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"longingly" poems
. I've stared... Longingly forever into you You'd stare back but you never really knew Hands of hours, minutes and seconds I've shook All the time I've carelessly took I've witnessed... That etched on each one, that amazing smile A crutch forged of sunrays that had carried me many a mile It's all that I have to know of you In this endless chase I've sought to pursue I've envisioned... Different ways you'd wear your crown Various trimmings on lavish gowns Smitten by the way you sport your paint The nectarous song sung in your gait ever so faint I've imagined... The addictive rise and fall of your every breath Bringing me back to life after every death Pulses of sweet nothings that never did ebb Ensnaring my heart with your silk spun web I've believed... You are the queen of my future tale untold I've felt it so real like verses written in bold But I've awakened from slumber into terrifying reality Pains me to realise that you're nothing but imaginary...
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Nov 7, 2014
Nov 7, 2014 at 8:25 AM UTC
Imaginary
Sad because you feel too much Or mad because you can't feel a thing. Greener grass beckons, And you wave to it longingly. Love the rise, Hate the fall. Melodramatic monotone of monotony. Perishable Plateau. Whisk me away into infinity. Dead on arrival. Dead to the world. Dead as a doornail. Stuff me back inside my body Like clothes in a suitcase. I fit. I promise.
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Jan 14, 2015
Jan 14, 2015 at 7:56 PM UTC
to feel or not to feel
The pulsating, pearl moon Harbours the last remnants of romance, Scintillating, in the valourous sky, As I ceremoniously call upon the gods To bring her back to me. I longingly strip, craving the vivacity of her caress. Irresistible, I would yield to the perpetual Power of her touch. Immersed in the shadowy depths, Rippling serenities of thought. I glimpse at her reflective soul, Shimmering upon the ravenous river, Emanating from the stars In all their graceful radiance. Her heart illuminates The benevolent evening. The breath of inevitability Stings my skin, as I dress, Firing my arrows of impatience Disconsolately, into the shivering azure, Hoping for a way To penetrate her very being.
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Nov 2, 2016
Nov 2, 2016 at 10:32 PM UTC
Breath of Inevitability
Entering an airplane, For me, Is like entering a church, This sacred place where we sit in pews, Eyes glued to the incredible, Action up front, Yet the view from the window, As beautiful as the stained glass of the church back home, Pulls longingly at my attention, But unlike church, I truly feel renewed, When we land and I exit, The beautiful, sacred plane.
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Apr 27, 2015
Apr 27, 2015 at 1:00 PM UTC
Airplanes and Church
With the peak of spring in the month of May In the early hours of a pleasantly sunlit day Two kids sat cuddled on a swing Feeling as though they were taking on wing Swinging in the air, they began to sing Their sweet lay breaking the silence with its ring They kicked their legs in rising delight And felt like thistledowns ever so light Up and down on the swing was fun They closed their eyes on being face to face with the sun Felt the swish and sway of the buoyant air And knew the light tug of breeze on their curly hair As the air got caught in the frills of their frock Their eyes gleamed bright in delightful spark Imagining themselves to be astronauts in space, An ebullient excitement lit up their face From a raised angle, they saw the Earth in green folds lie Watched the surrounding hills standing awfully high Saw a small stream flowing as a slow moving train With trees lined up on its banks in unbroken chain Longingly I watched these children free of all worry and pain Also their aerial feats, not tainted by any melancholy stain How I miss these childhood days of innocent fun As my hours, towards the sunset, quickly run
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May 6, 2016
May 6, 2016 at 12:38 PM UTC
Swings of Life
*~ **Him sits in an arm chair slouched and relaxed, watching her with a glass of whiskey in his hand** ~ Her lays on the bed naked, long legs spread watching him watching her. ~ **Him asks her to do what he had been dreaming of even before seeing her naked. Beautiful scenery** ~ Her strokes light and feathery, at first delicate fingers tracing up and down while the other hand on her breast tipping her nip ~ **Him mesmerized by the show he takes a sip of whiskey the burn does not compare to the burn growing in his pants** ~ Her dips a finger inside, spreading the glistening liquid found across her inner lips increasing the pressure and moving from side to side ~ **Him doesn’t know where to look as she concentrates on her ****** pulling at the tip she gnaws her bottom lip he settles on her eyes** ~ Her picks up speed, the circles of her fingers smaller and smaller, focusing on her pearl shallow breaths growing rapid as she nears her peak ~ **Him slips out of his shirt he starts to sweat unbuckling his pants to release the growing pressure** ~ Her tilts her hips finding the optimal position to intensify her pleasure ~ **Him holds his breath to hear the gasping of her breath** ~ Her eyes on him, longingly, back arches, head falls back and lips part “Oh God” in heavy breath ~ **Him “Amazing” whispers unsure he said it aloud** ~*
