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"clasping" poems
The residue of ***** lined the empty bottle. A deep inhale of smoke, an exhale of problems. Lightheaded I fumble, clasping a cold lifeless piece of metal. I cried "save me" release all my demons. I am safe for now, drowning in a sea of crimson security.
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Jul 29, 2013
Jul 29, 2013 at 2:35 PM UTC
Self Hate
What am I? Water of Love A kiss Divine? Each crystalline design A shimmering Angel! Dear heart, uncoil Open my seeking, hungry soul Reaching beyond the breath of freedom To sooth weary pains. Am I enough? Clasping each frozen crystal. Gently touching. Gently Soothing Each fallen tear. Gently touching. Gently Soothing Clasping each frozen crystal. I am enough! To Sooth weary pains. Reaching beyond the breath of freedom Open my seeking, hungry soul Dear heart uncoil A shimmering Angel Each Crystalline design A kiss Divine Water of Love   Am I.
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Dec 17, 2018
Dec 17, 2018 at 4:39 PM UTC
The Snowflake
You weren’t worth the Hundred dollars it cost to Keep you in my car.  Princess got poached by the League of Losers with Pedestrian Ideals. I’d spit venom in your direction, if  Poison meant anything to you. But Akin to most things, so sub-human, You miss the world moving around your Ever pulsating veins, and repel these Toxins with a slip of the tongue. Around you I could line Bodies of those you’d loved and left. Each clasping hands with one another, Privy to a specific type of pain, only you can Deal out. And In the center of the circle you’d Stare, stunned by your state of Affairs, and flings. Collectively concerned For the safety of your Rotting consciousness. One by one, I could set these men On fire, and hand you a place  Where your head could be danced off. Drunken and diving heart-first into The burning lake of a  Surfable crowd. Since that’s All we are, serfs. I hope the fire gets too close to your Gorgeous face. I hope the Love you receive is no more likable Than a few more licks from the flames. The scars couldn’t sideline you. No one can stop ****
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Apr 24, 2014
Apr 24, 2014 at 1:42 PM UTC
Singed ****
mementos richly held hidden in fractured chest big people shifting boxes heavy light silenced a child's fissure clasping favourite shell close swift salvage in tight world rescue from gaping hole #family #disruption #moving #treasures #mementos #lost #ignored
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Jul 22, 2018
Jul 22, 2018 at 3:46 PM UTC
blind spot
Clasping hands Lifting her chin Lost in each other’s eyes Midnight silence A long kiss Dawn breaks Us apart
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Dec 12, 2014
Dec 12, 2014 at 12:12 PM UTC
A Long Kiss
And life came in, crowned in blood, kissed and messed, announcing itself with a cry.   A girl-child, missing piece, fitted to my breast her weight absorbed with my heart's sigh She was fear personified, so heavenly blessed, she made my terrified simpers her lullaby. I felt my heart's core swell to absorb her scent, and my eyes overflowed with love's cascading cry. She cast light into my darkened chaotic hurt - sparked a desire to wake, to live, to try, clasping her whole fist around my ring finger, holding me still; the whole world passing by. And in her absence she left her shadow nestled in my chest. And in my absence I hid my kisses in her sigh. She grew with eyes of blue and a sympathetic smile - all faerie dust on the wing of a butterfly, an almost echo of a girl I once knew. Except she didn't know that kind of cry, wouldn't know anything less than rainbows, than Christmas mornings and endless blue skies. We tripped, clicked heels through the passing years, from little girl to little woman in the blink of an eye, till we were both wearing her shoes instead of mine. And like Alice, she snapped from low to high she grew - time sculpting curvy definitions of who I hope and fear she will be. She is golden curls and girlish giggles ever wondering the where or the why ever seeking to help, to heal, to try to pour her heart into an undeserving world. She has legs she claims to stand her ground to be, to free, to hold her own. And though like me, she is not me, since she is so much braver than I. Her finger is wrapped around her innocence holding strong to consent or deny. This life will make her cry her tears and this world will realise her fears but she will ever have the wings to fly and I will ever ready to sing her our lullaby.
