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Only one question remains,
Will you destroy yourself
Before you find yourself?
The worship of substance
Will only lead to the chase.
The only modern persistance
Is living life in a consistent pace.
The plants, animals, and everything In existence
Have the same origin
Blessed are the heathens!
We came from stars
Made outa' heaven,
And now we've made earth
Into our own perfect hell.
Everyone is searching
For their own holy grail.
When, as if we are all blind,
It's right in front of our eyes,
Waiting to be utilized.
Because our meaning can only be found
Through the service of others.
We first learn this from our mothers.
Evoke the spirit through peace.
Count every atom in existence,
And you will soon find
The solution is one.
Your face,
is etched in my memory;
a beautiful portrait of colour,
to stay forever in this mind.

Your face,
keeps this man;
finding a need to love,
to carry on with passion.

Your face,
is more lovely now;
with each passing moment,
that reflects each passing day.

Your face,
surrenders to my kiss;
for my body and soul,
will belong to you, forever
Copyright © Chris Smith 2012
I feel a deep void inside my chest,
where I once felt my heart.
That heart that once bet in my chest,
now can't restart.

It's dead and the hole it left;
***** joy like a black hole.
This life has shattered its core,
No wonder it beats no more.
 Apr 2015 Tiffany Scicluna
Jane
Lost
 Apr 2015 Tiffany Scicluna
Jane
Her nights were sleepless,
Her eye bags were deeper,
Her nightmares were formidable,
Her soul was gone.*

Her blade was sharper,
Her voice was silence,
Her weight was lighter,
Her sleeves were long.


Her cries were painful,
Her tears were feelings,
Her hands were scarred,
Her heart was tormented.


*Her face was sunken,
Her eyes were dried,
Her lips were blistered,
Herself was lost.
Thanks to those who were gone;
I fear the dimensions of the vast eternity
I fear the people and their eternal vanity

I fear grey skies and mothers that gloom
I fear happiness and its inevitable doom

I fear the big blue and how things turn red
I fear the living more than I fear the dead

I fear the shapes that are made by clouds
I fear that the screams get too loud

I fear leaves and how they turn brown
I fear the prince when he first puts on his crown

I fear the fear and how the fear feeds on more fear
I fear the fear and how am I no longer ...
Fear, an aspect of death
More aspects will follow
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