I’ve never seen a love so true.
Never thought I’d get to see it bloom.
But I can tell she really does love you.
Hopefully one day I’ll get to see my brother be a happy groom.

I seen your hearts intertwine like tangled vines on a summers day.
You see and love each others flaws like there not even there.
When you are together you don’t seem like such a cliche.
It’s obvious to everyone the love you both willingly share.

You both are the mist on a spring day quietly uninterrupted civilization.
The trees and the grass growing unnoticeable.
When in your presents there seems to be absolutely no frustration.
You seem to fit each other so adorably.

In the same room you act so sappy.
And knowing your in good hands makes me happy.

I walked out of my office today at noon
and slid into the stream of pedestrians -
the hipsters stroking their beards,
the pale professionals blinking in the sun,
mothers pushing strollers through the crowd
with more skill than a racecar driver

before I knew it, I walked past my lunch destination
I kept walking - and watching
the people of my town share a sidewalk
without attacking one another

for a moment I was tempted to take a picture
post it on online,
make a socio-political statement;
if people from all walks of life
can share the sidewalk
can we not find common ground?

I left my phone in my pocket - decided against
adding my unnecessary opinion to the
manufactured outrage
that is the sad truth of social media

I smiled at a pretty lady pushing her baby
she smiled back
and we shared a brief human moment
I kept walking

Words do not echo.
Words do not cry.
Words do not,

Scrambled and stirred,
Frozen and baked.
Pulled when needed,
Eaten to be fed.

Pieced together,
Black or white,
Laugh or fight,
Wrong or right.

A sound is bound by key,
A picture by color pigments,
Emotions chemically,
But words contain,
And absolutely,

The same word
Can be
Depending who, what, how
When it was read
Or written.

What if every word,
Was positive in meaning?
Could not
Destroy feelings.

Words have no senses.
Words have no bounds.
No touch, sight, taste, or smell.
Words have no sound.

Words have no sound.
Unless read aloud.

Organic has touch,
Metal outlasts.
Organic has sound,
Metal just echoes.
Organic has cushion,
For emotions within.
Metal stays strong,
Can take the toughest hits.

Organic has taste,
Depending what it ate.
Metal vibrates,
To try to imitate.
Organic has colors,
Metal has paint.
Organic forgets,
Metal just waits.

Organic fades,
Metal floats in gray.
Organic needs air,
To sustain health.
But Metal stays,
Right near our chests.
Organic craves,
As Metal engraves.

Organic understands,
Metal just learns.
Organic has a name,
Metal has a brand.
But for some reason,
Found more in our hands.
Keep organic close,
And to metal stand.

Lior Gavra Nov 8

The impatient soul awaits.
As crowds push towards the train.
He rushes to pass, can’t be late.
He looked at others, the insane.

He squeezed against and did shove.
They looked at him, silent grunts.
His angry mood, bared no love.
He was used to his way and wants.

One more push and catapults.
Into the air and did not fall.
He laughs at them, at their faults.
As he flies pass human walls.

Surprised, he got no attention.
He roared at them, till the last door.
His super power, that strengthened.
No longer waiting, he could soar.

Everyone looked to the left.
Train now expected delays.
Some tears were dropped as they wept.
A red end to someone’s day.

He flew back in that direction.
A sudden feeling, temptation.
There caught in the intersection.
His body, the impatient.

There are times when words seem to flow effortlessly unto paper.
At other times it seems to be quite a struggle. The ink runs low or is in short supply.
My quill seems ill, or worn and damaged.
  The ink on the quill threatens to dry up altogether, then a simple truth occurs to me.
  I need to renew and replenish and restore my quill by taking a dip in the ink well.
  I need the ink well to fully function. I was running dry trying too hard on my own.
  My quill takes a dip in the ink well .May creativity flow from the ink well and fill the quill up to the appropriate capacity.
If an extra drop of ink should occur it should be available to share with another quill in need of refreshment.
If you find a friend who is need of encouragement don’t let their ink dry up.
Instead help them take a dip in the ink well. Where together inspiring words can have an endless supply.

Chill Nov 2

Blood sweat tears…

These are the juices of my creativity
My very own  muse
Rock bottom and I have met quite often
And I scrapped climbing back up
I get tired and perspire cos its really deep
Deep to lose a friend
Deep to fail again and again
So in my frustration my eyes will leak
And the future will seem bleak
Blood sweat tears
I should hate you but i don’t
In fact your flow reminds me of just how weak I am and just how strong He is
Your flow clears my eyes to see
Your flow makes me sad
But these floors at rock bottom hold countless wisdoms and learning
I do not grasp them always or immediately but when I do I never forget them
Blood sweat tears
Flow freely

may you see the light
of which your dreams shine from the night before
as golden as the blissful sun
wrapping you in its warmth and glory

may you feel the rush of love
you expect from others, from your self
like the glistening river
that flows into the unknown

may you feel the hand of grace
touching you like the summer’s breeze
as surreal as the colours of the sky
breaking you down to make you feel whole again

may you someday find your heart
even when everything feels like it is falling apart
with the soft summer’s breeze
to pink your cheeks and warm your soul

– cc

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