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"dissipates" poems
feeling discomfort dissipates as I embrace instead of pushing away
0
Jul 5, 2014
Jul 5, 2014 at 1:12 AM UTC
feeling feelings
They say that over time, it dissipates - it will drain from you, evaporate like smoke. It will descend upon you, destroy you; but will soon release you, and fade. But with time it instead grows stronger, demanding to be felt. It knocks on the doors of my soul, its urgency to be let inside unrelenting and ruthless. Like an unpredictable storm, it lands and ravages, leaving just fragments of a heart already rebuilt. What is gone is the will; the resiliency dulled, the courage spent. It's a deep-rooted **** an unrivaled opponent; It's a malevolent fire that refuses to be smothered. The Hurt: a wound that permeates, and remains.
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May 23, 2014
May 23, 2014 at 10:33 PM UTC
Hurt
Hopelessness is the worst feeling of all Hope must be the very scaffolding upon which we build ourselves Because the moment hope dissipates the moment it begins to wear and give way We collapse within forgetting any light that ever previously illuminated the circumstance When you demolish a building, you don't have to destroy every piece but merely compromise its infrastructure The same goes for destroying a person, or even a group of people. You don't have to destroy them as a whole but simply destroy their hope and watch as they collapse inwardly
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Apr 3, 2013
Apr 3, 2013 at 12:20 AM UTC
Hopelessness
‘LOVE’ – What mystique power it wields In what myriad guise it wraps! At times a sweet ache so coy to reveal Or a sudden urge, hard to unveil Sometimes a deep sensation A strong surge of emotion Permeating every atom Pervading from top to bottom It heightens the pulse And makes every nerve convulse It has left kingdoms fall asunder And many a mighty man - surrender Often, like dew drops falling from above Or the warbling notes flowing out from the grove It leaves the heart go upbeat in prosody Changing every sensation into rhapsody As beams of silver cast by the moon Or the cold touch of spray in the horrid heat of noon It soothes, embalms and thrills the heart Filling the void and leaving no dearth Love sublime, sure like a candle lit Consumes itself, and never dwindles a bit It dispels the gloom and dissipates the fright Invigorating the soul and healing every hurt As brilliance to stars, fragrance to flowers Music to flute or shade to bowers Love is to Man, freeing him from all sores Bestowing him the strength to meet all throes Love can neither be beguiled nor disguised Nor be stifled or be construed Love puts all other things into place And hems life with a lovely lace Love is all we seek and too scarce to find A magic thread by which hearts are bound Hark! It is love that makes the world spin around And cures all the ills that surround Oh! Love thou virtues I will defend
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Mar 9, 2018
Mar 9, 2018 at 8:57 AM UTC
Love
Forever neglected Forever dismayed Forever deafened By the cacophony of the trade The antiquated digger stands by A sentient guard of the worker It watches as the tree slowly dissipates Its life slowly crumbling As the voracious chipper Devours the tree whole The worker stands by The digger stands by The chipper chips away The taciturn worker remains Ruminating the existence of the world. Why was he put here? For what reason must he stay with these hallowed construction tools? Do they feel any remorse for the change that they've enacted On the world around them? Are they aware that they transgress the laws of nature? The bellicose chipper Wages war with nature As the people watch so distantly. Its sound makes the neighbors quite belligerent Yet the zealots watch attentively. The pure ignorance The pure neglect The blatant apathy Is something to be seen. Whatever could possess you To follow in the footsteps of the worker To feel his pain as the trimmer Chips away at the trees' centuries The sound of shattered glass Punctuates the air. Perhaps there has been an accident.
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Apr 15, 2015
Apr 15, 2015 at 9:33 PM UTC
The Jurisprudence of the Construction Worker
If you're unclear about love, return your heart to a place with fog With clouds created from breathing in the cold during long uphill walks that end in a view of the water Return the way daylight retreats to the grey embrace of the Pacific Northwest sky at the edge of winter, dissipates in all directions like ripples upon their misty bay Return the way sunset colored leaves hanging in limbo fall back to Earth Visions to pieces Tears to eyes as condensation builds against the glass of a coffeeshop window and distorts the view from outside and from within Return the way rain lands on a broken sidewalk in Seattle, not pouring so much as drifting through what looks like a new morning blurred with all the dark nights that came before.
