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It all began as an observation,
a mere innocent study,
to watch people in cars,
from cars.

First, the tired workers,
who glared and stared in the road in front,
who slumped in their seats,
who held the steering wheels in a glum manner,
who had dark circles under their eyes,
who had cans of beers at the back seat,
tired, weary, drained, exhausted,spent.

The cheeky children,
who yelled at their siblings,
who wrestled with siblings,
who sat listening to lectures,
who texted with their phones,
who went tippy tappy with their laptops,
who ignored the world; reading,
innocent, busy adolescents.

Of course, there are mothers,
who glance at their sleepy children every few minutes,
who smile at their babies dotingly,
who gave loud lectures to kids,
who smoked cigars,
who was on the phone,or was just driving ahead,
loving, fussy, unleisured.

There were the out-going,
who head-banged furiously to booming music,
who sang aloud to radio,
who chatted enthusiasticly with passengers,
who smiled the whole way through the journey,
who stuck their hands out to feel the wind,
who had nothing to worry about,
free, wonderful, liberated, loose.

Also, some were fretful,
who needed to visit hospitals,
who had their heart broken,
who got rejected at interviews,
who lost someone,
who is obviously in anxiety, who were simply drunk,
worrysome, tired, sad.

And then there's me,
who had nothing better to do,
than to watch and observe,
and felt many things should be changed,
eccentric, weird.
To be left a rotting corpse in the inky depths of my screaming, vacant soul
To taste the freshness of the air only to have it ripped so unnaturally from my shriveling lungs
Once sitting atop that merciful beacon of hope,
I find myself tumbling, grasping, gasping, clasping for some hold onto the beautiful signal

And who is to blame?
Who?
Certainly not you, for it was your hand who found me troubled in the merciless murky vapor
Your hand that lifted me from the bowels of hell and so dotingly destroyed my detriments

But had it not been for you I would have so happily, so cheerfully accepted my vacant vocation
Of restlessly, recklessly, ruefully running around without any remorse for my forlorn reality
For it is not the force of you freedom that loosed my heavy chains, but rather the form
That vicious vigor that stuffed my spirit with a seemingly ceaseless, incessant self-assurance

But for my essence to not identify isolation, to not recognize regret seems so conceited in comparison to yours
Which is ever growing, ever loving, ever laughing, ever knowing, ever telling, ever asking, ever showing, ever…
After all it was your being there that showed me how lonely I truly was, how pitiful of an existence I truly led
So now I state the obvious

Why?
Why go through all that endeavor, all that effort of effectively and essentially helping me escape my insanity just to throw it out the
Door is where you went, leaving me to collect the shambles and shards that was the life you made
Leaving me to collect these silly splinters just so that you could prove a point

A point well taken, a point notably noted, and a point you called no return
Return?
Return from what?
From the friendship promised, or the friendship broken, or the new twisted friends of which you’ve hardly spoken?

And so I take my leave, but I will return
I will not leave such a dear thing to burn
Burn in the essence of what we call hope
For, after all, you were the one who threw me the rope
Jennifer Nov 2020
hot tea kisses nurtured
lips
and the morning is patient
and barely speaks.
cold hands are warmed
under bedsheets
and wordless admiration
silently exhales.
mundane tasks become
a thoughtful feat
and sitting by the fire at night
i flutter into a loving sleep.
gentle time passes
dotingly
for she knows of such innocent
longing.
satisfaction beyond peace embraces
day and night,
being is effortless here
there is no need to take flight.
betterdays Jun 2014
points of dust, moted light,
coded messages,
of indecipherable love,
from the sun and this day's dieties smile.
are....
siphoned through,
the dappled, green eucalypt
to become....
shafts of godly grace,
that tickle, wrinkle
and play hide and seek,
with the contours of your
handsome face,
weekend stubbled
and lax within,
the shadows of sleep's
suburban fringe.

curled up, on your lap
your child, golden, halo haired, head,
asleep.
ear at your heart's designation,
hand anchored,
in the flannel of your shirt,
foot tucked into, your trouser pocket.

a little, love limpet,
attatched firmly, to you.

you, and the littler you lie, serene and unaware,
in the old, striped deck chair.
quiet and together in,
restful, repose.

the remains of lunch...
now just, crumbs and
sticky fodder,
for busy trails of ants
and attracting the lazy bee's of bumble, that hover and hum, above.

