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I wonder
How it is possible
That I am able
To miss something
So terribly
That I
Have never had
That
Has never
Been mine.
It's early in the morning walking with Mollie dog
I look up and see white wispy clouds floating high above
The early morning mist has been burnt off by the sun
Me and natures beauty merge, become as one
A butterfly attracted to an open summer flower
The muted distant sound of the lowing of a cow
We walk a little further into a pleasant sunlit glade
The growing warmth of summer means that life will never fade
The spreading boughs of leaf laden trees give shelter from the heat
Here me and Mollie can sit and rest our weary feet
We walk a little further drawn by natures magic lure
All the sounds that nature makes vibrate in the air
What is the power that draws me back into this place?
It's the lure of natures charm, her fields and woodland glades
As rivers seek the sea,
  Much more deep than they,
So my soul seeks thee
  Far away:
As running rivers moan
On their course alone
  So I moan
  Left alone.

As the delicate rose
  To the sun's sweet strength
Doth herself unclose,
  Breadth and length:
So spreads my heart to thee
Unveiled utterly,
  I to thee
  Utterly.

As morning dew exhales
  Sunwards pure and free,
So my spirit fails
  After thee:
As dew leaves not a trace
On the green earth's face;
  I, no trace
  On thy face.

Its goal the river knows,
  Dewdrops find a way,
Sunlight cheers the rose
  In her day:
Shall I, lone sorrow past,
Find thee at the last?
  Sorrow past,
  Thee at last?
We touch, we kiss
our bodies entwine.
we mouth off words
claiming each other as "Mine"

Skin to skin
toe to toe
body to body
under the sheets we go

kiss by kiss
Moaning in pleasure
we each have our fun
giving each other our "treasure"

In public, in private
Making love through the night
The passion, the lust
Even right after a fight

we make love, hard, fast, or slow
we make love, and promise, not to let go.
A little "love" poem for fun
It happened.
It happened.
Repeat.
It happened.
It happened.
No more fighting against the truth
No more of the denial.
It happened.
It happened.
Chant...Breathe.
Repeat.
It happened.
It happened.
Life push me forward.
World steady my feet.
It happened.
It happened.
Focus, hold it.
Breathe.
It happened.
It happened.
Open up your palm.
Memories fall into a holding jar.
It happened.
It happened.
Lock the jar inside.
Darken the lights but remember the presence.
It happened.
It happened...
3 out of 4 of "Stages of My Grief"
I’m sorry I’m not that pretty. unlike the other girls you see.
I’m sorry I’m not smart. I can’t write you letter and songs.
I’m sorry I’m not as sweet as what should I be.
I’m sorry I’m such a mess. you deserve someone better than me.
I’m sorry I am just me. and I’m not trying to be someone you want me to be.
I’m sorry for the things I’ve done and I’ve failed to do.
I’m sorry for everything. I’m sorry I exist.
He has no use for them now,
so he opened this shoppe.
The sign there says, "OPEN,"
but no soul dares stop.

Through the translucent windows
the townsfolk walk past.
On the dusty wood floors,
all their shadows are cast.

Lining stone walls
are the rusted old toys,
some all-telling relics
from a hopeful young boy.

The patrons just see
some tainted old junk,
in a shop being run
by some lonely old drunk.

No one buys what he sells,
so he silently cries;
A little boy hidden
behind those old, mist shrouded eyes.
Just a poem about my fear of growing old.  Wasted potential and alcoholism are common themes in my family. I don't want to end up like the rest.
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