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Oct 29, 2018
Oct 29, 2018 at 12:51 AM UTC
Heart Back
In a white book, writing was done with tears, And so we cannot figure out a single line; Memorized and though about since early youth, It eludes one’s wit even as one has aged and greyed. When mind seeks it out, love turns up in the heart, When heart pursues it, love is in the mind, escaping wit. Regarded at close range, love dissipates, Leave it aside and love turns sad and grieves. When loving is intense, love resists the long wait, Like a lightning bolt, it streaks across the dark. The kiss that sears is a kiss given only once, And when the river swell, only once will flooding rise. Love that is timid is a river still and currentless, No falls nor torrents, no tears nor unbearable loss! But when love has dared, the heart is swept away, Honor, wealth and wisdom, love will drown them out! When love is yet a bud, it heeds an elder’s counsel, Such is not yet love, for it still sees the light. But when it bursts aflame, what matter the universe — That’s real love, so lose yourself in it with all your heart. When you balk at the threat of ill fortune and hazard, Truly your wit is lit and your mind at dull alert; Your love is cautious yet, you have not learned to really love, For once in love, the grave itself is heaven’s gate. Love has eyes, love is never blind, having learned to love, one’s wounds turn into blossoms, Love is selfish and cannot bear to share, It’s either you get it all, or get nothing at all. “Mother has been watching me, so I cannot write..” Friend, that’s a sign you have yet to win her love. But when she dares write even at her very grave site, She has come to love you more than her very life. All you, young people. who are in quest of love, Moths who are fluttering around the lamplight, Once in the grip of love, danger you will seek out, Ready to love your wings to the very flames of love.
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Jun 18, 2013
Jun 18, 2013 at 7:40 PM UTC
Love by Jose Corazon de Jesus
In a white book, writing was done with tears, And so we cannot figure out a single line; Memorized and though about since early youth, It eludes one’s wit even as one has aged and greyed. When mind seeks it out, love turns up in the heart, When heart pursues it, love is in the mind, escaping wit. Regarded at close range, love dissipates, Leave it aside and love turns sad and grieves. When loving is intense, love resists the long wait, Like a lightning bolt, it streaks across the dark. The kiss that sears is a kiss given only once, And when the river swell, only once will flooding rise. Love that is timid is a river still and currentless, No falls nor torrents, no tears nor unbearable loss! But when love has dared, the heart is swept away, Honor, wealth and wisdom, love will drown them out! When love is yet a bud, it heeds an elder’s counsel, Such is not yet love, for it still sees the light. But when it bursts aflame, what matter the universe — That’s real love, so lose yourself in it with all your heart. When you balk at the threat of ill fortune and hazard, Truly your wit is lit and your mind at dull alert; Your love is cautious yet, you have not learned to really love, For once in love, the grave itself is heaven’s gate. Love has eyes, love is never blind, having learned to love, one’s wounds turn into blossoms, Love is selfish and cannot bear to share, It’s either you get it all, or get nothing at all. “Mother has been watching me, so I cannot write..” Friend, that’s a sign you have yet to win her love. But when she dares write even at her very grave site, She has come to love you more than her very life. All you, young people. who are in quest of love, Moths who are fluttering around the lamplight, Once in the grip of love, danger you will seek out, Ready to love your wings to the very flames of love.
