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With ****** **** in the atmosphere,
And with my fingers rolling down her spine,
I want her to know this is sincere,
That I've never met a goddess this divine,
As I'm lost of words,
With beauty that she has redefined,
I touch every inch of her curves,
With words that I still cannot find,
Where my hands continue to search,
For the words within my mind,
I find a treasure of hers,
With my fingers that try to describe,
As everything from there becomes a blur,
And I touch her like what no words could ever define
The life span of humans,
is very similar to flowers,
when you see the big picture.

Flowers start off as buds,
likewise we start off a fetus.

The flower then breaks free of the bud,
revealing a hint of its looks.
And once we are born,
you see our appearance for the first time.

They grow and grow,
needing constant sunlight and water:
to keep them alive.
We too, grow and grow,
our bodies craving the natural substantial resources
which enables us to survive.

When flowers have gone through that process
of all of their growth,
they then hit their peak,
where their petals bloom, and their color pops.
With humans, the highlight of our lives,
can come at any moment.
But there will some when  be a time,
when us humans too, hit OUR peak and shine.

Now obviously,
death can come at any moment for plant or human,
by unnatural causes.
However,
we do share yet another very key similarity with all those beautiful flowers;
the death by natural causes.

When a plant gets old it starts to wither;
petals start crumbling, leaves fall off,
its' once royal blue appearance starts to discolor.
Whereas us humans have different side affects completely.
Skin wrinkles, unsteady hands.
All the typical "old person" stereotypes.
And yes, we humans wither as well; like a wilting plant.
And just like all of those flowers,
the inevitable happens and one day our flower loses its soul,
which is all we have left of us as our beauty along with our youth abandoned us long ago.

You could be the most beautiful flower of them all,
or the most wonderful person of your time.
Yet we all have the same fate.
Doesn't it seem unfair,
that we are of much more relevance than a flower that lives on the ground and just brings more beauty to the earth,
yet we get treated just the same as one.

Incredulously,
according to the system:
we are all just huge flowers.
Everything is somewhat insignificant.
Steve Page Aug 1
I'll be completely honest but not completely true 
I'll be true to my heart but not always true to you

some of my words will reflect much of what I feel
while you'll find that other lines are more contrived to conceal

you see a poet can use their words to bear their deepest feeling
but look again and you may see something deeper redder bleeding

read again between the lines of the fresher tender cuts
and you'll brush a slower finger over old wounds long untouched 

you may disturb my untold stories seeping through the pages
and you may find a heart more like your own where an older passion rages
Hidden rages don't often find words
Poetoftheway Jul 19
Ilion gray
poet extraordinary
is away
learning the codes hidden in raindrops

no reason for surprise;

for the mountains of Brooklyn, the Manhattan caverns of Sunhenge^, corridors of narrow focus for trapping the declining sun rays,

neither high enough, narrow blinding,
to keep a good man from doing good things that life provides as opportunities
to do the right thing

he muses that it took five years for the other poets to understand our
poem-dreams;
avant-garde he says,
but I laugh,
never felt more misunderstood
and reply take care, be
en garde!

no matter for he is learning a new language,
the codes hidden in raindrops in a land of wheat
once called Indian Territory and eager
await his return so we may
walk along the Brooklyn shoreline,
beginning from under the Brooklyn Bridge
where Washington’s men escaped a British trap

and he can decode for me the whispery thunderous noises of
NY
showers that come up so sudden,  so roughened, but right now,
the seductive sun blinks in Manhattan windowed towers reflecting back on to our East River as golden blinks of nature

We will walk lost in the absorption of our
different commonalities, holding the hands of
his young son, and my Wendy,
both of them equal in possession of round saucer eyes
that give us poems

He calls me me friend,
I call him brother, teacher, master, better than the best,
well recalling a late night message that bred
a five year conversation ongoing

not everything need be coded
what you read here
it is not coded,
for the raindrops come clear and clean
and the poems land on our tongues
bounce on the foreheads and eyes of the babes, all stored and saved for the future blessings spoken in a single tongue

7/18/18



^https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Manhattanhenge
#Ilion codes brooklyn by NY
Gemma Apr 22
Sick of you respecting the flower but not the
wind,  the rain , the mud
that caused it to grow.
Sick of you longing for talent
Yet spending
your "precious" time sobbing , alone at home .
My patience is waring as thin as my frame  
believe in life before death    &
try , then try again .
jane taylor May 2016
pain knocks on weathered doors
fastened ever tightly
cryptic access is denied
it camouflages in the shadows

stealthily it watches
hypervigilance enhancing
catastrophe awaiting
it strikes in latent graveyards

the gale begins to form
and unleashes its fierce torrent
the latch shattered and torn
there’s now an open entrance

creeping in it slithers
engulfing to encompass
digging up emotions
buried underground there

hovering and foggy
tho’ murky does not smother
but fleshes out the psyche
entombed and cobweb covered

it crawls along the edges
and peers in secret ledges
seeps into sequesters
like dust settled in feathers

it slides through every feeling
and when it’s at its blackest
it carves the darkness out
and let’s in sunlight’s presence

© 2016janetaylor
Invisible Oct 25
I say that I'm happy.
I say that I'm fine.
But shouldn't it be obvious that I'm not?

Of course not.
I've been hiding my pain for years.

I think I'm a pro.
Because I'm dying inside,
And no one knows.

Pain is hidden behind a smile.
Everything else, behind a wall.
...
s Oct 2
i looked in my mirror and saw you in the reflection
all battered and ****** and clearly infected

by the demons who sought to poison you each night
and the venom i'd spit whenever we'd fight

so now you treat me as your ***** secret
but i'm not some drug that you can keep hidden

and i won't stand here, alone and awaiting
a love that is pure, because i am not patient

still, since you've left it only ever rains
as i stand outside drenched in my own shame

cause you used to kiss me extra ******* these days
           you used to kiss me extra ******* these days
wake up vomiting
wake up alone
who knew this love
would turn heart to stone
it's much too late
to ever atone
for all that is lost.

i'm already gone.
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