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Baby tears in the mother's lap
It cannot be beard in any way
Mother's lap brings peace
In the hearts of all the children.

The child waddle in the mother's lap
Forget to cry all the way.

Come to the mother's lap
We all take shelter.
Seeing it unimaginable
keeping everything
out on the way.

Time of the day
unevenly mixed
what I would say.

One could say that
whatever to say
seen more obstacles
on the way.

Who knows what will happen.

The passer-by seeing the front
forwards the legs right.
You can try to get to see
and, even get it right on the river’s coast.
In the life of tears and laughter
What is left to see?
It may seem like this life
Entire entity is empty.

In the bend of river life
The memories are hidden
Never let to catch, never let to see
There is no limit to its perimeter.

So on the pages of life
Let's all write them down
All the makers of all events
And, become a mute witness.
Let it go
Maybe then
everyone else will too
The pain
The injustice
The wrong
The right
The high ground
The low ground
Let it go
Look.somewhere else
To find your grow
Look somewhere else
find your glow
The weather shines.
The second day is the first
I opened my eyes out of time.
Get out of sleep.

 
There is always a vibration in
silence. The plants know
this well.
The old is new; the secret known.
Its is spagyric, transmogrified-

 
The collective individual worlds within
ourselves; I am one of you-
a nexus, a spirit, a universe now
together within our own models.

 
This is the depth.

 
Access immediately what
we did not know; we know
the time is calescent. Time
and time has come.

 
This is a small and urgent call.
It is eternal.
The music units are the segments
of my ears.
The time for waking up has come.

 
-Jesse Haydn
if I knew I was
going to die
tomorrow
would I spend today
writing more
or
saying goodbye to my loved ones?

hardest choice of my life

maybe I'll write my goodbye
in the form of another poem
to make the best of both worlds
 Dec 2020 CEReyes ABCsOfLife
izzn
withering smile
fractured skin
dimming moobeam
hinting
tragedies

i grab a pen
and a napkin
cut my words deep
until i bleed
poetries
basked in poetries
soak up in blood
this'd be the death of me
and it hurt me,
hurt me so good.
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