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Morning  break of dawn.
Morning cold breath of winter air...
morning warm cozy  bed.
Mornin Man of symphony that brings a smile like
Cinnamon flavored coffee.
Morning  new day sent to me..
Morning heaven of glories  
I lift and rise because of thee

By ShardayRose
இڿڰۣ-ڰۣ— இڿڰۣ-ڰۣ—இڿڰۣ-ڰۣ—
wintery mornings
what a bad or good
when i looked up
i found rosy flower
filling every span
drawing a big heart
my secret was released
the birds make it in poem
i love you
all creatures know
they sing my name and you
i felt shame
i ran to get fine
place to hide
one only , i find
your heart
but you get shame
as the universe might know
you  ran to get fine
place to hide
one only , you find
my heart
the time of love passed as a sight,one can,t discover
Seanathon 18h
You think I’m scared of you?
Oh timeless fear

Of your taste for light
Which gnaws at stars
And nether years?

Well I’m not

I’m indifferent

Staring without impudence
Into the moonlit eyes
On metal roofs
Where feet can fly

I need not hold or soil with soot
My hands to cup the sky
As is, as it wished

No, nameless fear
I fear you not

But to challenge me with ferociously
Just try and see
What becomes of truth

When you tell me I should be afraid of you
Just to terrify the mortal in me
Just try and bend my eyes away
From the first new sight of another day
And I’ll break your iron will in two
With my indifference

Try as you may
Your power holds no heavens over me

As a broken line of sight is free
From the abiding night which is stripped away

With dawn come every newborn day
And spit in it's eye.
I've lived somewhere between 25 & 30 homes.

The ones that stick out?

In Portland I rented a micro-studio. No individual unit kitchens: it was 'communal'. Bed came out the wall. Apt description: trendy, affluent, hipsters who want to live communally in theory, but eat out every day instead. Communal kitchen was empty. No one was ever home.

One house in Florida we had a pool and the neighborhood ice cream truck sold drugs. My neighbor took me to the mall sometimes.

In Wisconsin we lived above a bead shop that turned into a dress shop that rented out overpriced prom dresses to everyone. I watched middle-class flock to the shops beneath me. For being a town of 1,000 we had the coolest apartment because I could spy on the whole town and their frequent trips to the bakery.

In North Carolina we lived in a neighborhood called 'beverly hills' and the house was interesting, not very bourgeois as the neighborhood title suggested. I wanted to turn the basement into a gaming center for kids.

In Blank I lived in Blank, it was kind of Blank and I really liked the Blank. From this experience I learned Blank.
Could ever make up for what I did to you

What a mistake
mollie 2d
when my father smoked,
i was a child.
terrified by every inhale.
the thought of his tar riddened lungs was unbearable.
but he was a lost cause,
long lost to the tar stained tobacco on a stick.
I would clutch my teddy in the back seat of the car,
fearful that my lungs may ingest such vile and villainous fumes.

when I smoked I was a teen,
dragging on the stick I once feared so much.
inhaling and exhaling as if my life depended on it.
I recalled the fear of my child's eyes, myself.
so afraid of death and toxicity
but now, seventeen,
I had long forgotten my childhood wish to stay alive,
to grow up
because I had.
and while doing so had learned that life is bleak.
my tar stained lungs don't horrify me like my father's did,
they push me further,
smoking faster and harder until I may become a small pile of grey and cremated ash kept carefully within a decorated vase upon a mantle piece,
an ash tray of sorts.
were playing tag
having fun
were screaming
but were smiling
were laughing so much
that were crying
"tag your it"!

but then they grew older
we went our separate ways
i thought we were best friends forever
but things changed
i couldn't let go

"i'm not playing!"
"get out lets have some fun"!
"you'll never leave again
once i'm done"!
she wasn't smiling anymore
and i was laughing so much
she was crying
but then they stopped
i was crying

"tag .. your it...."
I can feel it
Licking me
Tasting me
The way you used too
Burning me
The way you do now
Scolding me
When I stare
Leaving me each night
Only to return and start again

I’ll spend the rest of my life walking in the shade
Not getting burnt
Not missing you when you’re gone

Not feeling warmth.

I’m cold.
You’re the only one.
It is like a door.
With hundreds of thousands of people,
knocking and hammering on it all at once.
They kick and abuse the door until it is run down and beaten,
damaged and unreparable.
Yet still no one answers the door.
And likewise,
I am unresponsive.
And until someone answers that door,
they carry on knocking.
And again,
Until I speak for myself,
those thoughts wont be put at ease,
they will continue nagging,
until I get the help I need,
that would make those thoughts disappear for good.
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