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The season she came
The reason she left
2 things that were all for the best
I loved her
Then I hated her G
Just like a fall breeze
She came beautifully
But she was cold
Way too wishy washy
She was here & then she was gone
Somewhere moved on
I wish her the best
I pray for her to get better at certain things
Because she is such a special Autumn breeze
Poem 6-- Relations
Like clockwork we would sit at the same table at 4am
Her, fresh of work. Me? Mind on 10
Crazy cause she was my best friend
&
Within a short year that came to an end
Allowing others around was more my thing than hers
My heart just held love more openly than hers would ever admit
I always find myself back at that IHOP table
Remembering every detailed conversation, every argument, every tear, every realization
I know it was real
I felt it
The world is selfish
& I learned the hard way that
good things don't last forever
Poem 5-- Relations
REMEMBRANCE of HARRIET HARRIS –

mile ate mum: Christened as averred one Harriet Kuritsky. A Brooklyn babe born on November 13th nineteen thirty five, the youngest (and last of the lot tubby alive) of four siblings (only one brother), whose Brexit from world viz terminal illness, she did not survive.

The following emotions communicating heartfelt grief practically vanquished as existence turned a new mo' tiff leaf. A recurring abysmal grief stricken state consumed my entire being immediately fool low wing her demise, but pooch less so now. Perpetual tears of sadness seemed not to a-bate, when grim reaper brandished signature scythe 'n of deadlocked fate.

Twas about 11:00 a.m. 2005 third of May, our dearly beloved mother fought tooth and nail to keep death at bay (as recounted by eldest and youngest sisters, who elected to remain on vigil that day), nonetheless rigor mortis upper hand brought (supposed) painless swift death, her diseased and emaciated riddled body gone lifeless and ashen gray.

Profound mourning brought misty eyes
from only heir misses, whom hissed mom
more so than then now, but noneless
more than plaintive words spell
with agonizingly pained heart and soul
rent asunder psyche pell-mell
no amount of weeping can quiet and quell.

Cathartic for me to give posthumous ode
conveyed in an easy to read poetic code
to help accept finality and permanent loss,
now only retrievable from nostalgic memories
identified as childhood doghouse favorite abode.

Her cremated ashes no longer remain sealed in nondescript box boot scattered to the four winds at a favorite secluded spot - that really rocks with the Moss evoking a spring stein.

White, powdery chalk like material
devoid of any vestigial semblance
to her once living and vibrant self
that unique persona pulverized and vaporized
(housed former svelte and tall
Arthur Murray ball-room dance teacher
a half-century plus prior to her demise

which beauty, charm and grace quickly
caught the attention of my father
who courted and eventually proposed
to this young flirt and tease of a gal)

inert organic matter represented sole
residual embodiment reduced to dust
and near nothingness former corpo
real being of blood, bone and flesh

weighing no more than a dozen hatch marks
on the scale absence bore down heavy
like millstones round the neck per
black void created by defeat with
Grim Reaper toward this woman,

who birthed and nursed me into
manhood momma’s only grown son
felt torturous ripples of grievous sadness,
no matter years of suppressed anger,
and rage in addition to emotional
conflicts between us, which
in variably wrought unpleasant relationship
and legacy of discord writ large across
the tapestry of mine existence.
Heavy Hearted Dec 2017
I made a pitcure of jade and emma,
Tossed it on my wall,
Even took a couples pics
They loved it, that was all.
Neither understood its facts,
and till now, neither did I
Intended not as honorary, but as a battlecry.
That picture I conceived of them, includes me in it not- just my reflection in it's glaze, an abstraction in their thoughts.

And yes, even we formidibal three
Somehow all forgot
That even forever aint forever
Our lessons already taught.
And so the power of this image, is more then I will share-
It merley depicts my two best friends,
Admiting they don't care.

This type of art is devistating.
Astonishingly clever,
So clear its truths invisible
The subjects see it never.
You should always be able to rley on your friends- dissapointment only exists because of its twin sista, expectation
rose Oct 2017
Fall rested her head on Summer
So she could stay warm for a bit longer
♡♡♡
I know I already wrote a poem about the warm weather but it's so nice and this just popped into my mind
Mane Omsy Jul 2017
It could last long
My love
I've come back
Not from the dead
But, indeed
From the graveyard
Where once you burried me
When you said
You don't want to see me
Ever
But, I knew
You couldn't hold
Any longer
I'll be there, always for you and for the love you lost in the desert of your craziness.
Nylee May 2017
Stronger, but not invincible
Hidden, but not invisible
Unclear, but not unaware
Careful,
          but no longer care.
Zero Nine Mar 2017
Taking medication may be fastening together the seams that could split. Between SSRI, HRT, and caffeine the moments speed, fleeting before I secure my grip. What's the point of living as a zombie losing opportunity through barely there fingers? I can be **** for you, I'm fond of pleading on my knees, tongue over my teeth, waiting patiently for my mouthful -- but what's point? What would it solve to introduce a controlled study meltdown? Well, I see the seasons coming at first light. Spring and Fall pull balance apart. So pull apart, because these meds don't help when my mind conspires without me, but with the world. Leave me alone. I'm caught gazing at the canvas in the white on walls. If it appears I'm choking, I am. I choke myself to gasping near to death as a means to depart from my leaden regret. Do I grow wings? No. Do I ascend? No. Do I myself then deify? No. It takes endlessly repeated little deaths to prevent permanent disintegration in passion's cruel flame.
Son and daughter both will self destruct
Nox Feb 2017
You see me smile

and you think I'm happy.

But I haven't been in a while

and hopefully you can know it's you.

You think I'm no longer sane

but you shuld know

that my smile holds pain.
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