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37
Tip Your hat And curtsy low The masses so mandate absolute guile A handshake, a smile, a proper and refined bow! To adorn thy head and semble wit And do your best! Take pride with etiquette If not informed Ye won't last a mile And differentiation between animals distinguishes you, Resplendent child Wash your hair and underclothes with soap Lest ye resemble sow And goodness dear Have I forgotten now? Always remember to smile! So I'll take your Winter clothes with zest I'll scramble on point No unruly mess Oh, did i forget your coat? No, I've got it, relax, care for a smoke? My apologies, please forgive my latency It must be warm in here for my blood In fact... Boiling over kettle within Prevent me from committing sin I do wish to vent Pick up this pen And release red wells from his dainty, fragile neck Or... The underbelly. It's beknownst to me entrails are thick Now whatever shall I do with this fresh clutter? I'll act for free, so cordially! With my chivalrous lines But can you, my friend, respond in kind? After all, it's only common courtesy It's over now, my fantasy It dissipates with urgency And this is my confession Yes Imbibed in me from every grueling, tedious lesson An implication of uniformity The daydreams borne from the perfunctory
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Jun 30, 2014
Jun 30, 2014 at 7:56 PM UTC
Daydream From August 11th, 1843
"A patient man bides his time," Theodore tells the man in the mirror Tomorrow, all the levees will break And all the fables will be told Of distant Decembers and forgotten fathers Livelihoods will be threatened And remorse will fall by the wayside He watches as icicles on the awning Melt away into puddles on the ground "Warmer every day," he thinks to himself He hangs up his scarf and overcoat The way a simple man, with complex demons, is wont to do And as his wants devolve into needs And as all his anchors deteriorate to rust Her smile unnerves a once-settled man To think of the quality of glove necessary To hold onto the wagon in this day and age So Theodore pulls the door to, Leaving Chopin's "Horseman" to gallop in peace And in pieces He watches her from across the courtyard "Such sweet bliss in her footsteps," he sighs And it seems to him as if the snow dissipates Just from the warmth in her steady gait Just from the radiation behind her brown eyes He slides open the dresser drawer A haven for scattered trinkets, odds, and ends A place of respite for the weary souvenir There, amidst all the corroded memories Lies a corroded pistol, unspoken and unburnished "And a lonely man drinks his wine," Theodore says, as intrepidly as he is capable For there is a time when fathers stop teaching A time when mothers stop singing And a place where the sins stop searching A last breath is deeply inhaled But never again will find its escape With a thud that echoes to Seymour Street Theodore crumples to the cold wooden floor, A simple man, finally free of complex demons
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Jan 25, 2023
Jan 25, 2023 at 1:19 PM UTC
Levees (Theodore's Tale)
"A patient man bides his time," Theodore tells the man in the mirror Tomorrow, all the levees will break And all the fables will be told Of distant Decembers and forgotten fathers Livelihoods will be threatened And remorse will fall by the wayside He watches as icicles on the awning Melt away into puddles on the ground "Warmer every day," he thinks to himself He hangs up his scarf and overcoat The way a simple man, with complex demons, is wont to do And as his wants devolve into needs And as all his anchors deteriorate to rust Her smile unnerves a once-settled man To think of the quality of glove necessary To hold onto the wagon in this day and age So Theodore pulls the door to, Leaving Chopin's "Horseman" to gallop in peace And in pieces He watches her from across the courtyard "Such sweet bliss in her footsteps," he sighs And it seems to him as if the snow dissipates Just from the warmth in her steady gait Just from the radiation behind her brown eyes He slides open the dresser drawer A haven for scattered trinkets, odds, and ends A place of respite for the weary souvenir There, amidst all the corroded memories Lies a corroded pistol, unspoken and unburnished "And a lonely man drinks his wine," Theodore says, as intrepidly as he is capable For there is a time when fathers stop teaching A time when mothers stop singing And a place where the sins stop searching A last breath is deeply inhaled But never again will find its escape With a thud that echoes to Seymour Street Theodore crumples to the cold wooden floor, A simple man, finally free of complex demons
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40
