"Reason was the person I was,"
Ayeglasses 

An explosion of passion resembling a time and a window,
a time when the shards of myself still existed,
not made anew, but being replaced.

The shards would shatter at touch,
preventing salvage, yet welcoming it as well,
Beginning again was a new window, a new place,
much more sightly than the shrouding smoke that once hovered.

Due time, reason and rhyme became subtle as I repaired
Reason was the person I was,
Rhyme was the shards.

"your advantage even though I'm the only person who sees through your fake persona and"
olivia grace 

So here I am.
    Within your heartstrings.
     I like to think I flow through your mind like blood flowing through your superior vena cava.

Constant;
And non-chalant.

And there you are.
                    Rolling and rolling and tumbling around the empty train station in my mind.

Like a tumble weed.
Where did you come from?
Were you ever really mine?

What is the color of my eyes?

Grey, like the clouds.
At least that's what they tell me.

But you aren't here very often and only sometimes do you come around with your talent of using words to your advantage even though I'm the only person who sees through your fake persona and too long brown lucious hair.

But this one's for you.

Just like the one I wrote when I first started but that was a different story.
That had a different meaning.
A different message.

That one said;

"I love you."

This one says;

"I still do."

"the least likely person"
Melody W 

October winds always did
make the sparrows
alter their songs;
yet, the deviation
was never great enough
that one would notice

unless, of course,
one were slightly
more in tune
with the subtle tweaks
of the universe on
seemingly ordinary days

Strangely enough,
the least likely person
was always the one
most severely affected,
suddenly trembling in the corner

Once in a seldom while,
(at the least expected time)
when the tide begins to lap hungrily
at pale deformed rocks
encrusted with sea urchins

an odd rustling in the air,
unlike that of the wind
but rather something
different altogether,
can be felt

as babies turn in their cribs
gazing solemnly at
thick starless nights
but never utter a sound

and mothers shiver
at whispers of their own
ephemeral youth reflected
in their babies’ watchful eyes

©MW
"changing who they are as a person"
Stephanie Lynn 
fly

when you love someone so deeply
that they become your life
you try to keep them firmly in your grasp
changing who they are as a person
just to make it last
i kept you --this beautiful burning firefly
in four walls made of glass
and selfishly i clipped your wings
to protect your from your past
for i didn't think your heart could be captured so fast

minutes became hours became days became weeks of thinking
contemplating the worst
avoiding what's to come
because i didn't want to feel this hurt
the pain in this moment is very real
and a portion of my heart will never heal
but i envision you flying again
and that's exactly what this pain is worth

spread your wings beautiful you
i've done all i can do
i am not angry at anyone but the situation
it seems life has left us with unfair chance
we held on tight in proclamation
not realizing 'twas within a burning room we danced

you may flutter and stumble, but you'll fly again
and soon you will be back in your world; back into the colorful wind
do not worry, i say
do not worry about me
i will find my peace and purpose
in knowing you are free

because your happiness
is the happiest i will truly ever be

T,

As we separate after 10 years of love, I can't help but to feel sadness, anger, and grief. No one is to blame, and ironically I find comfort in that. There were no tears, there was no bitter, hateful anger. Only laughter, reminiscing, and the pounding of our hearts beating the hell out of our inner ear. We talked about this day for years, feared it, and now it has come and gone. No regrets; no mistakes. No goodbyes; only see you later. I love you and you love me; but, you go left, and I go right. It's no one's fault, and even if I knew it would end the way it did, I wouldn't change a thing. I've learned so much, become a better person; a better woman, just by simply loving you. Thank you for so many years of respectable love, laughter, smiles, and wholesomeness. We have now begun a new beginnings as long time friends. It's sad to think of losing who we used to be, but I'm happy to see who we may become. I still expect to hear about milestones, family endeavors, and the continuing improvement of your health. God will carry you as He has been carrying me, and even if you do not wish to share those with me, at least I know we will be okay.

Lastly, I hope whoever may come your way next treats you as well as I, if not better, and fills every void of which I could not fill. I hope she is everything to you and then some because that is exactly what you deserve. Find yourself first however, so that you may find her too. You're a wonderful man, so spread your wings and fly.. My dear, it is time for you to shine!

Love you always,
Stephanie
(C) Maxwell 2015
"To a particular person,"
Autumn Shayse 

There are those that shine;
To a particular person,
A beacon of light in a sea of darkened faces.

