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I crumble like everyday
  Tears rolling down my cheeks
  Thinking and knowing that I
  can't have u
   That I can't become what you want me
  To be
  Bad thing is there's nothing for me
  To show my inner glow
   my smiles in my eyes
   The brightness in my  teeth
Born on this day
my firstborn child
In Huntingburg
far from the sea
The life that's given us by God
so full of possibilities

Her destination still unknown
she strikes upon the path of life
so full of wondrous mystery
she sees a world filled up with strife

And picks her way among the stones
(life doesn't mete out dulcet tones)

But then again that still small voice
calls from the vail of destiny
"To Love is such an easy choice"
"Come here my child and rest in Me"
My Daughter's Birthday today
I pedaled so hard to get to the place
that I thought that I knew was right

And when I get to where I have got
I sometimes find out that the right
that I thought was right.....
was not

So I picked myself up and I dusted me off
although I'm a terrible sight
I got on my horse (I hope no one's  watching)
and galloped off into the night

It isn't so bad to make a mistake
just go to the end of the line
a lesson you've learned just like everyone else
and you start all over again

starting over is not such a horrible thing
sometimes it's all for the best
your perspective is better, your mind is much clearer
you've triumphed and won like the rest

A good sense of humor and love in your heart
are required for a life without woe
you'll never be able to live without those
and we all have to learn to let go
So many people are so afraid that they'll make a mistake that they are afraid to try anything new....
"If some people like your painting, fine.
If some don't, well, there's the door.

Take your work seriously
But don't take yourself seriously

Paint for yourself
Enjoy yourself"

I was watching a show on PBS today
"The Beauty of Oil Painting" with Gary & Kathwren Jenkins

Gary said this and I marveled at how much this echoed the attitude we should cultivate when writing poetry.
I think we could also consider writing poetry as a painting of sorts
 Mar 2015 The Jolteon
Annabel Lee
Sunday
A random couple
Monday
They said the words I love you to each other
Tuesday
They wake up the next day say it again just to make sure it was real
That they really loved each other
Wednesday
They say it again the next day
Thursday
And the next
Friday
And the next
How are they different on Friday then they were on Sunday? They're still the same people
They loved each other before they said the words I love you
Why is it just those words that matter to be heard?
Seriously why?
Why does that change?
Why is love altered so much by simply expressing it?
Inspired by Lloyd and Dianes break up in say anything
.

                                      n
                             o     o  w     o
                          w       y  o         w
                         y            u             y
                       o              s                o
                      u               e                u
                      s             e    i               s
                       e            t    n              e
                        e     ­       o  w             e
                         i             y o             i
                          t             u              t
                            n           d          n
                               o        o       o
                                  w    n'   w
                                          t
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