Orange juice then frosting Orange juice then frosting Time is repetition As I watch from the couch “He won’t last the weekend,” Says Hospice “They said he might not last the weekend,” Says Dauson He’s stronger than they know, I say Orange juice then frosting Orange juice then frosting False hope, of course I can see the way The cancer fights Deceiving the guards Hiding and attacking Slowly taking what’s theirs Slowly killing, Spreading down towards the Ground then rocketing up Until his psyche Dissipates into nothing Orange juice then frosting Orange juice then frosting “Go hunting, it’s opening day,” He says They listen But only because He yells at them to She goes out to smoke My grandma with my grandpa’s killer “Can you pick Dauson up?” Says Mom to Tracy Keith’s mother, Mother of my brother’s “brother” Orange juice then frosting Orange juice then Frosting I know it’s coming Yelling it’s arrival Like the steady beat of a beating drum I’m surprised That no one else Can hear it That no one else Can feel it Permeating the air The shadows reaching out With tendrils made of cold Made of smoke Made of death’s sweet kiss Orange juice then frosting Orange juice then frosting Time is fast forwarded Laying him down on the bed “Melissa’s almost here, The boys are almost here” And then time stops for a moment He’s facing me Eyes closed, mouth parted A single tear that is his own Freezes on his cheek Orange juice then frosting Orange juice then frosting You asked what changed Me the most? What made me who I am today? A grave stone A wooden cross Seeing a man die slowly Day after day
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Nov 18, 2011
Nov 18, 2011 at 8:18 PM UTC
Orange Juice then Frosting
Orange juice then frosting Orange juice then frosting Time is repetition As I watch from the couch “He won’t last the weekend,” Says Hospice “They said he might not last the weekend,” Says Dauson He’s stronger than they know, I say Orange juice then frosting Orange juice then frosting False hope, of course I can see the way The cancer fights Deceiving the guards Hiding and attacking Slowly taking what’s theirs Slowly killing, Spreading down towards the Ground then rocketing up Until his psyche Dissipates into nothing Orange juice then frosting Orange juice then frosting “Go hunting, it’s opening day,” He says They listen But only because He yells at them to She goes out to smoke My grandma with my grandpa’s killer “Can you pick Dauson up?” Says Mom to Tracy Keith’s mother, Mother of my brother’s “brother” Orange juice then frosting Orange juice then Frosting I know it’s coming Yelling it’s arrival Like the steady beat of a beating drum I’m surprised That no one else Can hear it That no one else Can feel it Permeating the air The shadows reaching out With tendrils made of cold Made of smoke Made of death’s sweet kiss Orange juice then frosting Orange juice then frosting Time is fast forwarded Laying him down on the bed “Melissa’s almost here, The boys are almost here” And then time stops for a moment He’s facing me Eyes closed, mouth parted A single tear that is his own Freezes on his cheek Orange juice then frosting Orange juice then frosting You asked what changed Me the most? What made me who I am today? A grave stone A wooden cross Seeing a man die slowly Day after day
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72
I sit alone in my cyberspace home, king of my universe on my internet throne, searching through threads for my cyberspace queen, born in a fantasy, died in a dream, reality on the horizon through a sea of doubt, my cyberspace soul dissipates when my user logs out....
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Jun 16, 2013
Jun 16, 2013 at 12:16 AM UTC
Cyberspace Soul
I lay my head upon my mother’s chest And for a moment, I’m a little girl again. I remember what it’s like for the whole world to stop For worries to melt away like candle wax My jagged edges smoothed by a warm embrace It’s a feeling I’ve rarely felt since Maiden, Mother, Crone I watch the wheel of fortune spin Daughter, Mother, Grandmother Me, Myself, I The passing of time I there observe in all its stages In our faces Growing old, To be young, The illusion dissipates when I look into the eyes of those who I love most In those luminous pools I see more than a person, I see a mirror I see my connectedness and yet There’s an immense need to defend what is mine I wish I could stay here Just for a little while longer But we are all just passing through I can only hope, this selfish desire Is justified
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Oct 1, 2018
Oct 1, 2018 at 2:02 AM UTC
Mother
can’t stop the waves wane until they dissipate caressing your bleach blonde waves crave until it dissipates everything is impermanent, imperfect until you came into emergence, unearthing roots that travelled deep towards the centre i did not think i could ever have a happily ever after but your potency feeds my possibilities your royalty fuels my bejewelled dreams there is no competition, no adversity
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Aug 12, 2023
Aug 12, 2023 at 9:14 AM UTC
bejewelled dreams
She nods and sighs amongst the conifers. Evergreen sap coats the rug of needles beneath, and the wind covers her skin with rippling gooseflesh. A little black balloon lies beside a bindle of rigs. The moon robs and blinds her of sight, shining so very brightly into her dilated pupils and hidden irises. A single rusted spoon glows and A stolen church candle smoulders. Her golden locks encircle the crown of her cranium in a halo worthy of stained- glass windows. Rubber tubing is tied off above her collapsing veins. The fallen leaves under her protruding shoulder blades stretch out for miles in a pair of clipped wings. With a final rattling cough the light leaves her eyes, and dissipates into the punctured skies as she quietly fades, and dies.
