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SG Holter Feb 2016
For Helene.


Ashes on the water, now.
Love's bones like dust downstream.  
At least it got to see itself in our eyes,
Feel itself between hand holding hand

And whispered caresses.
From pillow talk to fists raised at
Concerts, glasses of Portuguese wine
On her balcony to the sound of magpies

We named our neighbours.
We were beautiful.
Began beautifully.
Ended gracefully.

I open hands that held hers and see
Nothing but skin worn by labour,
And air.
Ashes on the water, now.

Embers without a chance against rivers  
Cold with melted mountain snow and
Unyielding differences.
Some loves drown with lungs too full

To cry; others float like a funeral-pyre-
Longboat into the night, ablaze.
King and queen, hand upon hand.
Crowns tied from fresh flowers,

We were beautiful.
Began beautifully.
Slid apart the way a glacier parts from
The hills; slowly, but with the force

Of its thousands of tons.
Ashes on the water,
Where the ghost of our union rests
Underneath the surface of our memories.

I will remember you.
Until the stars burn out, raining the
Dust of themselves like snow upon
These waters that always are moving.
THE PROLOGUE.

Our Hoste saw well that the brighte sun
Th' arc of his artificial day had run
The fourthe part, and half an houre more;
And, though he were not deep expert in lore,
He wist it was the eight-and-twenty day
Of April, that is messenger to May;
And saw well that the shadow of every tree
Was in its length of the same quantity
That was the body ***** that caused it;
And therefore by the shadow he took his wit,                 *knowledge
That Phoebus, which that shone so clear and bright,
Degrees was five-and-forty clomb on height;
And for that day, as in that latitude,
It was ten of the clock, he gan conclude;
And suddenly he plight
his horse about.                     pulled

"Lordings," quoth he, "I warn you all this rout
,               company
The fourthe partie of this day is gone.
Now for the love of God and of Saint John
Lose no time, as farforth as ye may.
Lordings, the time wasteth night and day,
And steals from us, what privily sleeping,
And what through negligence in our waking,
As doth the stream, that turneth never again,
Descending from the mountain to the plain.
Well might Senec, and many a philosopher,
Bewaile time more than gold in coffer.
For loss of chattels may recover'd be,
But loss of time shendeth
us, quoth he.                       destroys

It will not come again, withoute dread,

No more than will Malkin's maidenhead,
When she hath lost it in her wantonness.
Let us not moulde thus in idleness.
"Sir Man of Law," quoth he, "so have ye bliss,
Tell us a tale anon, as forword* is.                        the bargain
Ye be submitted through your free assent
To stand in this case at my judgement.
Acquit you now, and *holde your behest
;             keep your promise
Then have ye done your devoir* at the least."                      duty
"Hoste," quoth he, "de par dieux jeo asente;
To breake forword is not mine intent.
Behest is debt, and I would hold it fain,
All my behest; I can no better sayn.
For such law as a man gives another wight,
He should himselfe usen it by right.
Thus will our text: but natheless certain
I can right now no thrifty
tale sayn,                           worthy
But Chaucer (though he *can but lewedly
         knows but imperfectly
On metres and on rhyming craftily)
Hath said them, in such English as he can,
Of olde time, as knoweth many a man.
And if he have not said them, leve* brother,                       dear
In one book, he hath said them in another
For he hath told of lovers up and down,
More than Ovide made of mentioun
In his Epistolae, that be full old.
Why should I telle them, since they he told?
In youth he made of Ceyx and Alcyon,
And since then he hath spoke of every one
These noble wives, and these lovers eke.
Whoso that will his large volume seek
Called the Saintes' Legend of Cupid:
There may he see the large woundes wide
Of Lucrece, and of Babylon Thisbe;
The sword of Dido for the false Enee;
The tree of Phillis for her Demophon;
The plaint of Diane, and of Hermion,
Of Ariadne, and Hypsipile;
The barren isle standing in the sea;
The drown'd Leander for his fair Hero;
The teares of Helene, and eke the woe
Of Briseis, and Laodamia;
The cruelty of thee, Queen Medea,
Thy little children hanging by the halse
,                         neck
For thy Jason, that was of love so false.
Hypermnestra, Penelop', Alcest',
Your wifehood he commendeth with the best.
But certainly no worde writeth he
Of *thilke wick'
example of Canace,                       that wicked
That loved her own brother sinfully;
(Of all such cursed stories I say, Fy),
Or else of Tyrius Apollonius,
How that the cursed king Antiochus
Bereft his daughter of her maidenhead;
That is so horrible a tale to read,
When he her threw upon the pavement.
And therefore he, of full avisement,         deliberately, advisedly
Would never write in none of his sermons
Of such unkind* abominations;                                 unnatural
Nor I will none rehearse, if that I may.
But of my tale how shall I do this day?
Me were loth to be liken'd doubteless
To Muses, that men call Pierides
(Metamorphoseos  wot what I mean),
But natheless I recke not a bean,
Though I come after him with hawebake
;                        lout
I speak in prose, and let him rhymes make."
And with that word, he with a sober cheer
Began his tale, and said as ye shall hear.

