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Ma Cherie Feb 2017
A fire it slowly rages,
as the ember it just,
a c h e s,
a sign of her reminders,
of the long and past mistakes,

In a jar above his mantle,
only ashes of her remain,
a small but stark reminder,
of the love she gave in vain.

Ma Cherie © 2017
Not sad- reflecting
Just wanted to say thank you to everyone for your amazing support and love!!!
Muah muah!!!xxxxxxxxxooooooooo
❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤
Alan S Bailey Jan 2017
So far nothing new is happening.
This is just history repeating itself.
One day all love will cease to have meaning,
It will just be something you can purchase,
Like buying plot on the Moon or Mars,
Or war or knowledge or emotions or words,
We'll just pretend it's all real.
A strange, vain culture we've developed,
Why everything is a steal.
And we never learn, we live in fear, do the same
Ridiculous things that "work" over and over again,
Why you can see how it's just a valley of blades,
One day you will realize it's only a matter of when
Some will wind up getting left in the dust, others in the gray,
I've got a hunch that one day if we wait long enough,
Eventually we will wind up in the dark again.
There will again be hell to pay*

Only a matter of when...
Joe Black Dec 2016
Gained strength
Wisdom fled before love's fire
Embraced they lay
Till break of the day
Cursed the sun for rising in the sky.
If people hear, will not agree
They will oppose in vain  
What these lovers have
They never will...
He despise of what they think
Under the sky by almighty God
He swears to keep the faith with her
Ready to fight and die
And fight the Death
If need be
To burn in the fire of love to thee
Dylan Jones Oct 2016
I was unafraid, I was a boy, I was a tender age
Melic in the naked, knew a lake and drew the lofts for page
Hurdle all the waitings up, know it wasn't wedded love
4 long minutes end and it was over it'd all be back
And the frost took up the eyes

Pressed against the pane could see the veins and there was poison out
Resting in a raze the inner claims I hadn't breadth to shake
Searching for an inner clout, may not take another bout
Honey in the hale could fill the pales of loving less with vain
Hon, it wasn't yet the spring

Aiming and it sunk and we were drunk and we had fleshed it out
Nose up in the globes, you never know if you are passing out
No it wasn't maiden-up, the falling or the faded luck
Hung up in the ivory, both were climbing for a finer cause
Love can hardly leave the room
With your heart
Nessa dieR Oct 2016
I thought I should write a happy poem
But I only write at night.
The ink of blood dripping from my heart
becomes thin and transparent in the light.

So if you want me to be honest:
The thought of you fills me with words
yet renders me speechless
to the point where writing hurts.
Alan S Bailey Aug 2016
For all who read (or any who care)
I may somehow give up writing but no one
Would be aware.
After dozens of failed poems-sitting all alone,
"This is it!" I say and promise I won't write again,
There is much writers block so at least I come
Up with something NEW now and then.
But who cares about that?
Instead, we'll read re-hashed garbage
And praise it like it's priceless.
People make me sick, because they're
A vain sort that bring new meaning to the word
*Foolishness.
If my house was a castle,
Then I would be the queen.
I'd gather all my subjects
And to them all, I'd sing.

I sing of all the wonder
I've seen in my life
And I'd try to explain
What's wrong and what's right.

But how do you show
Those who cannot see
And how do you help form
Those who know not what to be?

If I sing and you can't hear me
Is my song sung in vain,
Like a flower that drowns
In the midst of the rain?

I want to help you as you grow
Yet, I do not know what to do
But if my singing helps,
Then I will sing to you.

I don't have all the answers.
All I have is my song
So I'll sing to show I love you
So you know that you belong.
1991
She stumbled across the streets,
with low light streams.
Casting a glimpse to the rustling leaves,
fearing a soul's hail,
for 'twould free her long-harbored wail.

Her white shroud floating back like a spectre unleashed,
her feeble hands holding tight to the shovel in need;
on she went digging, with all her strength beaming,
waiting not for a second to breathe.

A ditch no less than a bottomless pit,
was what she endeavored to achieve in the late night sleep
to abandon her setback grief.
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