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May 12, 2015
May 12, 2015 at 9:54 PM UTC
Pines and Needles
pink sky drizzled with the radiance of the morning sun the earth holds this precious light purple smoke dissipates into the woven clouds the sky holds the secret luscious greens mixed with aqua blues soothes the serene landscape the land expresses a longing desire to be one (b.d.s.)
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Oct 28, 2013
Oct 28, 2013 at 11:36 PM UTC
morning sun
Don't you chirp at me. Eyes closed, the sun stabs her in the mouth. The taste of fear fills her face as everything come back; she vomits a good while, memories stirring and playing themselves in the tune of a forgotten sea (cause times are changing and that's just what they do). spit. trust. trust. spit. Waves crashing against a wall of recollection in a way that is meant to be kept for the punitive and the exiled. The train blares outside somewhere fuzzy focus dissipates quickly and this slowly comprising function of clarity comes to a screeching halt as it begins to pour in. In some state of bewildered entitlement
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Aug 24, 2013
Aug 24, 2013 at 2:40 AM UTC
put your pillow over my face
Lost notions of hope fade into thin air, developing with destructive growth. Warm sunlight on an early morning evaporates a single teardrop. Broken waves crash in debilitating consolation. Moaning winds blend to create agonizing discontent.   Darkness brings upon growing rage and Remorseful renegade ends with burnt offerings and insincere apologies. Misty air dissipates, dishes break. You and I replace foggy memories full of grief and regret and unsaid words with Indifferent opinions lacking courage or conviction or compassion creating comforting chaos. The slumbering void full of encompassing individuality somehow pulls us closer. Freedom and peace found. -andrea
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Jan 11, 2014
Jan 11, 2014 at 8:55 PM UTC
Surrounding Us
**I wondered if it was universal and escaped archetype on the run coming to me w/ jazz loud on FM and nicotine perfumed air Restless soon to be turned on Magnetized As the cars passed time slowed down Heavy attraction Was it the southern comfort or was it elusive The mantra slurring my mind Go Back Go back I step out of my vehicle after retrying a parking job stutter step SLAM! the feeling again Go back Go back I am waiting for my car light to turn off cigarette connects with ice gold ground I turn to go Go Back Go back I miss to stomp the smoke Mantra oh I crush the smoke with my lead foot the car light fades w/ the smoke surreal The energy dissipates Left again but was there one thing I did learn is that Confidence makes your driving better Elusive please come back again Driving for cannabis finally refuse A young girl asks for advice Music take me away
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Jan 8, 2014
Jan 8, 2014 at 10:21 PM UTC
The Car Ride
The wobbly love bits woke up when the morning is still fogged by cold purple-hued freshness She covers her face but reveals those baby eyes to follow you with mirthful wonder and she flails her wobbly fingers and wobbly arms with playful waves and her mother takes away her blankie And she is dressed in blue, and that sort of beauty all crammed inside that little brand new human being can be quite overwhelming Her few feather hairs and happiness-crinkling eyes and mouth in a laughing sort of circle and her invisible neck and super puff-loved cheeks And love-hearts fill the air and spread joy though your bones and nerves like warm sunshine that melts yesterday's despair and dissipates all the tiny agonies within her radius. -To Alice Jan 7, 2016
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Feb 15, 2016
Feb 15, 2016 at 10:25 PM UTC
To Alice
The gurgle of the coffee maker, The clink of your spoon on the frigid counter, The sizzle of bacon residue in a frying pan, and an egg cracking over it. The murmurs of the news reporters on the tv, The distant roar of a train in the background, The dive into sensory pleasure, while reality dissipates. The smell of hazelnut creamer and cinnamon, The taste of a waffle with buttery syrup, The warm sun on your face through the window, today is good; today will be different. The giggles of the waffles and coffee, The light conversation and hard laughter, The feeling of home... within them, a sudden shift in atmosphere. The sharp loss of appetite The grieving of what wasn’t lost The shared remorse for nothing you’ve done they tell you that you’re pathetic. The despair in your mug dropping into the table The swallowed tears and screams The chaos that covers every square inch of you distance between you and hope still stands. The ***** kitchen and your empty stomach The distressing moonlight that creeps in the window The anger in thinking you’re liberated this time sounds of an empty home stir. The cold seats that have accompanied nobody The wallowing roar of silence The jacket of despair that wears you your average day.