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Jul 8, 2013
Jul 8, 2013 at 3:37 PM UTC
Beck Bees
And life came in, crowned in blood, kissed and messed, announcing itself with a cry.   A girl-child, missing piece, fitted to my breast her weight absorbed with my heart's sigh She was fear personified, so heavenly blessed, she made my terrified simpers her lullaby. I felt my heart's core swell to absorb her scent, and my eyes overflowed with love's cascading cry. She cast light into my darkened chaotic hurt - sparked a desire to wake, to live, to try, clasping her whole fist around my ring finger, holding me still; the whole world passing by. And in her absence she left her shadow nestled in my chest. And in my absence I hid my kisses in her sigh. She grew with eyes of blue and a sympathetic smile - all faerie dust on the wing of a butterfly, an almost echo of a girl I once knew. Except she didn't know that kind of cry, wouldn't know anything less than rainbows, than Christmas mornings and endless blue skies. We tripped, clicked heels through the passing years, from little girl to little woman in the blink of an eye, till we were both wearing her shoes instead of mine. And like Alice, she snapped from low to high she grew - time sculpting curvy definitions of who I hope and fear she will be. She is golden curls and girlish giggles ever wondering the where or the why ever seeking to help, to heal, to try to pour her heart into an undeserving world. She has legs she claims to stand her ground to be, to free, to hold her own. And though like me, she is not me, since she is so much braver than I. Her finger is wrapped around her innocence holding strong to consent or deny. This life will make her cry her tears and this world will realise her fears but she will ever have the wings to fly and I will ever ready to sing her our lullaby.
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40
We wandered our gazes to the semidarkness Illuminated above our sight. Looking at the allurement that were now empty caskets hanging on tombstones of lights, clinging to there eventual demise. Lying on the earth,                              we felt at peace. Knowing we were one day to be woven within its fabric, empty shells of pebbles lost in a lake of timeless moments. We would be seashells on its shores gently corroding with each wave. till we were grains of eternity variations of us everywhere. Looking upon each other, our hands clasping like a                  momentary fissure sealing a grain of moments                  between ourselves. *"Death is a moment where life is cherry a falling slowly,* For we each hang on delicate moments, growing till we do as everything does. Descending till we evaporate from reflections and thought. "Where all echoes who've already past,
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Jul 8, 2017
Jul 8, 2017 at 5:43 AM UTC
We Stared At The Corpses Of Stars
Beneath the gulmohar tree In flamboyant love A tale of our desires Coloring each other A bright vermillion Under his crimson spread Shaded in blissful haven. Reaching for his branches Clasping, holding Climbing, swinging Chasing, laughing Under a bright shower of scarlet petals Of hearts and heat, of love and life Blooms of a scorching Indian summer. In flames, his vibrant burning crown His canopy, flaunting festive tangerine blossoms Crinkled teasing petals One upright Of quaint innocence in white Splashed with feisty passion's red Celebrating and anticipating In celebration of us, our love Anticipating rain.. As his branches reach high for promising dark clouds. Serenading with the music of the monsoons Moist leaves of the gulmohar glisten With wind and water, in gentle rhythm Raindrops nestle for a moment Before sliding, slipping On damp, satiated earth Strewn bright with scattered orange petals Of the gulmohar Drenched and soaked like us.
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Sep 23, 2016
Sep 23, 2016 at 9:00 AM UTC
The Gulmohar - Of Love and Life
With a steaming mug of coffee in hand I watched: the sun fall, the wind shiver, the leaves stand and land roll, the birds swing, yellow beams dance, and people stride in woollen warmers. She plucked a flower in fool bloom, then ambled away with a bamboo basket. The clink of steel whistled through the air, rousing sleep in the grouchy ones saddled with books and a play toy in hand walking in step with a grown man. I walked there once, trying to keep pace clasping a finger as large as my fist. His snores now fall softly, circling the room while I stand by the window, wearing his shoes.
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Nov 7, 2012
Nov 7, 2012 at 11:36 PM UTC
All Grown Up
XXIV Let the world’s sharpness, like a clasping knife, Shut in upon itself and do no harm In this close hand of Love, now soft and warm, And let us hear no sound of human strife After the click of the shutting. Life to life— I lean upon thee, Dear, without alarm, And feel as safe as guarded by a charm Against the stab of worldlings, who if rife Are weak to injure. Very whitely still The lilies of our lives may reassure Their blossoms from their roots, accessible Alone to heavenly dews that drop not fewer, Growing straight, out of man’s reach, on the hill. God only, who made us rich, can make us poor.