and book reading's are open,
unfunished, scattered on the table..... waiting for the
eventual waking...

along with the cat,
perched imperial,
and purring,
on one ant free corner
of the old and faded,
rattan chair.
he stands watch,
dotingly, over,
his dozing clowder....

this is ... the wonder of,
sunday afternoon naptime.
Ember Bryce Jan 2013
I wish I could tell you
                how much I like you
    I can tell you like me back
           by the sound in your voice,
                     your excitement, your choice,
               to be involved
            to come to me asking,
                            to be enthralled.
Yes, yes, I will,
      just tell
  Me where and when?
         I want to see you
                I want to have
       a shared acquaintance
            or companionship
Please,
     to me,
         Open Your Soul
      and in turn,
                            I,
          (who never tells)
                               her secrets
                 for they open acceptance
                                      of Control
                                            for others
                                               to use
                                              against..
But no,
   I cannot
         I know I'm weird,
                                   absurd.
             I am for real,
         because I Am Me.
  So you be you,
     and what is True,
                 will show
                     within me too.
      I shall not hide,
          please be wise,
              I do not easily
                  show this side.
            They do not listen,
                   they do not see.
so I show Nothing.
    a facade,
       a face,
            a mask, does dotingly,
                   quickly,
                        replace.
           to adapt,
                 protect,
                       change,
                            to become
                       surroundings,
                            feelings
                       emotions,
                              flowing.
   If comfortable, I bring what, is me..     out
          enjoy, escape, be
                 that's me
                                    my friends,
                             the close ones,
                                       only ones to see.
But You,
        there's something,
                 I cannot describe
                      A mystical mystery
                             like science
              to be discovered
                         or maybe uncovered
          but that's half the fun.
                            I won't say out loud,
                    you are the One.
                                            I like you a lot.
                         so you are the one I want to show
                                      you are the one I want to see
                                                 will you too, then, show me?
Written after meeting a boy
who had quite an impact on me
for an unexplainable reason.
A de Carvalho May 2012
It’s raining outside. I know it’s raining outside.
It bothers me. Not the rain. But, the knowing.
Knowing is bothersome, as much as our minds are vexing.
That’s where all resides – all that is worthless.

The sound of the rain is gentle, it relaxes the spirit.
The rain, like nature itself, cares deeply and dotingly.
It’s the calling of a sea, it’s the promise of endless Springs.
It’s magical, more than magical, it’s motherly and reliable.
God speaks through the rain – Nature is hallowed (undeniably).
Yet, to my mind, it’s annoying.
We should slaughter the mind!

I don’t know the reason in things.
I don’t want to know the reason in things.
Let them be meaningless.
Let me be meaningless.
Isn’t love the reverse of reason?  
Well, I prefer love. Even that foolish love
that blindly walks hand in hand with sorrow.
Even then, I still choose love.
If I could, I would not think at all.

It’s raining outside. I know it’s raining outside.
It bothers me. Not the rain. I bother myself.
v Dec 2019
You were charming, dazzling and enticing.
Exquisitely pretty but expiring.

Leaving me breathlessly pained by crying
O’er your dainty body, cold and spoiling.

Red rosy lips now painted colorless,
Was once tricky and luring to finesse.

Splayed down your deathbed, have you ascended?
Or your faith lacked ‘tis why you descended?

Say, are you up there or ‘neath the under?
Up the clouds or just a lofty lower?

You never asked me on what to agree,
You just did as you know I’d disagree.

How come you’re a mess but still so lovely?
How can you leave me so rushed and boldly?

How will I be mad if I love madly?
And how to move on if I love solely?

‘Tis so selfish to leave me by my own,
Not letting the desire I have, be known.

For now, let me selfishly imagine,
That you’re not just in your lovely coffin,

But is beside me, just invincibly.
Dotingly in love with my rough body.

Yet, it saddens me, my love. That leaving
me by my self without you and knowing

Now that pushing up daises for the bee
Is what you’re meant to be and not with me.
this is for my bestfriend ... I miss you
Sometimes Starr Jun 2019
I'm in a chemical bath,
A swell of activity
Where science touches itself dotingly
Beneath where it peels off skin obsessively

Drink, drink the water
You *******
Stop and smell the roses
Take a minute to whine about your life
And let the sound come back to your ears,
And tell me what you taste--
Tell me what you hear.

— The End —