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Innocent Tata Sep 13
One could argue that as you get older, you become a better stoic. Masking your whims, desires and pleasures with logic, reason and meaning. Taking the less scenic route, becoming more utilitarian and the stick that’s up your **** plunges a little further..

And What about the artist that emotionally abuses the kid within and constantly exploits its innocence. Strumming the strings of vulnerability for relatability. Lusting over Monet clouds as painted tears conjure real ones..

Apologies for the preachy undertone, I too buried my cornea in the conneries without a veil, with chin to palm Coveting a utopia. However The dance around the bugbear has since become medieval. I gave it a good hug, tears of tranquility as we initiate the coagulation..

But I need a good light, one that outdoes a good filter. Sending shadows to the creases of the crater. The eclipsed sun carves the frame for a Godlike aesthetic and then I forget to write. Sometimes I forget I’m alive.
Take her to LA
Take her to our favorite places
Tell me do the city lights look different
Now that they’re up against her silhouette

Stopping under red lights
Tell me do you still take the time
To lean over and kiss her like you used to
Or does it just remind you of me and you
08.24.2020
LC Aug 14
the present world
can pull you back in time -
sometimes a gentle pull,
sometimes a hard yank
to remind you of the past.

you take a trip
to meet your past self.
you watch her love,
grow, make mistakes -
she and you are one.

then you take a deep breath,
whispering a farewell
to your past self.
you walk through time,
returning to the present.
Listen to the Spirit of God
Let it move you like the wind
God wanted to be their king
But they settled for something human
Remind me to trust you know matter what
Because despite the way it seems
You know what you're doing
08.17
When you get bored
I won't blame you for it
Instead I'll remind you of what once made you sure
08.04.2019
Amanda Dec 2019
We love eachother
At least that is what we say
If that's true why do we have to
Remind ourselves every day?
It just feels like family should be more than people you are required to love
Susan Nishimoto Oct 2019
What is it about trees that make them so special?

Why is it that they make me have a sense of peace?

Is it because trees are really alive like us?

Or that they stand so tall, reaching towards the sky?

What do trees remind us of when we look at them?

Why do they make me smile when I look at them?

Is it because trees are really like people too?

Or that they too, seem to have no care in the world?
I had written this when I was at work, since there's a lot of trees around :)
the very second
we wake from them,
they can be so very, very
far away; the harder
we try to hold, the
cruelly quicker
seems their
escape.

the gulf left,
....so unbridgable,
......so enormous,
........so peculiar
when only so brief
a moment ago it was
....so close,
......so familiar,
........so a part of us.

ღ ღ ღ

can a person
truly love more
than one other at
the very same time?

trying to find the answer
to that question is like
trying to remember a
dream upon waking...

though i've discovered
there is just enough room
in one person's chest for
two broken hearts.
No Other Way - Jack Johnson (cover)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zMp1-nJO3dw
kiran goswami May 2019
My mother has been reminding me of things,
since I was 4,
and the school started giving homework.

She reminded me of
the notebooks I needed to take,
the drawing  I needed to make.
the exams and competitions coming,
the girl, I thought I was becoming.
The answers I needed to remember,
there are 31 August 30 September.
the handkerchief I must never forget to bring home back,
the books that needed to be kept when my bag when I used to pack.
The words 'harsh' and 'cruel' that I should never speak,
Gods and mythology all Indian and Greek.
The way I should sit and walk and behave,
the Queen's like Lakshmibai to tell me even I am brave.
The lights that needed to be turned off and to shut the doors,
to be careful while painting and not let the colours spill on the floor.

My mother still reminds me of things,
now I am 17 and school still gives homework.

she reminds me of
The lakes that a deeper than a sea,
the Queen's like Lakshmibai and Sita because that's how I want to be.
The kingdom that flourished, the kingdoms that vanished,
the dream she lost and her words that were banished.
Herself, who is  like the bank that is washed by the soft Ganga waves,
Her sandy words that grow roses and sunflowers and then dig their own Graves,
The stars that are lonely and yet together,
the places where people go to find themselves in pleasant weather.
The handkerchief that I must never forget and bring home back
the books that I need to keep in my bag when I pack.
The lights that need to be turned off and to shut the doors,
to be careful while painting and not let the colour spill on the floor.
The prayer and the love that she carries in her eyes,
the hope and the faith that she tells me, 'never die'.

My mother still reminds me of things.
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