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7.2k
Sonnet 24 - Let The World’s Sharpness, Like A Clasping Knife
An abstract gait Surrounded by coils of binary and luminescence. Suave, purple suits clasping to morphed skin. Electrical vibes, transistors atomically sized. Brain dives, the concept of thought diluted. She can only wish it was palpable. In a mirror mirage, Static fumbles, Repos the limelight. Cyberpunk gen, neo-noir, A relevant memento. Deciphering the metaphysical is Unattainable. ***** it all, Maneuver the landscape. Might as well enjoy the sights In the nick of a quivering snap.
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Jan 28, 2012
Jan 28, 2012 at 6:00 PM UTC
Bombastic Edison
how do you paint water, or clouds? I could read poetry for the brief, of my of remaining life, however brief, and never be satiated, of love, and streams of water, never stilled, always running in patterns that exist, but for milliseconds, admired by clouds born in, of, a moment of re-formation that is perpetuity long: unending shape shifting, like the freedom of flowing water currents, forming, reforming and unthinkable, nay, inconceivable that human eyes or their spoken words could capture their shiny white foamy essence But of love, that we can do, paint, design, recreate its endless loops of undulations, like the radiating circularity of a pebble dropped gently to its burial sight in a quiet pond. Humans know, understand and excel at clasping and grasping at the synapsing of human cells from differing bodies: the exogenous erogenous of human touch that like the clouds and the water, who could paint that, who capable of capturing said sensations that wrack and enliven the body with invisible interior chemical reactions. I cannot. Thankfully better men and women have treatised  their entreaties to the powers of the universe and been rewarded with the skilled delicacy of weaving human tapestries, the milliseconds of connectivity, eclectic and electrifying of different currents and differing amperage’s forming and reforming like water moving, just  like the clouds changing in response to the externalities of wind and gravity and all the forces of nature that encourage us to study and stare at these flows, hoping to entrance them into standing still for but a moment, and instead, mesmerizing us into standing motionless for hours in awe of their freedom. Love’s undulations too mesmerizing, and freezing us into place, or alternatively caucus to run endlessly arms extending, flying though not airborne, rocketing us upwards while feet never budging, but finding good wards, masterful metaphors to recreate and thus to share the fabulous mystery of this thing we know as love. 2:58AM Friday jul 22 (jewel 22) of the 23rd year of the 21st Century. O.L.P.
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Jul 21, 2023
Jul 21, 2023 at 3:05 AM UTC
How do you paint water, or clouds? Or write of love?
how do you paint water, or clouds? I could read poetry for the brief, of my of remaining life, however brief, and never be satiated, of love, and streams of water, never stilled, always running in patterns that exist, but for milliseconds, admired by clouds born in, of, a moment of re-formation that is perpetuity long: unending shape shifting, like the freedom of flowing water currents, forming, reforming and unthinkable, nay, inconceivable that human eyes or their spoken words could capture their shiny white foamy essence But of love, that we can do, paint, design, recreate its endless loops of undulations, like the radiating circularity of a pebble dropped gently to its burial sight in a quiet pond. Humans know, understand and excel at clasping and grasping at the synapsing of human cells from differing bodies: the exogenous erogenous of human touch that like the clouds and the water, who could paint that, who capable of capturing said sensations that wrack and enliven the body with invisible interior chemical reactions. I cannot. Thankfully better men and women have treatised  their entreaties to the powers of the universe and been rewarded with the skilled delicacy of weaving human tapestries, the milliseconds of connectivity, eclectic and electrifying of different currents and differing amperage’s forming and reforming like water moving, just  like the clouds changing in response to the externalities of wind and gravity and all the forces of nature that encourage us to study and stare at these flows, hoping to entrance them into standing still for but a moment, and instead, mesmerizing us into standing motionless for hours in awe of their freedom. Love’s undulations too mesmerizing, and freezing us into place, or alternatively caucus to run endlessly arms extending, flying though not airborne, rocketing us upwards while feet never budging, but finding good wards, masterful metaphors to recreate and thus to share the fabulous mystery of this thing we know as love. 2:58AM Friday jul 22 (jewel 22) of the 23rd year of the 21st Century. O.L.P.
