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rig Apr 2020
windows closed watch a mid-twenties hearth.
black petal water - a magic mug
steaming thoughts of real lives yet dormant.
indigo country sounds echo ‘round
a calm silent darkness – dream cabin.
far away, a booming planet sleeps.

the clear fire flickers, expecting
a promised rainbow soul - hers to it.
iris opens her eyes to the flames.
Yuki Jun 2019
And I am not in the mood
to look at the moon.
Show me the sun
in the hours of its rise
so my eyes will pay the price
for letting the memory of you
vanish from their dark irises;
those which will burn
along with the sun
and will have a reason to cry
while looking up to the sky.
Erian Rose May 2019
He sang along to the trumpets in his head,
as the radio once did.
"I'll always be there for you,"
He stuttered past his heart.
The coldness locking his beath
in a frozen cloud of smoke
intertwining in the frosted skies,
"Then you told me no,"
His hands quivered in his sleeves where scars left no marks,
while his voice was breaking like broken bones.
He never finishes his dying lyrics,
with the notes dangling in the air,
for someone else to pair.
And an iris left at the stairs.
Mysidian Bard May 2019
Always will the sun
shine upon closed eyes until
we all learn to bloom.
Erian Rose Mar 2019
in a sea of roses
so brilliant and bright
i'd give you a bouquet
with their petals in  color
from red
to white
to yellow
to blue
and watch the casting shades
beam in your eyes
worth more than an iris
with love deep as a lily
and whenever i'm with you
i see a field of dandelions
because you are worth so much more
then a garden of roses
Colm Feb 2019
A heart can beat
Without oxygen
For a minute
Starlight gleam
For an eternity seem
A gander can fly
Across the open sky
Till it's out of sight
And yet noone can reach you
Noone even tries
Because even fools recognize
The unobtainable
Untouchable height
That is your virtuous value
In my eyes
She sounds like the cosmos
Daniel Long Dec 2018
Those floating candles.
Passing by
along those steady streams.

A burning incense.
Dripping wax  
upon those vanilla sticks.

Puddles now at their lids.
Dried to a still,
past burns are seen.
Love poem.
My poetry/short story website:
Daniel Long Dec 2018
your tear damp
curtains for me,
so that swift dawn
of iris sun,
brush horizons
teary cloud aside.
A poem I wrote after seeing a past girlfriend cry.
My poetry/short story website:
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