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#unforgotten
(10WX2) While I live, ~~~~~~~~~ a muffled ~~~~~~~ unforgotten ~~~~~~~ fragrance ~~~~~~~ breathes ~~~~~ within ~~~ me. ~~~ ~~ ~ ~~ ~~~ It'll ~~~ fade ~~~~~ with me ~~~~~~~ when i soar ~~~~~~~~~ to the Heavens. ~~~~~~~~~~~ Sally Copyright 2014 Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
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Dec 16, 2014
Dec 16, 2014 at 1:56 PM UTC
Unforgotten Fragrance
*I always have loved you. Maybe when the time is right 100 years from now, or 20 years, who knows? In a future life of inconceivable delights, I will find you again somewhere, amid sparkling nature, Living on and on you wonder why you can not die, Like a crystal that will withstand the test of time, Though you can not ever be the only one, Be this moment always like this love of mine.*
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Oct 26, 2015
Oct 26, 2015 at 9:15 PM UTC
Healing Crystal Skies
It's a person's Life, which is never forgotten, but it's a person's Death, that makes us never forget.
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Mar 20, 2017
Mar 20, 2017 at 8:11 AM UTC
In memoriam
Our arms flail as we flounder about In our lakes impossible tide A water of unforgotten days That we couldn't escape if we tried Some people's are small others wide We do our best to escape Pulling ourselves to the sandy beach Resting from its power, Pulling us in, never free of its reach To it we aren't worth a screech As we grow our lakes do too Filling with waters good and bad Powerful waves and calming seas Old emotions happy or sad As we grow to man from lad
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Nov 4, 2014
Nov 4, 2014 at 5:31 PM UTC
Sea of Memories
The heavens stood in blue, Just as water mirrors it's hue, And ocean dawn reflects the sky anew. Time and stars light the darken space, As if catching illumination with our pace, But hands reach out to finish the race. Race without a face in the life of maze, Remembering the face upon your gaze, A sincere warm smile that would haze. Heart's tug of war, The unspoken lore, And it's forgotten core. Yearning for two voices to weld In solidarity beats would of held, And united minds would meld. The one way ticket always looking back, But struggles to find the words to pack, And in honest words it seems to lack. Trying to piece every sense Why miss your presence, Trying to understand your essence. Hands stretched, Mind etched, I seek only upon thee.
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Feb 20, 2017
Feb 20, 2017 at 12:58 AM UTC
The Story of Unforgotten.
I am the whisper of a leaf in the breeze I am the flutter of a butterfly against the white honeysuckle so sweet I am the gurgle of the flowing river I am the wind in the willows I am the waitress picking up coffee cups in the cafe I am the old woman reading a newspaper against the window I am the siren of the police car as it drives by I am the laughter of an old man who twirls his moustache I am the chatter of a young child I am the taste of sugar on your tongue I am the scent of a hundred roses in your nose I am the sound of plaintive notes on a flute in a land far away I am the smell of candles and incense in a wooden church I am the flavour of Marmite on hot buttered toast I am the feel of the cool granite table against my wrist I am the refugee who hides in subway tunnels I am the man who cheers for Arsenal I am the woman buying anti ageing creams I am the child kicking stones on the path I am the smell of rain I am the taste of freedom I am the sun upon your skin I am the honeyed kiss of your lover on the inside of your wrist I am the taste of violence upon your lips I am the woman in the red dress and the ebony skin dancing I am the poet on Speaker’s Corner I am the woman licking her fingers as she eats I am the autumn leaves that rustle under your feet I am the man checking his phone I am you and you are me and we are a hundred other things And we are all unseen, forgotten, experienced, reviled, overlooked, and replaceable And the music plays, the clock ticks, and we look away
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Jan 8, 2016
Jan 8, 2016 at 5:11 AM UTC
A Hundred Tastes of Me
I am the whisper of a leaf in the breeze I am the flutter of a butterfly against the white honeysuckle so sweet I am the gurgle of the flowing river I am the wind in the willows I am the waitress picking up coffee cups in the cafe I am the old woman reading a newspaper against the window I am the siren of the police car as it drives by I am the laughter of an old man who twirls his moustache I am the chatter of a young child I am the taste of sugar on your tongue I am the scent of a hundred roses in your nose I am the sound of plaintive notes on a flute in a land far away I am the smell of candles and incense in a wooden church I am the flavour of Marmite on hot buttered toast I am the feel of the cool granite table against my wrist I am the refugee who hides in subway tunnels I am the man who cheers for Arsenal I am the woman buying anti ageing creams I am the child kicking stones on the path I am the smell of rain I am the taste of freedom I am the sun upon your skin I am the honeyed kiss of your lover on the inside of your wrist I am the taste of violence upon your lips I am the woman in the red dress and the ebony skin dancing I am the poet on Speaker’s Corner I am the woman licking her fingers as she eats I am the autumn leaves that rustle under your feet I am the man checking his phone I am you and you are me and we are a hundred other things And we are all unseen, forgotten, experienced, reviled, overlooked, and replaceable And the music plays, the clock ticks, and we look away
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meeting for the (first) time our bodies may have (though)t but deep down (my) internal clock had endlessly ticked a (rhythm) that had always (synched) (to you)r every thought
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Jan 11, 2018
Jan 11, 2018 at 1:58 PM UTC
soul re union
it's about 10pm. I kept checking the messages, hoping you'll maybe reply me. the music wasn’t loud enough, my drawings aren’t detailed enough, people aren’t texting me enough, I’m not busy enough. i need to drown myself in things to do, so you will fade from my mind. I need to forget you, like how you’ve forgotten me.
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Jul 24, 2020
Jul 24, 2020 at 10:13 AM UTC
need more distraction
open wounds tear through my flesh, dead weight fills up my heart's pericardium, darkness of sorrow slowly consumes my soul, a habit of relentless grieving of the unforgotten. there's a tombstone in my head, in a graveyard of old memories and undead people, not quite fancy, but once in a while I sit beside it with a mug of coffee and anxiety. I talk to it as if it were alive, sometimes as if I hope it would talk back and take off the dead weight and misery in my heart, I grieve for the gone yet undead people whom I deeply loved. sometimes I would bring some kerosene and match, hoping to scorch down the place to ease all the pain, but I am human; I exist, I love, I feel, and I remember I may grieve of the unforgotten today, but I will live. IA
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May 23, 2020
May 23, 2020 at 9:49 AM UTC
the grieved and unforgotten