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47
Ouroboros nartoomid breath The winds ****** incense A current washing through us, The ethereal voice Morosely sussurant whilst thine Eyes mirror the cerulean truth of The morning dews eusophobic miasma; The rainbows spectrum of colours Mephitically clasping the soul Dyeing tristfully the silk of Kundalinis utopia Moulding archaic monuments With the azure clay of Lustrations evanescent cacodaemon, Peccantly flying like a flag- Reveries dreamcatcher idyllically Reflecting conjured shadows In the welkin mist. ELEETE J MUIR.
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Jan 13, 2012
Jan 13, 2012 at 9:14 AM UTC
Nimbus Weaving
the night is a coveted kiss, and yet it hugs us so, gently clasping our eyes, probing and parting, a river laid bare and revolves playfully there...
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May 5, 2016
May 5, 2016 at 9:43 AM UTC
heat
Hey you, the enchanted nights for us Hey you, in the kettle is your witch's kissing-brew In magical moments I pretend to spend suspended moments entwined in mystical thoughts and lovingly clasping you So close to my heart I drink of your sparkling bubbly witch's kissing-brew So close to my heart I dream of enchanted all-night-love-rocking, and just plain loving you...
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Sep 29, 2014
Sep 29, 2014 at 2:08 PM UTC
Enchanted Brew
dripping rose red clung to the curves, the hips and ******* laced backs peeking to shoulder blades and pinprick skin echoing clasping heels ripple of fine fabric bouncing jazz music dazzling yellow lights bare neck and white teeth arms tucked to the side fiercely dazzling
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Mar 6, 2016
Mar 6, 2016 at 12:29 AM UTC
red dress
*Endearing is the moon tonight and through its silver glow, She whispers secrets of the things that only she could know. Of lover's trysts on summer nights of kisses ‘neath her smile, Of secret murmurs begging "friends" to stay a little while. Of sweet caresses cherished in the fog of memories, Of moonlit walks in arbors sweet 'neath swaying groves of trees, Of shadows cast by clasping hands of hearts that feel desire, and unrequited love                that feels like death                               from friendly fire. Of promises in passion made, with no chance to fulfill, Of loneliness, of happiness, of parting's bitter pill, She whispers of the romance, of the love that's hot and cold, Like love that loses passion but sustains us getting old. She passes in the evening sky and frolics with the stars, And leaves this mortal on the porch to mend life’s wounded scars. Yet, never does she realize, the secrets that she'd shared, Are common knowledge                          here on earth, where love has all ensnared.*
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Dec 4, 2017
Dec 4, 2017 at 12:17 AM UTC
Cold Full Moon
**Here I lie wide awake, thoughts pouring through my mind. How sweet the touch your body, when craving after mine.** *Playful eyes and dancing toes, wrestling to shed our clothes. You bite my neck and I taste yours, we slowly kiss, our tongues explore.* **I toss and turn, try to ignore, these visions now vibrate my core, the chance I'd take if you were near, to breathe you in as though you're here.** *Lips running down your heartfelt chest, caressing them along your breast, excitfull moans begin to flow, the further down I go below.* *With grace I trace, my love expands, this sanctioned sin, no reprimands. You feel me now, passions run deep, quietly your sounds they speak, and as they do, I follow through, through the depths of reaching you.* *As inner thighs, quiver and quake, salty sweet your taste I take, your fingers running through my hair, you pace my face, and steady, there! You groan in ecstasy, your love receives the best of me. I slowly give my all to you, with rhythm we begin to move, clasping our hands, you sway your hips, you raise them up, as we eclipse.* **It echos through these deep elations, driving in intense sensations.** *Entangled we begin to dance, form beads of tropical romance. You rain on me, and I on you, our bodies moist like sultry dew.* **Tell me now, where have I gone, this feels like some celestial bond. I'm but alone, in my own bed, yet here you are inside my head.** *Joining rapid beating hearts, pulsating through our tender parts. Increasingly your warm breath's felt, together we begin to melt...* **I must expel this lustrous notion, to sinfully vow my devotion. How can it be, to have not met, yet yarn for you, without regret.**
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Dec 7, 2016
Dec 7, 2016 at 11:20 PM UTC
Unedited desires
