Brianna Love Nov 2

Come my love, take my hand
lets dance
through the music of the night,
where forest creatures
keep the melody
sweet, beautiful and light.

The forest floor, a mossy bed
will soften
our own loving sounds,
so we can hear the symphony
of magic
being played all around.

We will be caressed
ever so softly
by the tender touch of a breeze,
surrounding us in the spicy scents
of all
the tall canopy of trees.

Our dance of love so slow and gentle
as we
lay upon the soft cool ground,
adds a beauty to the symphony
of the night
that will forever resound.
~

AD Fox Spirit Oct 15

A sweet symphony,
Is booming in the middle of the night,
Making itself known in my head.

Sleep is no longer important,
Listen to the different tunes dance around you.
Everything is pounding against your skull,
That you can't help but hum along to.

Vibrating notes that leaves bittersweet taste.

Leaving nothing misery in its wake,
Till you finally can drown it out,
But its to late, 3am flashes on the nightstand.

Sleep shall never come easily,
Not with my 'Symphony of Bittersweet Paranoia.'

Past midnight...
apart from a nocturne playing
i hear a symphony of peaceful breathing
and snoring...rhythmical, this quiet evening,
it sends me soaring up my own universe,
with eyes closed, it grows more immense
creates some kind of a calm, in the silence
surrounding me, and my muse's presence.
stardust and moon provide me a crown
while i float...and probe around,
seeking something i don't know about,

in this journey,
i feel the absence of souls, slumbering deeply,
dreaming their simple, or strange fairy tales.
the firmament, wears a navy blue veil
stars are dots, they glow and scintillate,
like a warmth in the cold....emancipates
my invisible wings flap and fold,
a door knob...my hands take hold,
my destination...bright, resplendent,
"Cosmic Coffee Shop," a place, transcendent,
brewing a blend
-the dark, the positive
-the sweet, and the negative
a sign says, "write....there's pen and paper
in every corner..."
an invite, for people to create prose and poetry
where coffee is free, smells...tastes heavenly
a place to share...with brethren, in poetry.
::::::::
(an old poem)
1:01 AM


Sally

Copyright November 21, 2016
rrab

on a sleepless night,
  ...a plane roars
     ...breaks the silence-
Rebecca Kinga Sep 16

Here my dreams
That perfect paradise
Lost in a darkness
Even sun doesn't rise

A bunch of wilted roses
For cremating lives
Lost Like an overdose is
No need for rusted knives

Phantoms are humming
With symphony of knell
Anthems stay in silence
For rusted broken bells

Priest chose the quiet
& the rest forgot to pray
No word could describe it
No tear did roll that day
.
.
.
.

This is not the complete version, but wanted to share this, I'm still working on it.
Cynthia Jean Sep 15

Listening to
a cacophony
of sounds

joyful
symphonies

warm sweet air

late bloomers arriving
others on the bye

bees and butterflies
at home
harmoniously

drifters
faded leaves
wafting
gently

just for a moment
a quiet
stillness

nature smiles

all sweetness
and peace.

Cynthia Jean
2017

Just  a moment spent in my secret garden.
Black Sep 12

There's poetry in every heart and songs in every soul.
Upon the stage of life we act...and learn our mortal role.

Some players will not learn their lines...and so they use "asides"...
To struggle to the final scene where hooded Death abides.

I'll not let a chance go by. I'll listen to thy muse.
Recite the verses in my heart. Thy melody...don't lose.

And perform thy role as if thy life's of Oscar-worthy praise...
A story worthy of renown...to last til end of days.

And smile through 'black' adversity. Cast weariness aside.
Within, there is a symphony where noble notes abide.

My life will be an amusement park. I'll enjoy each thrilling ride!
As the roller coaster will go on...and heaven will abide.

No time like the present to live your life.

The moon and stars they wept.
The grey blanket of clouds covered the light source.
The morning sun was dead.
In a bunked lowly chair I sat as I stare the first drop of sky's tears fall in the windowpane.
It's like watching a full played orchestra.
The loud crackles of every droplet hitting my roof sounded like violins.
The wind steered the tempo of each cello sounding raindrops.
Marvelous harmonies of saxophones, bassoons, oboes, clarinets and flutes symphonized the silence.
Sky, the orchestra conductor is crying.
So am I.
Then I remembered, that I'll play a function too.
I'm the orchestra's vocal soloist.
Oh, here's my part . . . I screamed.

Depressed.
Mary-Rose H Aug 1

the buildings
hum
with the energy of
thousands of people.
Thousands of lives
converge,
made up of
thousands of unique combinations
of jobs,
love lives,
families,
and friendships-
thousands of experiences.
Thousands of worlds
blend together into
a symphony
of life and being.

From a small town girl making a rare visit to a big city.
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