Notes to the Prologue to The Man of Law's Tale

1. Plight: pulled; the word is an obsolete past tense from
"pluck."

2. No more than will Malkin's maidenhead: a proverbial saying;
which, however, had obtained fresh point from the Reeve's
Tale, to which the host doubtless refers.

3. De par dieux jeo asente: "by God, I agree".  It is
characteristic that the somewhat pompous Sergeant of Law
should couch his assent in the semi-barbarous French, then
familiar in law procedure.

4. Ceyx and Alcyon: Chaucer treats of these in the introduction
to the poem called "The Book of the Duchess."  It relates to the
death of Blanche, wife of John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster, the
poet's patron, and afterwards his connexion by marriage.

5. The Saintes Legend of Cupid: Now called "The Legend of
Good Women". The names of eight ladies mentioned here are
not in the "Legend" as it has come down to us; while those of
two ladies in the "legend" -- Cleopatra and Philomela -- are her
omitted.

6. Not the Muses, who had their surname from the place near
Mount Olympus where the Thracians first worshipped them; but
the nine daughters of Pierus, king of Macedonia, whom he
called the nine Muses, and who, being conquered in a contest
with the genuine sisterhood, were changed into birds.

7. Metamorphoseos:  Ovid's.

8. Hawebake: hawbuck, country lout; the common proverbial
phrase, "to put a rogue above a gentleman," may throw light on
the reading here, which is difficult.

THE TALE.

O scatheful harm, condition of poverty,
With thirst, with cold, with hunger so confounded;
To aske help thee shameth in thine hearte;
If thou none ask, so sore art thou y-wounded,
That very need unwrappeth all thy wound hid.
Maugre thine head thou must for indigence
Or steal, or beg, or borrow thy dispence
.                      expense

Thou blamest Christ, and sayst full bitterly,
He misdeparteth
riches temporal;                          allots amiss
Thy neighebour thou witest
sinfully,                           blamest
And sayst, thou hast too little, and he hath all:
"Parfay (sayst thou) sometime he reckon shall,
When that his tail shall *brennen in the glede
,      burn in the fire
For he not help'd the needful in their need."

Hearken what is the sentence of the wise:
Better to die than to have indigence.
Thy selve neighebour will thee despise,                    that same
If thou be poor, farewell thy reverence.
Yet of the wise man take this sentence,
Alle the days of poore men be wick',                      wicked, evil
Beware therefore ere thou come to that *****.                    point

If thou be poor, thy brother hateth thee,
And all thy friendes flee from thee, alas!
O riche merchants, full of wealth be ye,
O noble, prudent folk, as in this case,
Your bagges be not fill'd with ambes ace,                   two aces
But with six-cinque, that runneth for your chance;       six-five
At Christenmass well merry may ye dance.

Ye seeke land and sea for your winnings,
As wise folk ye knowen all th' estate
Of regnes;  ye be fathers of tidings,                         *kingdoms
And tales, both of peace and of debate
:                contention, war
I were right now of tales desolate
,                     barren, empty.
But that a merchant, gone in many a year,
Me taught a tale, which ye shall after hear.

In Syria whilom dwelt a company
Of chapmen rich, and thereto sad
and true,            grave, steadfast
Clothes of gold, and satins rich of hue.
That widewhere
sent their spicery,                    to distant parts
Their chaffare
was so thriftly* and so new,      wares advantageous
That every wight had dainty* to chaffare
              pleasure deal
With them, and eke to selle them their ware.