**Here I lie wide awake, thoughts pouring through my mind. How sweet the touch your body, when craving after mine.** *Playful eyes and dancing toes, wrestling to shed our clothes. You bite my neck and I taste yours, we slowly kiss, our tongues explore.* **I toss and turn, try to ignore, these visions now vibrate my core, the chance I'd take if you were near, to breathe you in as though you're here.** *Lips running down your heartfelt chest, caressing them along your breast, excitfull moans begin to flow, the further down I go below.* *With grace I trace, my love expands, this sanctioned sin, no reprimands. You feel me now, passions run deep, quietly your sounds they speak, and as they do, I follow through, through the depths of reaching you.* *As inner thighs, quiver and quake, salty sweet your taste I take, your fingers running through my hair, you pace my face, and steady, there! You groan in ecstasy, your love receives the best of me. I slowly give my all to you, with rhythm we begin to move, clasping our hands, you sway your hips, you raise them up, as we eclipse.* **It echos through these deep elations, driving in intense sensations.** *Entangled we begin to dance, form beads of tropical romance. You rain on me, and I on you, our bodies moist like sultry dew.* **Tell me now, where have I gone, this feels like some celestial bond. I'm but alone, in my own bed, yet here you are inside my head.** *Joining rapid beating hearts, pulsating through our tender parts. Increasingly your warm breath's felt, together we begin to melt...* **I must expel this lustrous notion, to sinfully vow my devotion. How can it be, to have not met, yet yarn for you, without regret.**
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54
_[northern hemisphere: on a beach above the 50th latitude at the end of winter]_ _(Winter-export)_, the beach frosted by fingers of polar constellations. It’s too cold to walk without huddling, but we do it nonetheless, because we only have one more night together. Your frothy hydro-rhythm spears into pith, irradiance; I breathe again, deeply. _(Thick lips; quick still-hunt.)_ I rivet fronds of dependence into the seams of your boreal palms, never planning to return the floating colony of barnacles I promised I’d throw back; you, never planning to catch the sun bored through salt spray, clasping crisp foreheads, stitching on glistered lips and froze-shut lashes. And on a day when you didn’t rise early enough, I was left out in the water until my chest was steeped deep in ice over the thought of losing you. _(Glimmering isle)_; my hair disheveled in sea-foam. Annular light. You pushed me in, and I relented. My isotherm sent chthonically. But you, in your legendary mantle, adapted my eyes to see the light hidden deep within your belt; such pinks and fuchsias I have never seen before, suddenly inverted. At absolute velocity, I cut my foot on sea-glass, bleeding blueshift, aligning to the colours of the zenith. You take me back to the starry house and we struggle with your parallax, a nadir inseminated on the celestial pole. _(Parsecs quaking.)_ You whisper, I’ll heal you. I’ll heal you, only if you let me. Only if… you let me…  Over and over and over until it’s as mundane as the crashing coast, and unrivaled, I concede to everything and wake up deep in redshift, the whole universe escaping, warmth-ribbons suffocating the abyss: without you, alone on the ecliptic at last. In the spring-sinking, you order me a silver sword, sharp in starlight; to remember you. You stand a guardian, beyond the sun, flinging tiny ice-hot rocks _(freighting gemstones)_; King of the Heavens. I submerge myself into the bathic depths, skulking in aestival despair, as you trade the night for day. Little do you know, my resurgence is also in your hands. _[i watched Orion slip from view every night this spring. No doubt he’ll return next winter... it’s sad losing a friend like that, for so long]_
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May 25, 2014
May 25, 2014 at 3:07 AM UTC
orion
_[northern hemisphere: on a beach above the 50th latitude at the end of winter]_ _(Winter-export)_, the beach frosted by fingers of polar constellations. It’s too cold to walk without huddling, but we do it nonetheless, because we only have one more night together. Your frothy hydro-rhythm spears into pith, irradiance; I breathe again, deeply. _(Thick lips; quick still-hunt.)