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Becky Littmann May 2014
It never seems to fail every single morning..
I'm suddenly attacked without warning
& after so long you'd think I would expect it by now
But of course I always forget somehow
What's even worse is there's more than one of them
Like thorns on a rose stem
They're little ******
Playing ***** tricks
& known for ruining a perfect time
Eerie silence, not a sound, like a mime
Eliminating countless hours of your precious sleep
they will always be on the creep
hiding behind & in between
trying to remain unseen
there a well camouflaged army
& will gladly put an end to any party
have you figured out their identity yet?
at one point, I'm positive you have had the pleasure to meet
An unusual type of criminal
committing crimes that were quite predictable
like catching fish with a hook & bait
....they're always on time, not a second late
Soooooo..... do you think you can guess?
Or are you still clueless?
Here us what I'll do
I'll give you a few bits for a little clue
It comes down from the sky
Stare too long & you'll begin to cry
It can make you sneeze
Nutrients it brings tothe plants & the trees
In the wind it can make it warm
& always brings joy & peace after a storm
Sometimes it requires dark glasses to see
it can cause uncontrollable giggles & cheerful glee
Ok I guess I can tell you now...
Relax geeeeez, don't have a cow!!!
Last clue I'm going to say
NO MATTER WHAT, it'll NEVER go away
Only will it temporarily disappear at night
It's the bright rays of suns light!!!
**** IT! Who let sun in?!
being awake this early should be a sin
One morning could you just gimme a break???
....for goodness sake!!
Well I guess I'll get outta bed
I tried to argue & my case was plead
I did my best
To redeem my rest
Simply there just isn't much else left
I've been a victim of sleep theft!!!
He loved me with the fierceness of a friday night
(Wine, smoke and moving hips)

You loved me with the tenderness of a tuesday morning
(Blinds, sunlight and fingertips)
Sarah Pitman May 2014
It is 4:30 in the afternoon
And I tell you
This is my favorite time of day.
You ask why
So I point to the gold
Streaming in the window,
Bouncing off the dust.
And you kiss me.
Maybe 4:31 in the afternoon
Is my favorite time of day.
unwritten May 2014
The light shines down
On your pale face
And outlines your vulnerable lips
With a heavenly glow,
And bathes your pleading eyes
With pure light.

You look away,
Afraid,
Because you know that the light
Has always revealed your scars,
Your flaws,
Your imperfections.

But I simply laugh
And think
How lucky the sun is
To be so close to someone like you.

(a.m.)
old poem, couldn't think of anything new to write.
B M Clark May 2014
Sunlight through Green Leaves
Life is Growing all around
Why am I so Dead?
AavelinaJaden Apr 2014
There are petals in my lungs
I have roots instead of veins
Soaked in rainwater, dancing in the sunlight
I am beautifully photosynthesized
I've been writing about plants and trees a lot lately. I have springtime butterflies
"There is a clarity you feel...something like a bride would feel, removing a veil and seeing her husband without it. No thin mesh, clouding you. There is a clarity you feel when you finally put down your abuse."

I say while abusing once again. It's funny how light on dark moments makes the light seem brighter than normal. The truth is, the light is no different than any other day, but since you've never seen the light here its brighter. A funny perspective skew. With abuse it's the same way. You quit, give up the vice that holds you tighter than any human hand. And feels more comfortable than love. You quit addiction for sun light because after you've given death a few rounds you realize that sun isn't just bright...it's warm.

It touches your skin
and all your cells race
to the surface,
antioxidize my sins.

Months pass and you become used to the light. It's normal again, and it grows weary under the weight of the boots. The veil would be better than this.

It was better than this.

And so the light becomes the same, and maybe you need darkness again to feel that warmth. Maybe you need the vice to cut off your circulation, make you shiver in the summer winter. So that sunlight doesn't just slide past you, so that it touches you again, the way it did when you opened your eyes for the first time...

Guilt rides your
back instead,
the warhorse
of an individual
apocalypse.

You make it, though...you keep secrets, you tell lies, so no one knows. It's not just darkness, it's silence, to deprivate from

"You can get through this"
"You'll be okay"
"Youre strong"

Because paranoid whispers are better friends. But it takes awakening from the right dream to remember that the sun loves you more. Your sun loves everyone, it pours down on everyone, it fills the darkness. All the darkness is just empty space anyway. Waiting for something warm to fill it.

It takes awakening from the right dream to make you realize that the sun doesn't just fill darkness, it grows life, it lives at the crest of mountain peaks, above the ocean of clouds.

So you understand that sun lights a path,
and you run it,
you plant feet
and
oaks blossom.

You never again take the world for granted.
You never again compare light.
Because even if it is the same light overflowing a new dark,
It is a growing light.

And it is always warm,
And it sometimes burns.
Stephen Apr 2014
Open
Heavy Eyelids
It is Still Morning
The sun is still outside waiting
To touch the perspiring skin of the uninitiated
This world is no perfect circle
You are no machine
You are
Alive
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