Now fell it, that the masters of that sort
Have *shapen them
to Rome for to wend,           determined, prepared
Were it for chapmanhood* or for disport,                        trading
None other message would they thither send,
But come themselves to Rome, this is the end:
And in such place as thought them a vantage
For their intent, they took their herbergage.
                  lodging

Sojourned have these merchants in that town
A certain time as fell to their pleasance:
And so befell, that th' excellent renown
Of th' emperore's daughter, Dame Constance,
Reported was, with every circumstance,
Unto these Syrian merchants in such wise,
From day to day, as I shall you devise
                          relate

This was the common voice of every man
"Our emperor of Rome, God him see
,                 look on with favour
A daughter hath, that since the the world began,
To reckon as well her goodness and beauty,
Was never such another as is she:
I pray to God in honour her sustene
,                           sustain
And would she were of all Europe the queen.

"In her is highe beauty without pride,
And youth withoute greenhood
or folly:        childishness, immaturity
To all her workes virtue is her guide;
Humbless hath slain in her all tyranny:
She is the mirror of all courtesy,
Her heart a very chamber of holiness,
Her hand minister of freedom for almess
."                   almsgiving

And all this voice was sooth, as God is true;
But now to purpose
let us turn again.                     our tale
These merchants have done freight their shippes new,
And when they have this blissful maiden seen,
Home to Syria then they went full fain,
And did their needes
, as they have done yore,     *business *formerly
And liv'd in weal; I can you say no more.                   *prosperity

Now fell it, that these merchants stood in grace
                favour
Of him that was the Soudan
of Syrie:                            Sultan
For when they came from any strange place
He would of his benigne courtesy
Make them good cheer, and busily espy
                          inquire
Tidings of sundry regnes
, for to lear
                 realms learn
The wonders that they mighte see or hear.

Amonges other thinges, specially
These merchants have him told of Dame Constance
So great nobless, in earnest so royally,
That this Soudan hath caught so great pleasance
               pleasure
To have her figure in his remembrance,
That all his lust
, and all his busy cure
,            pleasure *care
Was for to love her while his life may dure.

Paraventure in thilke* large book,                                 that
Which that men call the heaven, y-written was
With starres, when that he his birthe took,
That he for love should have his death, alas!
For in the starres, clearer than is glass,
Is written, God wot, whoso could it read,
The death of every man withoute dread.
                           doubt

In starres many a winter therebeforn
Was writ the death of Hector, Achilles,
Of Pompey, Julius, ere they were born;
The strife of Thebes; and of Hercules,
Of Samson, Turnus, and of Socrates
The death; but mennes wittes be so dull,
That no wight can well read it at the full.

This Soudan for his privy council sent,
And, *shortly of this matter for to pace
,          to pass briefly by
He hath to them declared his intent,
And told them certain, but* he might have grace             &
SG Holter Dec 2015
A traditional western Norwegian lullaby, sung by my girlfriend's mother to her in her earliest years. Directly translated from Norwegian.*


It was a lovely, lovely day, and now
That day is over.
All the children that are good
Are sound asleep and dreaming.

The heavens that were happy blue,
With a thousand smiles within'em
Will only start to laugh again
Sometime tomorrow morning.
SG Holter Jul 2015
Up here it is more temporary; the
Sun has already turned.
In six months, the only light will be
That of the snow piercing through the
Darkness of a
23 hour night.

Words such as swimming and
Barbecue have the same taste as the
Cardboard of the box you are provided
With when being told to
Clear out your desk immediately.
And the winds pick up from

Closer to north with promises of
Ice cold rain in them.
Then just ice.
I fear not bullet nor blade, but look
Down and shiver at the thought of having
A brief, bad summer

Such as this.
I spent a week on Helene's parents'
Boat in the fjords, fishing and eating
Cod still wet with salt water, but yet;
The skies were grey; the breezes
Ungentle; unsoothing.

But I read. I wrote. Saw viking sites
Where the ground still
Smells of sacrificial blood and
Mead, and there
I shrugged the disappointment off as I
Closed my eyes and imagined paddle

Sounds and Norse grunts from a
Thousand years ago; rugged
Travellers returning after months at sea
Under a fierce foreign sun, finally home.
Thinking nothing at all
Of the weather.
Nat Lipstadt Jul 2019
all my poems are unique general principles

~for Helene Mendelsohn~

“A general principle never comes to life in my mind except by exhibiting itself in various special forms and in
crowds of instances for each form":  
R.G. Collingwood

each a construct - an arch-i-texture,
each a crowd of a single instance
special forum, a dialogue differentiation,
a conjugate particle,
forming up, in marching order,
a singular troop, a base case singular,
a soldier especially demanding,
“Of Me, Write, Write”

for within my insight,
a one-off sighting,
one glinting wave reflecting,
its one millisecond exactitude of existence,
reforming unseemly, a new but not!