_ I rivet fronds of dependence into the seams of your boreal palms, never planning to return the floating colony of barnacles I promised I’d throw back; you, never planning to catch the sun bored through salt spray, clasping crisp foreheads, stitching on glistered lips and froze-shut lashes. And on a day when you didn’t rise early enough, I was left out in the water until my chest was steeped deep in ice over the thought of losing you. _(Glimmering isle)_; my hair disheveled in sea-foam. Annular light. You pushed me in, and I relented. My isotherm sent chthonically. But you, in your legendary mantle, adapted my eyes to see the light hidden deep within your belt; such pinks and fuchsias I have never seen before, suddenly inverted. At absolute velocity, I cut my foot on sea-glass, bleeding blueshift, aligning to the colours of the zenith. You take me back to the starry house and we struggle with your parallax, a nadir inseminated on the celestial pole. _(Parsecs quaking.)_ You whisper, I’ll heal you. I’ll heal you, only if you let me. Only if… you let me…  Over and over and over until it’s as mundane as the crashing coast, and unrivaled, I concede to everything and wake up deep in redshift, the whole universe escaping, warmth-ribbons suffocating the abyss: without you, alone on the ecliptic at last. In the spring-sinking, you order me a silver sword, sharp in starlight; to remember you. You stand a guardian, beyond the sun, flinging tiny ice-hot rocks _(freighting gemstones)_; King of the Heavens. I submerge myself into the bathic depths, skulking in aestival despair, as you trade the night for day. Little do you know, my resurgence is also in your hands. _[i watched Orion slip from view every night this spring. No doubt he’ll return next winter... it’s sad losing a friend like that, for so long]_
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3
Splash the cold cold water spray my cold cold day FALLING into Where is the Who am Blinking into sunshine Runs the squirrel Marry the lovebirds singing jolly? Marred a fickle folly Hummmmmming to clear Chaos inside boxes Flying rainbows Touching rainbows dreamt the trees Rooted sand slipping Watch the children! CHAOS inside boxes FALLING that person over there White faces turn away Clasping air? Water mind switch temperature orange yellow, breathe jump WHY ask why pills bones switch gather hate Splash the cold.
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Dec 4, 2010
Dec 4, 2010 at 10:27 AM UTC
White noise
Awake to your heart beating       in your stomach, in your thoughts, in your skin, wildly       Awake to your fingers clasping your own chin      As what sounds like another man but isn't, he's you      screams aloud words you can't make out Awake to your chest in a cold sweat Only then, Awake and tell me about your so called           nightmares - salome albrecht
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Aug 13, 2014
Aug 13, 2014 at 2:44 PM UTC
Awake
*Fluttering blue butterfly O so sweet! Whipping your wings Vibrating, sofly floating in the wind. Bright green hummingbird Speeding pass directs you to nectar from honeysuckle nearby Ambrosia, absolutely. The butterfly never forgets, Memories last forever- Since this butterfly is immortal. Remember? Resplendent human hands Clasping white water lily Gently pouring clean light, brown soil into petals' opening A small handful of water mixed as well Then off floats waterlily, set down gently On large rectangular glossy river Having no beginning , no end. Clear sky, all light, Enchanted, mesmerized, humbled! Were butterfly's feelings To see The Divine Being Create human girl In the Higher realm^ Butterfly felt the new unique presence already born as a tiny spark And heard a voice telling the Lily 'This is how you were made' Watching it perfectly sail away. Now here flies butterfly! Into Earth 3D plane And has felt the unique spark again. 4:47am Thursday, 26th, May, 2016.*
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May 26, 2016
May 26, 2016 at 4:47 AM UTC
A Butterfly
Soft sweet meadow radiating its breath of life; sounding its serenity in echoes of the mind's eye Living in this flat land lay plush in wild, multicolored-flowery-pockets in greenery blankets "Sweet Meadow"  with fresh quickened fragrance And by our bedroom window with a summer night's soft evening breeze mellow cheeeping can be heard from way way down below seemingly luring us to... .. "OPEN WIDER THE WINDOW...               ...AND LISTEN!! Chant dear chorus as violinist in "Cricket Suits" join this cantor that swings with rhythm with wheezing sounding bugs, AH HUMMING!! and an intermission of Cha  Cheep,  Cha  Cheep that breaks the nocturnal entomological singing with ephemeral intermissions Be bewitched by brillance as tunes fly and z i n g their little whistle songs so sweet a talent unseen little bugs sweetly sing their little tale of talent in "Soft Sweet Meadow" Comforted by vibrating frequencies the air is electrical clasping our good-inner child as this meadow unfolds its truth being beneficial to us all We journey not too far for this field draws us to its delightful ***** We irresistibly suckle on its daytime scenic eye-filling foliage later eliciting dreams made of peaceful slumber Cha Cheep,  Cha Cheep and good night...