Those shining ones:
Beautiful,
Vivacious,
perfect?
An idealistic attraction

But, spare a thought,
For those who do not shine:
But instead,
Merely glimmer,
flicker,
perhaps even twinkle

Why is it, they are brushed aside?
Forgotten,
Because they aren't as beautiful, vivacious,
They're not perfect.

In attempt to reach the one that shines -
We push past endless possibilities,
Countless glimmers,
Ceaseless flickers,
Abundant twinkles.

erm yeah,  being second best sucks and I wanted to try and explain that
"Awoke and spoke to her as if a person."
Cara Keyser 

Sweet-lipped Psyche's pale white skin
All the men in Greece dragged in.
And the poor girl's dark brown eyes
Led Aphrodite her to despise.
For Psyche truly was a beauty,
Reputed as brighter than Aphrodite.
If Aphrodite was a dark red rose,
Of which we've written poetry and prose,
Psyche was a pure-white Aganisia
For which they wrote a deep-sea saga.
But she knew it was sore unwise
To find herself level with a Goddess' eyes.
The only proof needed for Psyche
Was the sad fate of the maiden Arachne,
Who challenged Athena to a weaving contest,
And though her tapestry was judged the best,
It was she that ended as the melancholy loser,
For Athena punished her with the life of a spider.
And so it was that Psyche knew
Aphrodite wold claim her life too.
So Aphrodite sent her son,
The lovely, winged, holy one,
Whose golden arrows fly at night
And relieve bored lovers of their plights.
She sent Eros to shoot his arrow
And pierce it through to Psyche's marrow,
Then set before her a crocodile,
The scaly terror of the Nile,
With which she'd fall in love straightway,
And then she'd come to rue the day.
For crocodiles have no love to give,
So it would eat her, and she'd cease to live.
On the sleeping Psyche Eros descended,
Long before the night had ended,
In whose dainty breast to shove
A golden arrow poisoned with love.
He prepared to bury it to the hilt,
But a drop of love on him was spilt,
At the moment he saw her eyes, dark brown,
Look to him and stare him down.
Then Eros went back to his mother
And told her he could not wed another
Who did not shine quite so brightly
As his sweet-lipped brown-eyed Psyche.
So spiteful Aphrodite cursed
Psyche through her red lips pursed,
That the girl would find no husband
Among God, animal, or man.
And Eros this so greatly angered
He could no more with arrows linger
At the foot of lovers' beds
To foster love in their young heads.
The entire world then ceased to love
Whether it walked on foot or hoof.
Whether it swam or flew on wing
It could not love nor gain others' loving.
When love no longer circulated,
Aphrodite it aggravated
To see her temple lying bare
And to feel the gray growing in her hair.
She told Eros he'd have what he desired
If only he would kindle love's fires.
So at the mountain, Psyche's family offered her
And she was borne away on the back of Zephyr
To Eros' golden gay abode
That he and his ghostly servants called home.
In the golden rooms she wandered by daylight,
But she lay with Eros in the dark when came night.
She knew not who her darling was,
But called her ignorance a test of trust.
Never to look upon him by day,
She continued in this way,
Until she longed to visit her family,
Which her husband granted her gladly.
But he held her, and he warned her
Not to let her sisters persuade her.
"They may try to tear you away
By telling you gruesome stories." he'd say.
Then, trippingly, from Olympus she jumped down
To walk the streets of her hometown.
She told her sisters her whole story
And they turned it into something gory.
"He could be a serpent," they'd say,
"Fattening you up for the day
When he can pop you in his mouth and eat you"
Unfortunately, she took their words as true.
"So, when he comes to you at night,
Just gaze on him by candlelight!
If he's a serpent, use this knife,
And you'll no longer be his wife.
But make sure not to spill the oil,
Or his waking will cause great turmoil!
We'll find out about that young buck!
Use the candle, the knife, don't spill, and good luck!"
She walked back to the palace at their behest,
Butterflies banging within her chest.
Could the faceless man with whom she'd spent her nights
Be revealed as a serpent by candlelight?
She did not have to wait for long
To prove her treacherous sisters wrong.
As she lay in the great soft bed,
The instructions tangled inside her head,
And lighting the candle, she almost fumbled,
But when she saw his face, she truly stumbled!
Eros' beauty knocked her senseless,
Leaving mortal Psyche defenseless,
And causing her to spill the oil, which smoldered
On Eros' godly golden shoulder.
He, awaking with a start
Was disappointed to his heart
That Psyche cold be so unfaithful
And make a decision so egregiously fatal.
Then, jumping from the casing, he flew
Out of Psyche's lustful view.
And she, for her part, suddenly found