a seemingly similar shifted shape,
but no wave is a precision repetition,
perhaps a passing familiarity
of its precedents, antecedents,
at best

an instance borrowed and paid back
to the generosity of time
for a fully developed statement of a
general principle,
even a primary secondary textual emendation,
requires a unique naming definition

being born and dead dying while you are blinking,
does not understate absolute value,
a principle exists to give absolution,
so the moments resets,
perpetually,
but its own resolution is n’err forgotten

do you see the crowd of inferences
herein contained?

the principal unique,
poem plucked from passing sun ray,
a tickling hair of a brazen breeze,
one wave, one wave reconstituting a
millennium of preceding lives,
deriving its abbreviated genealogy
of droplets of prior principles
forever reinterpreted

so I gave you back
words you knew
but in a new combination
establishing this poem,
its constituents,
as a unique general principle

there is a prior poem, new, unique
in everything
7/21/19 10:00 am S.I.
Fall Nov 2018
Lucious storm , outburst the gut , grinding my peaceful turmoil

Bringer of chaos , unrestrained sensuality you say , heaven's promise you are

Disgusting yet admired , craving like the beast I am , for the fleeting moments you have

Inmeasurable pleasures bought by simple touches , Helene , Narcisse , Venus , witches

Enough and tired did I say , more and more do I beg , bodies mixes skins and blood ...

Spits and fluids bathing the parts of it's wepons , nectar and sweat pouring as vin

Plain ******* , pores ignites the arousing cold , yet taming the hell's fires

*******, honey , first sweet you taste, wishing the encore again and again

Waist , slick as milk drowning my desire , tempting snake smithing my burning flame

****** aching , flowing , first sight , mesmerising my hands , commanding this filthy tongue

Glutes , savoring my hips , setting the pace , correcting my core , by it's simple precense

Legs , where I lie , pleading for the feel , for my want , unconceled lust , unavoidable gluttony , just for it ...


Demonne , illusion , godness , so many words for it , none enough to paint it
Maddy Sep 28
Remnants of Helene are in the Northeast with gray skies and rain
September is saying farewell
Poet’s walk must continue
Until she came upon an imperfectly placed artwork by her feet
Mother Nature’s wonder
Amber
Canary
Honey
Sunshine
Biscotti
Sepia
Fawn
Ruby
Burgundy
Cherry
Currant
Rose
M­ixed in with good measure
Splendidly arranged in Mother Nature’s Mosaic
Drab Sep 26
She is coming to clean house.
The suffering will begin soon.
she doesn’t really let us know what she will do.
But some, will not be happy….
Prayers for everyone involved...
Tim Emminger Sep 28
Why do bad things happen to good people
Why are some tested by the storms of life
Weathering the trials that are not desired
Hearing that things happen for a reason
Is of no resolve

Like a Phoenix rising from the ashes
You are strong
Determined to be better than ever
Rising above the doubt and confusion
You will get back to wear you belong
Love and prayers for the victims of Helene
A reflection on his rippled crest
The Moon lays lightly
down upon his chest
she answers him
Paris, on the Jersey shore
distance like Helene lore
Will your ship sail to her then?
Harrowing Hectors have
sent their horses before
and she'll have no more.

he is an ocean
still
silent blue
passion, like undercurrents
striking him through
she would sail over him, in her craft
fragile like a paper boat
a waxen heart temple
afloat
to catch currents in her shafts

her siren call is piercing shrill
the ocean then bends to her will
and then, in waves
as oceans do
it saturates and wets her through
and if cleansed, then stripped
bare and bathed in moonlight kiss...
if she hides it is because
she wanes in waxing love
and to give her silver light
she must appear at night

spin
coptering fall
a nocturnal dance
in poem's thrall
Look up! she sees him now
he wants to catch the moon, somehow
she hides in the sun
when night is done
but she kisses his face at night
kisses it with Lunar light

the curve of her crescent
heavy
present.
in his hands he can sense
the moon has no defense.
WhoIsCristinaJXO Mar 2020
It seems like pain and regret are your best friends because our nights together seem only to lead to them.

We’ve been lying to each other about our nights spent apart, hiding the evidence behind plastic smiles to spare each other another broken heart.

I know what you did when you left my company for a girl you’ve claimed to have missed. I will not get jealous and call this thing between us quits, but tell me, does she touch you here like this?