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Sep 10, 2015
Sep 10, 2015 at 10:29 AM UTC
Soft Sweet Meadow
needing refreshment in oswestry, later rather than sooner, crept up the chalk painted staircase, seems to work well, in this case. i note the dstressed nature of the furniture. this place. having regular coffee, a fruit scone will certainly do, i listen to the server, who clasping the china teapot, tells us revelations of those who live, who divorce and warm the *** i have to say that the scone was lovely. later i bought a potting bench. sbm.
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Mar 28, 2015
Mar 28, 2015 at 2:30 AM UTC
. pickles .
Sadness isn't just one emotion       it's a blanket that warms the others                                 Warm, how unusual             yet all my sadness is never cold                                                                                           never cool                   I like things that are cool    and I do not like sadness                                no, to me it is warm                                      uncomfortably so          as though lit by the fires of a hell I don't believe in a torment in false hopes          hope that is so warm                 just like sadness                                        which is like hope and despair               seasoned with twinges of guilt                              and anxiety   like the horrid blush that comes when you've done something naughty burning so hot you fear your face will melt          that is what sadness feels like to me    wretched and horrid and never enough shame        So silly, to think there's something that ought to go with it                                               as though sadness itself were not enough          perhaps they were right             you can become addicted                         to a certain kind of sadness            like a drug of sorts   a chemical cocktail you brew in your mind           to douse your feelings when you don't want them       because sadness is safe                                                  it's familiar                                                                                                 and you know how to deal with it                                         so you think                       even as it eats you alive from the inside               you think you can control it                          that you can stop whenever you want                                 and that's the lie of it                                                         because sadness isn't just sadness         it's everything else we don't need                                      don't want                              shame          remorse               regret                                      fear                              why hold on to them?                          yet I can't seem to stop            it pulls me back addicted to the drug of familiarity        funny, I think, to be addicted to shame                                    touted so long as something to shy away from          that regret is not worth the effort    and remorse a thing to let go of         yet here I am clasping them in my hands   breathing life to them when they wither terrified when they are gone        a curse that I know will return                      so why wish for it to leave?            A life can be lived in the warmth                           not a good one, albeit                     but a life                         instead of a lie                      an addiction to sadness                                  rather than happiness           at least I shall never be disappointed.
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Oct 20, 2013
Oct 20, 2013 at 11:23 PM UTC
Addiction
Sadness isn't just one emotion       it's a blanket that warms the others                                 Warm, how unusual             yet all my sadness is never cold                                                                                           never cool                   I like things that are cool    and I do not like sadness                                no, to me it is warm                                      uncomfortably so          as though lit by the fires of a hell I don't believe in a torment in false hopes          hope that is so warm                 just like sadness                                        which is like hope and despair               seasoned with twinges of guilt                              and anxiety   like the horrid blush that comes when you've done something naughty burning so hot you fear your face will melt          that is what sadness feels like to me    wretched and horrid and never enough shame        So silly, to think there's something that ought to go with it                                               as though sadness itself were not enough          perhaps they were right             you can become addicted                         to a certain kind of sadness            like a drug of sorts   a chemical cocktail you brew in your mind           to douse your feelings when you don't want them       because sadness is safe                                                  it's familiar                                                                                                 and you know how to deal with it                                         so you think                       even as it eats you alive from the inside               you think you can control it                          that you can stop whenever you want                                 and that's the lie of it                                                         because sadness isn't just sadness         it's everything else we don't need                                      don't want                              shame          remorse               regret                                      fear                              why hold on to them?                          yet I can't seem to stop            it pulls me back addicted to the drug of familiarity        funny, I think, to be addicted to shame                                    touted so long as something to shy away from          that regret is not worth the effort    and remorse a thing to let go of         yet here I am clasping them in my hands   breathing life to them when they wither terrified when they are gone        a curse that I know will return                      so why wish for it to leave?            A life can be lived in the warmth                           not a good one, albeit                     but a life                         instead of a lie                      an addiction to sadness                                  rather than happiness           at least I shall never be disappointed.
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