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Cecil Miller Sep 2016
She
I fell in love with her.
She has a soul as black
As death on a sabbath morning.
Her eyes are deeply set in the astral-plane that is her facade.
She is the captor of the attentions of many.
She is not without agenda.
Neither is she not without heartache,
For the sun that shines the brightest is always the first one to burn itself out.
Tawny windblown streaks are waving in the  lavander twilight, as her arms would move to hold the sky.
She draws me closer to her.
I alone can see inside her,
And her secrets, I help hide.
It does not matter
That she does not love me.
(more exercises in poetry to increase range of vocabulary and writing style...some people flex muscles...I gotta work with what I got! This one is romantic...kinda...not really. I think I'm writing some of these to help develope attributes for characters in my book, also- but the finished work is never as it starts. I don't yet know who all these people I'm writing about will become. But, I know they are not inherently victoms. They are strong, if they are not virtuous.)
Cecil Miller Sep 2016
Mr. Celest, won't you please entrance with your stories full of dropping names that I bet no one else could recall, even if the plausible is true?

Long men have a long time to build upon the craft of yarn-spinning , promising the archway, but never daring to get in touch with powerful ways of listening to others.

This prince has a story, too.

The crime of our age is how people live so long that they stop living to fantasize about the old days which were never as glamoruos as we recall.

The only thing you talk about is what you used the think about, when you  wished upon a shooting star that once trailed above the ocean blue.

This knave has a story, too.

An automatic pratter or the vocals in the air are not impressive to someone like me who has seen the sins and suffered wages of the ages.

The reason for your phonics is as empty as your wallet, but your name is never in the liner notes to the teary songs you try to sing.

This man has a story, too.

There is a beaker on the burner and it bubbles quite a lot, much like a festering boil, and the words that stream along are never ending.

You might learn there are surprises in the world still left to make you wonder, still there to give you feeling so you have enjoyment in your life.

This sage knows magic, too.
Older people tell a lot of yarns.
People want someone to listen to them. I hsve older friends, and listen to them. They rarely engage in a conversation vital of the day. They never ask to hear the stories of the younger set.
Miranda Renea Sep 2016
I fell asleep as a wave crashed,
Water from the sea of glass nipped
My toes. When I woke, the world
Seemed strange; The same yet
Smaller. Perhaps as a note in
A bottle; words written by small
Hands and sent off with wish
Of such grand adventures.
Em Orrman Jul 2016
We are but stardust and dreams.
Rae Anne Jul 2016
I saw a flower
in a crack of a sidewalk,
that reminded me of you.
Not because it was common,
but because it was original.
Something beautiful
that grew
from nothing.
Apparicious Jul 2016
"Wanting something but can't break through

Sitting around with nothing to do

Watching eyes that shine

Shine like amber turning gold

From blue to purple

To black it all beholds

Turning around

To uphold the love lost and love you will consume

Being told love was everything to you"
donia kashkooli Jul 2016
he's strong
i'm wild
he's beautiful
and he sees everything in technicolor.
he's all i will never be
and i love him more than anything.

-*z. vega
Kelsey Brewski Jul 2016
Nimbostratus clouds overcast
Overcast tears
Crying, crying all day, all night
Sad girl
Bad girl
Dead to the world
Done with death itself

Staring into the blue and black sky
Reminds me of my stained skin
Reminds me of the palette I use to paint
Nothing is the same
Nothing is getting better
Staring staring staring

Digital phone calls
In real life conversations
**** Bill Volume Two
Better than my life

So I sit in the parlor
Eat my skin
Dance in the rain outside
Let my body bleed
Let the rain poison my blood
My heart will **** me anyway

Watch it all play out
None of this is really true
It's all inside my head
It's all just make believe

Because you see
I'm sick
I'm really sick
I have been since the day
Mom pushed me out
I've got daydream fever
And this world is not my own
© Kelsey Austere, 2016
Poetic T Jul 2016
congealed static form
intricate formations muse

descending flawless
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