I see that she is beautiful, perhaps the most beautiful by far. I see that she makes you feel good about who you are. So tonight, I will ******* until you are too tired to leave because although she’s what you want, I am what you need.

I guess she found out about our secret rendezvous and now she doesn’t want you anymore. Here you are crying and pleading to spend the night on my floor. Begging me to shelter you from the emptiness that presents itself in these cold, lonely streets have to offer.

So, I step aside and lead you to your favorite place, entangled in my satin sheets. But I must warn you, these nights, past, present and for however long we have left mean nothing to me. I’ve been doing this for so long, I promise you I’ve seen it all.

First, you’ll hate her, then you’ll want me; then you’ll miss her and you’ll hate me. I know you so well. I know your routine.
This is all just a game to me. We mean nothing to each other. This is nothing new.

I told you, a long time ago, not to get involved with a girl like me because you are solely a means to escape my present reality.
So, don’t promise me that you won’t regret me like doing a line of ivory, like the tattoos on your skin or like taking the wrong pill. Don’t promise me that when you go back to her that you’ll remember me.

So, I’ll own your soul for tonight only so that each time you **** her, it’s my face you’ll see.

Written by: Helene J.C. Armbrister
This poem was inspired by The Weeknd's debut project: Trilogy. It explores a darker side of my writing.
WhoIsCristinaJXO Apr 2020
Alone in a room with nothing but the company of my inner thoughts driving me to the brink of insanity, I lie on my bed, phone in hand, searching for the words to tell you how I feel.

Unsure of my own emotions and still scarred from past relationships, I am scared to admit that somewhere within the quiet, dark realm of my soul, that I crave something as fickle as love.

I’ve tried to suppress my feelings for you, countless times in fear that if I confess them aloud that it would somehow make what I feel for you all too real. Although there aren’t many things that I fear in this world, the mere thought of falling in love frightens me most.

I look up at the ceiling, tears streaming down my face. Why is it so hard to admit that I like you out loud? Within my heart, I know that I want this. Am I ready to fall victim to the uncertainties that the cruel mistress called “love” has to offer?

I pick up the phone and begin typing.
The three dots of death begin to dance before my screen.
Throwing my phone far away from me as possible, I pace around my room as overwhelming thoughts begin to crowd my head.

I fall onto my bed, close my eyes and then I see your smile, one of the few things that I treasure in this world, and I am comforted.

PING.

Out of nowhere, my phone drowns out the deafening silence in within my room. I read the message and every ounce of anxiety and fear faded away as I read your response.

Written By: Helene J.C. Armbrister
I usually shower alone but 1 day I  was surprised when Sicilian mafiosi entered my shower. They were very nice. I was curious as to what they wanted. Vito, the under boss, brought Helene Curtis shampoo. He stayed for 8 minutes.
WhoIsCristinaJXO Apr 2020
You’ve heard the tales of Barghest, Black Shuck or Cerberus,
Perhaps you know them very well.
But I know of a malevolent beast, with vicious teeth,
Called “Love”, the dog from Hell.

His master looks up from below, searching for Love’s newest victim.
He’ll send you a well-endowed man with a curvature in his member,
Who’ll say all the right things to leave you smitten.

He’ll take you for ice-cream, have parked-car conversations,
Then ******* mercilessly after.
You’ll go back home, wait for an improbable text on your phone,
Unaware of the impending disaster.

“Love” then disguises itself, appearing to be something innocent and pure.
And when you’ve fallen for him, he’ll stop texting you,
Causing heartbreak, chaos and emotional torment.
For that, you can be sure.

And when you’ve been beat down, traumatized and broken, praying that the hurt is no more,
Love sends you another, to distract you from the others,
Leaving you more damaged than before.

“Love” then returns to the sunken place
Proud that he’s served his master well.
For as long as you are mortal, let it not depart from you that
“Love” is a dog from Hell.

Written By: Helene J.C. Armbrister
WhoIsCristinaJXO Mar 2020
Two souls,
Searching for consolation, longing for peace, praying for absolution are brought together by the buzzing of a bee.
They found themselves wrapped around each other underneath the cascading moonlight near the quiet sea.

She’s hesitant, still recovering from unhealed traumas inflicted by the demons of her past. He pulls her closer to him, her head turning slightly away from him in fear that this might not last.

He’s not like the others, for he’s haunted by a past of his own. He’s forthcoming his tragedy which hardened his heart like a stone.

