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Be gentle with us.
please.
or not
it's your call
but keep in mind that we as poets
we feel too strong
which is not to say that that is wrong
we don't ease into love, we quickly fall
we love like we're dying
we live like we're small
but in our minds.
in our minds we are flying

we feel everything at once
you wouldn't think it by looking
looking at our normal fronts
a disguise, a charade
but prey don't believe a masquerade
a poet can be but anyone
existing silently
a poet can be but everyone
existing violently
we all make up stories
we're all acting to a degree
so things aren't so different
no not so different you and me

we notice the quirks
we notice the nothings
if you meet a poet then you should believe
you should know that we
we love what we see
and appreciate all forms of beauty
for to us imperfect is lovely
perfect doesn't exist
we have those markings on our wrist
of all the awful places we've been to we kissed
we've kissed the devil when we went
to hell and back again

so now that you have been informed
that a poets heart is easily scorned
knowing we feel deeply
knowing we feel more
more than we really should I've warned
we don't just love a person when we fall
we love their whole world
we love it all
and when we're hurt it is hard to trust
and thus
please.
Be gentle with us.
 Jun 2020 WendyStarry Eyes
V
🖤
 Jun 2020 WendyStarry Eyes
V
Heal.
So you can hear what's being said without the filter of your wound.
🖤
Midnight, bright moon,
breeze slightly soothing
the heat of day.
Scent of fresh blossoms
perfume strong in the
garden air.

Crickets in fine tune,
as are the frogs,
performing their endless
concert of night music.

Reluctant to let it go,
the day is ended now,
nearly indistinguishable
from the days before,
or the one tomorrow.
Retired with too much
time on my hands, days
bleed one into another.

What did I accomplish
today? Not much by some
peoples measure, not even
my own. . . But for one,

Spent time with my youngest
grandson, we talked in earnest
of things that mattered to
him, concerns and fears,
12 year old little boy things.
I listened, cajoled, advised,
shared some mistakes and
stories of my own youth. We
laughed, oh how we laughed.

He hugged me upon leaving
with tears of happiness and
relief in his eyes, told
me he loved me, twice.

Just a small encounter,
yet I believe he will
remember, perhaps
even be a little inspired.

For me brief sweet moments
invested, filled with precious
renderings of this wonderfully
special wholly worthwhile day,
not at all wasted, or the same.

As sleep pervades my thoughts
I will recall and cherish his laughter.
Perhaps tomorrow we will do it again.
Passing it on, to those
we love that is what life
is all about.
Life doesn't speak
it knows not how
lest it were to displease
with no favours to endow

it's not our duty
not then, not now
to coax or chide
to none would it bow
* after Emily Dickinson
We rode in on white shire horses, maybe a few days late
Buried in surf where we lay, twas a poet’s fate

On a leisurely journey we caught a big squall
Now I’m singing my words in the great poet’s hall

Your pilgrimage is touching, your journey not at an end
I see my sonnets and stanzas have become your best friend

Read to me lovingly on the surf now covered with sand
We’ll walk barefooted, together, cradled, hand in hand

My words on your lips, will at last set me free
Please read them aloud, as I ebb back out to sea

Alla prossima, I’ll be waiting! if I’m just out of reach?
Speak my words as your walking on Via Reggio beach
Shelley
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