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April Hapner May 2012
watching in amazement
dumbfounded and oooh,
the wonder of a cold chill shivers..
upon my spine
down every bone
changing my tone
from wonder
confused
to highly amused

the gears turn so slight
just past twilight
the growl, houls..
of my midnight swoon.

watching with the intent
seemingly full of ideas...
just whisper what you like
you'll see the kitten come out tonight.

little purrs
light loving scratches
watching the toes curl
eyes roll back and close
all of your triggers
to suddenly...
STOP.

end of line,
the thought of you on my mind
as a pair,
the air heats and cools
and the moisture condenses
thrown off
feeling sky high
or a few miles in flight
realizing that hearing the birds
outside..
we're up all night
playing online.
First, I think it may be the Zoloft talking.
But I've had a major block in thoughts.. and what happens after an hour of sleep in the last 36 hours?
Yes, This little thing ... and yes it is one hell of a way of saying it. we all have coded it, and sometimes to subject is fun to compare to activities we normally take care of...

Enjoy! :)
April Hapner Apr 2012
still--
like open wings, unfluttered
delicate, simple, elegant
similar to security, unfaithful
motionless....
what would you think?
if the world at this time froze
like the rose petals that curl and turn black
fall towards a never-ended hole of despair
cold, dark, light,
feverish shades of reddened flair
to hear one's own houls,
never once.

called out
useless,
Still.
unnamed May 2017
The ancient gods have awaken,
They thirst for a drink of unimaginable power of wisdom...
Joy...
Terror...
Suffering...
IMMORTALITY...
Two chalices sit beside my throne.

On of pure gold from mighty mines.
Its called The wealth of gods
embeded rubys and emeralds...
broken colorful light bounces from the chalice and fills half of the room,
Slow glimmering blood drops of gods fall into it.
Everytime a drop hits the surface,
A blinding light strikes my eyes,         it releases a powerful magic

And people of pure heart gather around and dwelve on its power and wisdom,
yet dare not touch it.

One made of the darkest obsidian,
It's name lost long ago.
Infused with purest kind of horrors
Hearts of the giant crows bleed in it,
The darkness grows stronger and never seizes to have a closure.

Around the dark all foul creatures gather,
Their houls would not stop,
They terrify the living,
No iternal rest for them.

In the middle I rest,
I will never get possesed.
I wont sleep as the gods fancy their drink.
And i must bring it to them as my punishment from gods themselves, because i serve the Dark Lord.
I enjoy their divinity...
Their wisdom...
And power...

Around my neck a heavy chain dangles,
On it's very tip a marble key,
It's my everything.
The key of destiny.
My dry boney fingers try to clasp it,
But its too far,
Destiny of the souls,
They are piling on me,
I cant shake them.
They are unstoppable.


Black wings on my back,
They feel like stone cold...
hard and heavy,
One swing and this doom is perished,
But i can not move them.
They are embeded onto my throne,
They will swing one more time.

My knuckless are bronze,
My feet goldish feathers,
My chest of platinum,
My blade from pure iron,
Thirsty for some red, red blood.

You can not defeat me.
Though I'm still weak,
Servants of god are powerful.

Once i fought for good,
I was a blood thirsty warrior,
A thing of myths and legends.

I had an old relic of power,
It kept me on the side of gods,
Yet evil always wins.
It took over me like a black cloud.
My soul darkened with every swing i took.
The mirror of fate was broken.
Now I am immortal and a heavy burden lies on my shoulders.

Evil always wins.
My first poem
wordvango Apr 2017
My three daughters and I
Spot, Blue and sweet Timex,
live within the walls
of this Verona like  apartment,
Missy, the Black Lab who played nursemaid
to these three I believe, aided and abetted
sweet Timex's foray.
I, a Capulet, truly love my daughters
but easily fly into rages,
wishing a fair and providing man for them,
not the hell of the Montague clan,
namely bighead. Bighead roams the streets the alleys the back woods
no earnings or propriety,
no means to his unmatted fur,
his wild houls in the night, testament.
The nurse then, on a late night, asked to go out.
I tired, got complacent and out timex flied!
She returned a week later,
not the young kitten, playful,
but a Cat, with hunger in her eyes.
Spot and Blue, still are eager to discover the outsides,
Probably filled in on all that is there,
by Timex. And she no longer plays.
She even meows different now,
seems to meow
O Bighead, wherefore art thou Bighead!

— The End —