Over the course of time, the pair found peace within the company of each other which is what she’s always wanted. But now that peace has turned to fear for keeping a secret from him in which she feels haunted.

She’s made the juvenile mistake of falling for him in fear that he doesn’t feel the same, because the lack of replies and late night sessions have started to feel like a game.

She longs to free herself from the agony of falling in love again. If only he knew how much she loves him, then she would be free of this pain.

She sits on the shore where they’ve sat down before, picking up her pencil to write how she feels. She hopes when he sees this that he’ll understand what she feels for him is real.

Written by: Helene J.C. Armbrister
I usually shower alone but 1 day I  was surprised when Sicilian mafiosi entered my shower. They were very nice. I was curious as to what they wanted. Vito, the under boss, brought Helene Curtis shampoo. He stayed for 8 minutes.
WhoIsCristinaJXO Mar 2020
Three days.

Three days of silence.

The absence of your presence awakens familiar feelings of anger, self doubt, and insecurity.
How is it that I keep traveling down the same road?

It’s as if I am the sole passenger forced to ride an eternal roller coaster of mixed, complicated emotions.

Why do I keep reopening the wounds in my heart only to fill them with endless nights of meaningless *** and mind-altering substances?

Perhaps, I torture myself with synthesized happiness because secretly I enjoy the notions that they present.

But alas, perhaps succumbing to these masochistic tendencies may be my undoing....

Written by: Helene J.C. Armbrister
Ryan O'Leary Apr 2021
House with a short history
of growing pain marks on the
frame post and John Kennedy's
assassination scribed behind
the hot press door. Somewhere
upstairs under floor boards is a
photo of Ann Margaret in a mini.
There is bound to be something
up in the attic, but since it has been
insulated, no point in looking now.
Fixtures and fittings must remain,
the ****** snap of Helene Blanchard
may never be discovered behind a
mirror in the bathroom, she was the
French woman I ****** en vaccance.
WhoIsCristinaJXO Mar 2020
As she saunters through the door of your cold, frozen heart, I pray your new conquest leaves a violent trail of destruction.

I pray that for every time she plants a kiss upon your frosted lips, the blood in your veins slowly begins to freeze, sending agonizing pain radiating throughout your body.

I pray that when the shower head rains on your cold, dead skin, you are reminded of the many times my tears were shed in your honor.

I pray that for every mirror that you set your gaze upon reflects every wicked deed committed by you, leaving you ashamed of yourself.

I pray…

That you, Ice King, will never experience the warmth of anyone’s affections and that one day, you will shiver at the thought of extinguishing the flame that we once had.

Written By: Helene J.C. Armbrister
WhoIsCristinaJXO Apr 2020
In what world do strangers become admirers?
In what world do admirers become romantically involved?
In what world do romantically involved people become distant friends?
How do distant friends become enemies?

Please tell me…

How do you recover from being hurt by the one you loved the most?
How do you skillfully apply chestnut concealer to a tear-stained face?
How do you not cry yourself to sleep after an unexplained separation?
How does one visit the coffee shop where Sinatra played softly in the background drowning out the deafening voice of anxiety as he held your hand ever so tightly, calming your panicked inner thoughts?

How does one forget the feeling of insecurity after their first kiss, spending countless showers analyzing what it possibly could’ve meant?

Do they teach little boys to experiment with little girls’ hearts in your world?

Only in your world can you take a ******’s lips and steal her innocence with a kiss.
Only in your world can you take an insecure ******’s affections for you and devour them with a smile.

How does one simply stop loving you, even after all the pain you’ve caused?

Written By: Helene J.C. Armbrister
Morning Star Apr 2021
When summer breezes came.
The sun's warmth a golden crisp of time
Melts the cold ice inside of you
No more broken winters bite
No more tears by candle light
No more burns of frost at night
No more chills the winds of fright
Only warmth if summers glow and song of birds
And trickle of the stream now flow
Gentle waters warm a fragile heart
Till strong a smile and eyes they see no dark
Yellow is now all that melts your day and ice cold blue it melts away.
Be happ free dont let the walls now climb
Only honey suckle light to gaze upon.
Open up a flower of new light
The spring still has a whisper in the night
Take a gentle brush its colours bright
On a new canvas now you write...
Helene Smith
I usually shower alone but 1 day I  was surprised when Sicilian mafiosi entered my shower. They were very nice. I was curious as to what they wanted. Vito, the under boss, brought Helene Curtis shampoo. He stayed for 8 minutes.

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