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The pool of rain shadowed the sun, dancing with a tepid demeanor. City lights' glamour reduced the light of the sun—melancholy was evident on her face, accompanied by the distinguished incorporeal's breath of air. The late-afternoon tea and dried-out smoke of snowy November. 

It turned into night; the sun was still blatantly drowning in the pool of light, where a small trickle of its shadows tantalized the mockery arrayed in her face. Followed by the sickness in her stomach, pinching herself as she naively believed he loved her for all she is. 

After all, he was the one who called her a goddess and even paralleled her in the universe in which Aphrodite takes part. Surprisingly and naively, still believed conspicuous lies. It scarred her. A mountain that cannot be climbed; a river where blood flows continuously; a garden full of thorns. The face of a fool. 

The glamour wore off when he saw her on stage, where all of his queens and muses were. He wasn't even paying attention to her, and yet she was the only one who performed on stage—she rose and fell; she sang and moved like a goddess, surprising and naively believing he could take back her youth. 

He watched her rise. 
He watched her fall. 
He watched her lose her life. 

She hopelessly believed, with her skin and bones, that he'd choose her this time. He didn't.
if my life were a song, it would be goddess by laufey.
Thomas W Case Feb 19
A long time
ago
when I was
a teenager,
I had a
wonderful,
tender-hearted
girlfriend.
She was patient.
I was wide
awake, and green
as a frog.

She said,
don't rub it so
hard, you will
hurt it.
Think of it as
a new toy you
discovered.
It's small, and
you need to be
careful.
It isn't a
pimple that
you are
trying to pop.

I can still smell
her hair, lilacs and
pond water.
And on
gentle summer
nights, I hope someone
is being kind to
her love button.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P2roycihKc0
Check out my you tube channel where I read my poetry.
The old man
looks upon
his grandchild
and thinks to
himself, "How
wondrous was
the fleeting days
of innocence",
the child looks
to her elder with
a passing thought
as well, "even when I
am old, my youth
shall stay forever", she
holds his hand while
they walk together
under a rising sun
as the waking in a
dream, the pages
of time are in tide,
opening in light
and dark for
forever and a
day.
Carlo C Gomez Feb 13
~
Once upon a timid willow

The sweetest songs of

A hyacinth girl

Floated on waterlilies

Had a sleepwalking lyric

The moorings of her heart

Overlooking undercurrent

As she dared all things

Gently down the stream

~
solEmn oaSis Feb 10
Watch muh din yung larong 90s sa fb sis @Sahlee Sicio and for sure you may catch .....
Jakston--  ganyan yung
libangan ko nung una kong
matutunan yung unang
beses akong makaranas na*
mangapitbahay😁 magmula nun
akuh ay natutong makipaglaro sa
paruparo at tipaklong
😅🤣😂 banda roon sa may madamong bakuran na trinato kong palaroan kasi nga walang mga talahib, malayo sa panganib.

And...
By the time you reaches it in your searches ...
share here , or somewhere out there .
Butterfly and grasshopper
parents and ipad kids player
90th decade until the pass over
Millenial or century takes over
In time I will become a beach
an hourglass of falling sand
when eighty tides have washed my face
my youth will be a foreign land
and the laughing girl that once I knew
will be waving from the distance
across that sea that joins us two
zoya skylar Feb 7
i ask you to repent, for me
come clean, for me
and tell your dad,
no, i wasn’t 18

i was
mature for my age
keneth Feb 1
do you remember when
all that mattered was
holding his hand

and smelling the sun
on his sunburnt skin
laid on sun-set sand

do you remember when
the only song you knew
was his second name

and now the only dance
your feet understand
is a stance with his toes

can you take me back
the night i cried
like how lampposts died

asking myself why
your moon only shines
when you speak of his smiles

could you take me back to sun-screened streets
where all that mattered were
our touching feet
it made him feel old
     beyond even the years
          he was managing to carry
as he judged the children
storming the carriage
raucous in hi-vis
ever-ebullient despite
their chaperon's plea
to showcase successfully
their inimitable behaviour
only to be scuppered by
a locomotive
     lack of momentum
which did nothing to quell
their impatient effervescence

as the stationary train
     held by an unexplained
          flashing of red signals
awaited its onward journey
through yet another
outbound rush hour
not one single person
elected to sit next to
or even near by
that solitary man
wrapped tightly in coat
bedecked in hood and hat
hands deeply pocketed
and eyes half-closed
blind against his fatigue
and the low-slung sun

unseen by the children
until after their calming
the man appeared to them
     as one of those adults
          not to be disturbed
like their grandpas
deeply snoring on
those rainy Sundays
or their parents
finally at peace
after one of those
     wanton days
steering clear of limbs
and personal space
they are careful to avoid
any proximity to this
slumbering stranger
fearful of the wrath
of such an awakening

appreciating their caution
     unnecessary as it may be
through his squinted
obstructing view
unexpectant and unexpected
he found himself smiling
     at what he could see
     at what he remembered
and stirred playfully
settling deeper into
his feigned slumber
careful to avoid
confounding
any of those
childish preconceptions
Charlotte Jan 24
Green expanse of grass,
fitted jam jar skirt,
picking and pulling at daisies,
fixing them into my crown.

Heavy treacle eyes,
Drowned and leaded smile,
Reaching into my hair to,
Pull the chain apart.
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