him broken on the floor.
All I hear tonight
is the cry of a lonely tree: atrophied, desolate sigh
echoing with the vintage song in my mind

I was distracted whilst writing fo hours
A hazy gaze with numbness sights
where stars shining high

Not the dripping colors of gel pens
that left a mark on my hand but the
colossal raindrops entered through  the lifted curtain of the window
to my notebook to my visible blue veins with a gentle touch that reminded me of you

In another corner
of the wooden balcony the seashells plumb that I got the other day after the walk by the beach dancing in rhythm
 Waving gesture to the lonely tree
Waiting to leave the roots
 The earth-shattering bond  
 Heart-on strings playing
  Withered, astounding beats

I asked my self :
am I not even a tree with strong roots: don't I belong to "you"?

the tears flew from my eyes to my throat with the rising winds which chose to swaying with the gleeful wild grasses
with panoramic peace

I was still remembering your dark adjectives that you gave me mercilessly like fire what you knew can burn the secret garden you adore but never appreciated the warmth in your cold ....

The nightingale
started singing
I came back to the
forgotten Lonely Tree
in my mind
 amid the rusty life
   I would imagine
   Love is not that far
   No less was this romance
   With bittersweet longing
  just like the dreaming
and perpetual hope
that make lives complete
I was not writing poetry
this time but
A letter in hand
  Blue envelope
     very known address
    but never going to post
since the life ended
before the beginning
in unknown distant land....  
       Where I never belonged
 but deeply rooted
unlike the Lonely Tree

I am left
with the Letter in hand
      Deeply Blue
A drop of ink does not need stirring to be diffused in water.
A drop of ink becomes concentrated when the water evaporates.
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