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 Jul 2020 Fheyra
Ylzm
Orphan
 Jul 2020 Fheyra
Ylzm
Lust's outcome, unwanted, abandoned at birth.
Mothered by strangers, some naturally motherly,
some perversely wicked; fathers, a terrifying notion.
Fearing constantly: of the next face, the next stranger,
the next meal, the next bath, of dark and dawn.
Thrown about, moved around, from hand to hand;
Recovering from bruises to bruises, from slaps to whips.

But for being chosen from before the beginning,
and a name etched permanently in the Book of Life,
was found, saved, raised and guarded by Love.
The trauma of becoming left no resentful damage
but nurtured an instinctive sensitive soul, most acutely aware
of the deceitfulness, perversity and utter wickedness of man
and a constant wonderment of the miracle of Love.
 Jul 2020 Fheyra
Ylzm
Ode to Orchids
 Jul 2020 Fheyra
Ylzm
orchids,
alien and other worldly.

beauty,
bordering the grotesque and bizarre,
strangely exhilarating.

variations,
wild and uninhibited,
even orgiastic,
of a mind, as if,
not of this world;
shapes and sizes,
folds and spirals
colours and colourations.

at times,
more animal or insect,
than flower.

if a rose is Mozart,
an orchid, Stravinsky.
 Jul 2020 Fheyra
Joe Marcello
The most precious commodity in the world is time
As you grow older this gets easier to admit
So young people please don't go to your grave
Realizing you've spent colossal amounts wasting it
 Jul 2020 Fheyra
kromwellfarkus
Just before
We were saying good morning
Sharing meals
Laughing at jokes we made

Just before
We had our own language
Her stories took ages to tell
I still listened

Just before
She held me goodbye
Longer than usual
Marshmallows by fires

Just before
She wrapped her legs
Around mine and smiled
Just passing time

Waiting for Mum
To pick her up.
for my daughter.
 Jul 2020 Fheyra
Izlecan
Overlap
 Jul 2020 Fheyra
Izlecan
Ecstasy mire in its own sorrow,
As if a ghost makes love to its shade.
The wooden door merely holds the knock;
Instead it punches out within the walls,
Dispersed as if a blow of clay.
There the sound hauls up a craft:
Foul of the wooden scent.
Just as it intertwines with cloisters,
The curves are lined into a  silhouette.
The mountainous fogs are sharpened,
The apex is buttoned and round.
The matter it is that shapes the core:
The mere marriage of soul and dust.
How a flesh can tease its craft,
As it gnaws on a clavicle(?)
The ghost sips on a river,
As if making love to its shade.
 Jul 2020 Fheyra
Alex
Under the cherry blossom tree
He sits, looking to the sunset.
A life of moon, snow, and dewdrops
Content, his life does melt. So it is...
Death poem
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