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the world is shattering,
with a raven hovering.
the wild creation with big strong wings,
coming closure, spreading darkness, hiding everything.
visibility has gone even with dilated pupil.
humans trying to remember ethics and scruples.
this will end soon, we chanting every prayer,
the old and infant both survive and again we get fresh air.
Left Foot Poet Jun 2020
 (1320 ~ 1389)

The tide of my love
Has risen so high let me flood over


Close your eyes for a moment
And maybe all your fears and fantasies

Will end.

If that happened
God would become an infant in your


And then you
Would have to nurse all


(20th - 21st century)

the floodplain of my love
has spread so wide encompassing all of


Opened your eyes forever
And every prayer and wish uttered see

true realized.

Since this is inevitable
God, our parent, will have raised us well,

each ever cherished.

And then you and I
obligated to write His song, name it

sanchit mehta Jun 2020
Who creates us,
is it pure science or something,
that is far more than our reach or minds?
All this curiousity, all these questions,
they fade away, when a parent sees his infant,
taking the first breath, all the emotions are just locked away.
Such a beautiful creature human is,
such a beautiful life he is about to live,
born with no jealously, no pity,
all he has to offer is a beautiful cry,
opening his body for the oxygen of the new world,
the new world that has now become pretty deadly,
but all we can hope is that the boy,
finds his way on the earth,
never envies, zero foes, a happy circle,
is where we all wish he goes.
just a something to think on!
Michael Joseph Dec 2019
They were all looking at the bubbles then it popped.

“Argh! My eyes! Ma!”

“I told you, you’re not supposed to stare at the bubbles when it floats right on your eyes”
“But it’s beautiful and I see the mini-rainbows while it wobbles in the sky.”
The mother and the child went staring at the bubbles floating as they fly above the orange skies.
He blew another, carefully - eyes shining with excitement.
“Look, Mom! This one is bigger! I blew it slower than the other, this one will not pop.”

The cold wind blew with the ruffling of the grass as if clapping.
The bubble wobbled and wobbled on the orange sky
Passed by the resting sun, magnifying its beauty, it glittered.
The boy’s eyes shimmered in excitement.


“Not again!” the boy sighed in exasperation.”
He asked, “Where do bubbles go when they pop?”
She looked at him intently.
She smiled, “they become the clouds, like tiny bubbles watching over us.”
“Why would they watch over us?”

“For in time, they will know that the sun will burn our skin, then they will come as rain.”

“Well, let me make more bubbles, so we can play with You in the rain.”

Don’t Forget the Bubbles
Praying for the intercession of St. Philomena and St. Elizabeth Seton, patron saint of infants and parents who have lost their child.
For the young soul of  Von Abraham Tapit, may you rest in peace.
For Mercy Aguilar Tapit Lito Tapit Divine Grace Aguilar Tapit Eunice Tapit Mary Evangeline Tapit Eman Tapit Riza C. Tapit
eleanor prince Aug 2019
babe stirs
safety a wild call
lost to night

blood ties shunned
explosions blurring

diesel spillage

breaking walls
of sleeping

carnivorous plants
insects torn to

by those lost
removed from

passing pause
brisk breeze
grants space

as dawn
organized abuse
of every kind
impacts generations
of innocent
until dawn
of awareness
and one
to break
neth jones Aug 2019
make mouths
pull on the muscles under the face
express self at the world we present to you
(straining it all in
through your finking eyes)

make return actions
and make us understand
that you are pleased
and that we are not just
madly flailing at this ‘parent’ business.
Philomena Aug 2019
When I close my eyes I dream of you
Wrapped up tight in blue
Little darling I dream of you
Your soft pale skin
And eyes full of sky
Your voice like an angel
With anguish in your cry
So small yet so perfect in every way
Hold you close tomorrow and every day
Buoyed pot Jun 2019
I love the silent hour of night,
For blissful dreams may then arise,
Revealing to my charmed sight
What may not bless my waking eyes!

And then a voice may meet my ear
That death has silenced long ago;
And hope and rapture may appear
Instead of solitude and woe.

Cold in grave for years has lain
The form it was my bliss to see,
And only dreams can bring again
The darling of my heart to me
Buoyed pot Feb 2019
She loved to swim in
Shallow seas but I dived in
The deep dry ocean
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