That from the palace she'd been cast down
To a field of which she had no memory,
Or very dim, if she had any.
In despair, she began to flounder,
Then resigned herself to wander
Until she came to a temple edifice,
Which was, on Earth, Aphrodite's face,
And begged the unseen Goddess hear her out,
Trying her patience with childish whining shouts.
Aphrodite, trying only to divert,
Cast a basket of grains down to the dirt,
And told the weeping lovely malcontent
That if she sorted the grains 'fore day was spent,
She just may see her sweetheart once again.
All she had to do was sort the grain.
But Psyche, though her fingers were dainty and thin,
To separate the grains could not begin,
And sobbing, lay upon the stony floor
That was as cold as the Goddess had acted before.
The ants, which had been drawn to the golden grain,
Bore her load and relieved her of her pain.
In their famously sure and straight black line,
They each picked up a piece of grain so fine
That it might with ease pass through a needle,
And into order they the sweet grain wheedled.
Then at the very setting of the sun,
Aphrodite found the task was done,
And though she praised the poor girl outwardly,
Inside she felt the bloom of hate for Psyche.
So she set her down on one side of a stream,
Where on the other was a field of green,
In which lived Helios' golden sheep
From which she was to obtain some shining fleece.
Then Aphrodite left her there to play,
And flew to Mount Olympus far away.
But Flumen, God of Rivers, raised his head
To warn sweet Psyche from his riverbed
That the sheep were so fierce, if she but pulled one hair,
They'd all turn on her and eat her then and there.
It was better if she waited 'til midday
When the sheep lay down to sleep the heat away.
Then she could cross where the river rushes,
And pick the wool that had got caught in the bushes.
So Psyche followed Flumen's good advice,
And for Aphrodite's cruelty she paid no price.
Aphrodite's blood boiled when she saw
That Psyche had survived it after all.
Again, she tried to send her to her death
And charged her to collect water from a cleft
Which mortal humans could not enter,
And in which serpents would surely spend her.
But now it was an eagle came to her aid,
Who stormed inside and flew between the snakes,
Then picked a pouch of water in its beak,
And back out of the cleft to Psyche it sneaked.
Aphrodite, at her dastardly wit's end,
Devised a horrible place for her to Psyche send.
"Psyche, caring for my ailing son
Has drained each drop of beauty, every one,
From my former glory of a face.
Therefore, I command you to that place
Where Persephone dwells. Then you must beg
For some of her beauty, just a tiny dreg.
Then you may have my son, I give my promise,
As holding him from you has marred my face."
Then Psyche, with tears streaming from her eyes,
Decided the only way there was to die.
In what she had appointed her fatal hour,
She climbed up to the top of a high tower,
But her melancholy was so disturbingly great,
All the Universe moved to it abate,
So that the very tower she climbed upon,
Awoke and spoke to her as if a person.
"Psyche, there is a way to the Underworld alive,
So that you need not from my roofing dive."
And to the Underworld the tower gave her
A route and some directions just to save her,
Then it sternly warned her that not of meat,
Nor of anything but bread in Hades could she eat.
So she followed the Tower's path back down
And disappeared into the heaving ground.
And when she found herself before Persephone's throne
She asked to take a parcel of her beauty home,
Which the emotionless Queen of the Screaming Damned
Without word placed in Psyche's quivering hand.
The hardest part of the impossible task being done,
Psyche headed back up toward the sun,
And, reasoning that she was to see her beloved before nightfall,
Decided to use some beauty from the parcel.
Inside she found not beauty, but a stifling sleep,
Which forever in its clutches would she keep
If Eros had not chancely happened by,
And wiped Persephone's sleep from Psyche's eye.
Then, carrying her on his back, he barged
Into the Hall of the Olympian Gods.
He bade them let him wed himself and Psyche
And disregard the protests of Aphrodite.
Then Jupiter, indeed, allowed it obligingly,
For he was a man who greatly enjoyed a party.
Ambrosia she was given so to seal
Her immortality and place her among the surreal.
Then after many years of love and laughter,
Psyche bore Hedone, their lovely daughter.
This is how the beauty of the Human Soul,
Triumphed over the beauty of lust and gold.
All this Eros and Psyche had to take.
All this they endured for their love's sake.
They demonstrate the purity of love,
That is admired by Gods above.
In the end, it is the pure Mariposa
Who is more deserving of ambrosia.

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