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  Sep 2016 Tammy M Darby
Liz Hill
You are the book that everyone tells me not to read.
You are the worn book in the darkened corner of the library that sits on the highest shelf.
But is it wrong that my heart is drawn to the darkness and deepness of what I know that I cannot have, to feel the desire and give into the temptation to climb the mountains of worn oak to reach you.
You, my dear, are the leather bound, Scarlett-lettered memoir that I want to pick up, grasp in my hands, and open.
I want to learn about what they say is forbidden.
I want to read what I'm not supposed to want.
I want to know you.
  Sep 2016 Tammy M Darby
Lord Byron
Harriet! to see such Circumspection,
In Ladies I have no objection
  Concerning what they read;
An ancient Maid’s a sage adviser,
Like her, you will be much the wiser,
  In word, as well as Deed.

But Harriet, I don’t wish to flatter,
And really think ‘t would make the matter
  More perfect if not quite,
If other Ladies when they preach,
Would certain Damsels also teach
  More cautiously to write.
  Sep 2016 Tammy M Darby
Lorraine day
Hope is like the lantern
That shines on darkened nights
When times in life are testing
And sorrow is our plight
Hope still shows a future
We must find the strength to see
Regardless of the weight we bear
In our misery
Hope is still a chance
When the hearts filled with despair
Hope is what we cling to
When we find nobody's there
Hope is there to guide us
To a path that leads the way
Leaving all our fears behind
To tomorrow's brighter day
The willow is weeping,
Its Sonorous melody,
plays the gallows tune.
where all are still and silent.
At the end of the rope
the place we find
When all the dancing is done
Ambient voices lurk upon the tip of the ears,
As the ruffling of the leaves become faint and dull!

Shaken by those voices clamor your essense to a vilified characters,
And those sound intensified by the roaring thunder they seem to pound like war drums.

As the heavens shed it's tears to calm all senses to a full moon,
One can only indulge in the simple act of nature to light sound of rain drops to sleep.

Do we become the persona others echo,
And does one escape to runaway from energy of darkness?

It is a destined war to meet the oppositioned in battlefield,
And then you ask yourself if you are the truthful conviction of good?

The innocence isn't so much the victor of the scenario,
But the reflective nature to do the right things.

Those loud voices spilled the vile tongue of characters uncleansed,
And the dirt seem to gravitate the bubble you once protected your essense.

You try to rub off the dead skin that sicken your persona,
But seemed fatal attraction and unwelcomed maul of voices protrude.

Tremored hands can't seem to stop,
But the heart had seized it's pulse,
And looked to the self in the mirror no more.

Gasp to get some air in the drowning ocean,
As the weight of the back become stronger,
And reach out the arm to brace upon the nearest shore.

Everything must stay silent,
And then ask am I good enough?

The eternal struggle to find the person on the lake is a journey,
But one can't runaway forever from their own shadow,
Because the shadow will follow you for good.

Once you realize the reflection is your's
It is too silly to have ever feared it.
When voices tell you that you are no good, one must stop hiding from their personal shell to see the wonders of the world
  Sep 2016 Tammy M Darby
Bren
From darkness, they rise.
Cracking her beliefs.
Shattering her being.

Tormenting her,
Turning her existence
into a living agony.
 
Every night, they come visit,
Play games with her head.
Amusement to them,
A torture for her.

Relishing their wicked reign,
Of horrors and pain.
For her, she wants to die,
Or at least, run and hide.

Hide away from them,
From the evil inside of her.
There was where they were.

Going back to
their heinous lair,
When the morning
light shines bright.


And they await
in the shadows,
To come out,
and play again at night.
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