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Feb 3, 2021
Feb 3, 2021 at 4:37 PM UTC
Your average day
. Cohesion has been fragmented, merely an old dissolved memory. A shroud darker than pitch black heralds the omni-directional strangler, seeking to crush the fragile neck and slowly asphyxiate the minds reality. The turbulence of mute non-existence, trapped in an endless glass sphere, a cold snow-globe paper weight, screaming for the end of the world. Terror dissipates all common sense, the inner head explodes and implodes. A wracked skeleton of fevered flesh, the violated remains, beautiful and torn, left, when the butterflies of darkness ****** the fire. © Pagan Paul (2017/19)
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Jan 26, 2019
Jan 26, 2019 at 7:15 PM UTC
No Way Out
It's London, all the time, when at night I close my eyes, it's when and where I get to roam and dwell, in the city I know inside-out so well, where all the narrow streets and cobbled stones, teacups, pint glasses, and fresh scones, lend themselves into the misty English air, of London's ancient, yet so modern flair, of Piccadilly, and Hyde Park Corner's box, riding Black Cabs, or a big Red Double-Bus, evening gas-lamp walks with ol' Saucy Jack, fish and chips and shandys for a perfect snack; then the changing of The Guard at Buckingham, where native Cockney's and young mums with prams, gather for a view of Lizzy's Royal Family Show; but, my, how rich the April sun sets and does glow, over the rolling raging river Thames of yore, where ancient Roman armies marched to shore, proclaimed: LONDINIUM! -the regal rest, of civilised peoples and the Royal Crests, where lives and deaths would go and come, yet The City despite all odds has lost and won, in the hearts, souls and minds of all who take, great London as their true hearth and home to stake, and arise and fall the poet's versing nights and days, whilst Big Ben chimes his toll in the foggy haze; and alas, London from my slumber dissipates, to that of which I yearn and love, asleep or wake, knowing where my home of soul-keep lies divine: in London, my dear London; it's London, all the time. ______ London: http://beautyineverything.com/3366195864
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Oct 27, 2010
Oct 27, 2010 at 7:31 PM UTC
It's London, all the time
Love bug, lady crush, peeking through a midnight sky, Deep Purple, Smoke on the Water, before a glimmer in her eye, 90's girl, child stars of, The Disney Club, Timberlake, Spears, Aguilera, Backstreet Boys, Spice Girls dominating, every air wave, Victoria Beckham, her Parsons inspiration fashion designer she'll fight her way, to the top, so much power in her name, yet even stripped bare, she'd be a star, her talent to sketch, draw and drape, falls on knees bent, if only we pray, to even have an ounce from her display, I know few like her, love unconditional, we're the writers seeking solace, an unforgiving pain, life taking so much drain, in the light of day this pain brings forth, an edge to your art, a masochistic feel, creating itself a soul untamed. You write to remember, you sketch your dreams hopelessness turns to desire, the dark cloud of youth, dissipates in the air, knowing there is a way through, treachery and despair. My dear, you may some days, feel in that gutter trying to, catch a star, but today you shine, as bright as a diamond in this very same sky, we see across continents, each night that we pray. Release the grip, lessen the pull, fly and fly, sore heights so high, you ain't ever coming down. © Sia Jane
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Mar 10, 2014
Mar 10, 2014 at 10:18 AM UTC
She x Love Bug
Humanity. Humans talk, communicate. Been doing so since the first grunts. For millennia human sounds have filled the airways. Dissipating in the wind. Humanity expanded, communication expanded. Spoken words, written words, flying furiously around the globe. Communications, thoughts, information, most lost to time. Some stuck in the minds of man and moved forward. Engrams tweaked, thinking altered. More people more words. Endless conversations endless thoughts. Ideas, thoughts flying around the globe at light speed. Computers, Internet, social media. Communication increasing   exponentially. Most dissipates some sticks gets passed forward. Such is the way civilization is constructed.
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Dec 4, 2018
Dec 4, 2018 at 8:25 AM UTC
Communication