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She saw his writing in her book
Fell in love with his words
She wanted to have his heart
He gave her his broken pen.
Poetry is love
I walked in the great beyond
Wasted years on a career
I let my soul abscond
So desperate was I to adhere

A path so untrue
Break the mold
Change drastically overdue
No longer controlled  

Wake up my being
Deep thoughts abound
My pen is freeing
Time to expound
Your pulsing energy releases
deepest tender emotions:
they flow into my heart
casting out bleakness,
in a gentle morn awakening.

Breaking silence, your voice
in poetry of true acceptance,
calls to me.  I become aware again
of your strength and stability:
then my eyes see beyond beauty.

It wells up from knowing
that  deep within ourselves,
loveliness cannot exist without the
knowledge of comparison of what
is ever undeniably true or false.

We can in solitude see
through fate’s deceptions.
Nothing can stop love from entering.
Thoughts made of illusions are destroyed.  
Mystical visions of truth are revealed.

Passions that have always been
within both of us are stirred.
Now clinging fears flee hence:
we stand together Twin Flames
strong in certainty.  We feel the
power of love in ourselves that is timeless.


ISIS & OSIRIS
See: Twin Flame Poetry - Treasury 1-5 . Published by tredition.com.
Lynnia 4d
a life in words,
the edges blurred
sync what you’ve read
with what you’ve heard

though limbs may tire
and mouth’s a liar
the dancing pen
is still on fire

in the Real,
tongue can’t reveal
just what the heart
is prone to feel

yet the ink-stained mirror
makes truth appear
and sets free the doubt
the mind so fears
Loving you
is when the
pen makes love
with the paper
with the foreplay of
words
and
rhymes
mixed altogether.
Show me home in your eyes of fire
while still setting me free
to cross those bridges
I may burn.
Allow what we have to rest
in quiet happiness
of all the unknown ways
we can learn.

Exhale above me with lips
with no selfishness
and an intimacy I can see
without searching.  
Exhaust my inner urges
with your ink and paper
while I soar within
my yearning.

Pen me poetry that cries out
to be the lyrics,
all the pieces of my heart
learn how to sing.
Turn the key to the lock
of beautiful phrases,
draw me a fine portrait with
your word strings.
Copyright Neva Varga @ 10/15/18 - Changefulstorm Poetry
Ink
What better way to pour out
the pain of a poet that
to write the stories
with a *** of
blood?
It's so good to be back here.
So therapeutic!
Lyn ***
Meera Oct 12
Some poets write with pen
And others with pain
Just a random thought...
de Negre Oct 9
i(as many other space rocks are)am jealous of the moon
for not many space rocks travelling at
     twothousandtwohundredeightyeight
mph

can say they have apes who speak
dinky(boats on the waves of his essence)
     chops of verse    dedicated
to them

why an ape would compare(with
metalrodandink)one of my fellow
     space rocks to his(notreallybutkindof)
girlfriend

i don’t know but i am jealous(as
a space rock who doesn’t have apes)
     when that littlecutegreyspacesmudge has them
(and i don’t)
thosedamn potsdam cotsman
heyli Oct 7
Knowing you
You'd cry all day and night
Lock yourself in  a room,
No light could be insight

I was there,
hiding behind the dark
peeking at you,
"I do care, please don't cry."

Knowing you
You'd grab a pen and knife
Once the ink was gone,
You'll use your blood to write

You're too busy dying
You can't even see me crying

Knowing you,
just doesn't feel so right.
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