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Arisa Mar 2
The warmth of the sun
Vanishes prematurely.
Light on pale skin fades to shadows

But they hold my hand,
like a toddler to a teddy,
And never vanish, nor envelop.

No pain, but not numb.
Cold, but not freezing.
It's night. And this is fine.
I used to have a fear of the dark. Now I see the night is beautiful.
Jenna Mar 1
Nothing has made me more happy
then the color of your face
at the moment when
our warm lips brushed against
each other, trying to embrace
the fact that we have found
love for another
the sun starts to shed more light
the longer we stand here
in a loop of beautiful bliss
Huxley Web Feb 27
I want to run my fingers through his hair and wrap him in my arms, feel the way he relaxes as we sit here together.
It's strange the dreams the mind creates.
Vivian Feb 24
we are all a flickering flame,
we live,
warming others,
lighting the world up,
other days,
we are a wildfire,
out of control,
there is no fire,
we are numbed out,
no sparks,
but ashes,
remains of us,
and sorrow and misery,
we all are a flame,
we all can control it our fire,
we just have to learn to do so,
control our fire
Jenna Feb 24
Blades scrape across calves
Itching, irritating,
Children shout and laugh
Imitating, inviting,

Warmth burns and bakes
Igniting, inflicting,
Rippling shadow cast South
Imprinting, imposing,

Yellow dandelions stand tall
Intermixing, inclining,
Brief, cool wind tickles
Invading, inducing
I miss the warm weather. Hate the cold.
Serena Feb 22
You sparked a fire in me,
It raged for you,
The desire to keep you warm,
Show you the intensity it holds,
All for you,
Until it rained everyday.
sushii Feb 22
What a grand time you'd have without me
A warm Friday night
One less thing on your mind

It's on times like these
That I'd rather disappear.
There was
we made dark.
There was
we made ****.
There was
we made cold.
There was
we made bad.
There was
we made hate.
Let us always be
and take the bad things
Think about it, there really is no dark, is it s word that we made up for when there is no light. And it is the same for the others.
snowflakes burn on the cheeks
filtering the clad of trees
with grey nostalgia underneath,

Mother said, "let's make
a scarf with those wings"
the commodity out of necessity

for the weather only permits
threads of white, to rest
as supine angel ghosts

remain like chalk pictures
of suns and dreams yet to be
on the street which colors fade

for she walks, with
a spool of feathers on her neck
wondering why,

she couldn't fly like everybody else.
winter doesn't come in our part of the world, only rain or ashes cloud our skies.
Even with
the warm water
running over me, I still
feel c o l d.
I'm not sure why this is;
perhaps it's something
I've been
t o l d.
I guess some of my poems are made up in the shower :)
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