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Seconds sire seasons, life by stroll or sprint fades.

In search of higher reasons, none are ignorant of the null totality of yesteryear.

Time is neither favour nor fear; for Oak roots expand their domain, just as vast canopies usurp heaven’s terrain; a babe’s bones are made strong, even more so as toddlers play, yet still shatter, to dust decay, by the passage of Time’s decades.

Live this life, for better or worse; surmount the strife, and derive blessing from curse.
Nylee 4d
Why bind me to my own words
You are free from all the strings
I am not moving in years
But you've been flying ever since.
DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, things called faded never were:3


losing hope on the the line
a beak of joy once in my lifetime

miracle from the ending
never want to manipulate a bending

the polar of the polar was at that stake
a back to back felt like a heart break

favourite on the eyes
no need for excuses or pathetic lies

goddesses of killers
breathed into a caterpillar

but the butterfly not to live ought to die
on a yellow leaf to rot and cry

a shoulder to hang on not written on that destiny
today of all days the dangerous whispers to bethany

how much of months are upcome to bare the yin
battle of love in a spiced up of a resentment called yang in

melody to fear
connected to the neck right there to the ear

to no one but me

                                                       ------ravenfeels
Waiting for no-one it surges on
No pause for thought,
Or batting an eyelid,
Never generous. Almost gone.

The evidence is left upon your face
Though the eyes deny,
Chances not taken,
Regrets mount. We cry.

It doesn't cease but endures
It's reach is long,
Steadfast through the seasons,
Ticking on. Ticking on...
©️ 2021 Joshua Reece Wylie. All rights reserved.
Inspired by the film 'Age of Adaline'
Diljeev Mar 27
A year ceased to the known,
crystal to each other
selves of their own,
clear as day,
but the day's long agone.
Her voice still etched in his ears,
and as it appears,
it sure won't be gone for years.
Years to come, years to go,
will there be another to the known?
each day passes in this question's wake,
another day of talking and giggling
over something his mama baked?
will there be yet another night
skinny dipping down the lake?
THERE IT IS
THERES THE MONSTER
I ALWAYS FEARED WOULD
APPEAR
IT ONLY TOOK HER
THE TRIP TO FLORIDA
SAME WEEKEND
I RENTED A SUITE FOR 2
WAITING FOR YOU
IF I ONLY KNEW
HE WOULD APPEAR
**** I TRUSTED YOU
9 + YRS
WELL GUESS WHAT
KEEP THAT FAT ****
WHOS MARRIED
GO FIGURE
SO SAD
BROKEN BEFORE
ILL BE BROKEN AGAIN
BUT NOT BY YOU
SO PLAY WITH HER
AND ENJOY
OH AND F YOU !!
•••••••••••••••••••••••••••
© Jennifer L DeLong
3/12/2021
They say time heals all wounds
Honestly that is *******
Sometimes it doesn't matter what you do
Pain has dug too deep of a pit
There are instances where you lack the strength
Or can't find a foothold to climb
The distance up is just too great of a length
And then what good is time?
Some cuts never quit bleeding
They just slowly run dry your veins
Every day the sting keeps on repeating
Years pass yet the hurting remains the same
Maybe not everyone but some of us have a harder time mending. Me being one of those.
After Ten Thousand Years, what will remain; after the seas and sands have reclaimed L.A.?

When the continents don't look the same; shuffled around like dominoes, as God prepares to play another game.

Will the stars our audience stay, though we prioritise these silent spectators above our planetary play?

Then there shall come a day, when no taught tongue these words can say; lest as maxims to complement aristocratic displays. When this poem's rhythm and reason, no researcher can attain.

The Gate Wall has been long erode, rendered flat and smooth; a mat laid out upon the floor. Our precious salads' descendants, both physique and favour now wholly unknown; after Ten Thousand Years Nature's nurture will be shown.

After Ten Thousand Years, humanity will remain, and with their mortal expressions; the savagery of ten eons, nay eternity, shall be tamed.
Our lost tears turned to lost years.
Our rivers fueled our waterfalls. Still,
no amount of water ever guaranteed
flower bloom. Our make believe
garden was only a lost cause.
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