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Jan 10, 2018
Jan 10, 2018 at 8:05 AM UTC
Armchair Whiskey Scene
reaching the back of you not sure I could.      not sure i would.        scent of the crime uncommitted uncovered the meandering is the man demigod demagogue taking time          pleasured mercy                                          the remaindered searchingly                                                                                                  suffices you don’t speak plain english the only tongue i got insert the coin in your slot commencing researching the way in and don’t think i want to find the way out to the back of you hiding in the inside learning the way you visualize playing amy winehouse as an overlaying graph to the autoroute to the south of france, sur-la-mer, why ever leave and you come in my mouth poems new each time no exit. no back of you.  stuck in a longingly heaven this house is my home and I know the sun brightest when i put my coin in the slot of play and press the new tune button at 4:10AM
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Mar 18, 2018
Mar 18, 2018 at 4:17 AM UTC
reaching the back of you
i often, longingly, of your striving pinkest lips do eat by my own lips curling with them into a neat pile of tremendous *** i often, strivingly, long to eat, of your chests pale basin, the apt fruit of your ******* i, longing, and strive with the savage electric lash of thy fragrant throat i dance and marvel at your feeling my chest hands i drink of them and i'm etherised smoothly at their hot rumple of my skin and i you just can't barely for thou art the dripping rill of Cupid's apt ***** thou art, between darkness and light, abruptly hung with my flesh (from which is sated thy lustful flowers perfectly glistening petals 'neath me and groaning)
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Feb 20, 2012
Feb 20, 2012 at 6:11 PM UTC
i often, longingly, of your striving pinkest
If wishes Were fishes That swam in the sea Where on earth would we be? Stood onshore Ever more Looking ruefully, Longingly, out to sea? Would we be All at sea, With nothing to do To make wishes come true? Or maybe We could be All out on the sea Fishing furiously? For wishes, Like fishes, Are within our reach, If we work hard for each.
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Jan 21, 2016
Jan 21, 2016 at 8:35 AM UTC
If Wishes Were Fishes....
Some things exist behind curtains of experience.   Those whose tongues have tasted the holy fire know the touch of something divine. Those who have laid eyes on their sleeping bodies, and walked away to places unknown, can grasp the idea of an inbetween. Those who have groped in the darkness for something to believe in again, who have longingly looked over the cliff edge, know that true despair does exist. As for me, I know that true fear can come in the form of footsteps behind you on the empty street. The person at the bar who insists on hollow compliments and free drinks. Friends who scoff at your anger for men who yell out their passenger side windows about the treasures beneath your clothes. True fear can come in the middle of the afternoon, as you face off against the four floor staircase to your apartment, when your steps are echoed by the man in 2b who has a wife, son, and a taste for resistance. Don't tell me I'm overreacting, when the single most terrifying thing I can do is walk alone under the street lamps. Don't tell me I'm too uptight just because I've learned that flattery can come with a horrifying price tag. Don't tell me I'm wrong just because you don't understand. Look me in the eye when you have waited until a security guard can walk you to your car.  When you have held your breath in a shared elevator.  When you have lowered your eyes to the men who yell obscenities at you, because standing up for yourself could prove deadly.   Look me in the eye when you have held back the curtain of experience, and walked in the shoes of someone who lives every moment knowing this could be the day someone decides to steal from me what is only mine to give. Then look me in the eye when you tell someone of your wound, and they reprimand you for daring to walk this world as a woman.
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Aug 29, 2014
Aug 29, 2014 at 9:26 PM UTC
To Walk As A Woman
Some things exist behind curtains of experience.   Those whose tongues have tasted the holy fire know the touch of something divine. Those who have laid eyes on their sleeping bodies, and walked away to places unknown, can grasp the idea of an inbetween. Those who have groped in the darkness for something to believe in again, who have longingly looked over the cliff edge, know that true despair does exist. As for me, I know that true fear can come in the form of footsteps behind you on the empty street. The person at the bar who insists on hollow compliments and free drinks. Friends who scoff at your anger for men who yell out their passenger side windows about the treasures beneath your clothes. True fear can come in the middle of the afternoon, as you face off against the four floor staircase to your apartment, when your steps are echoed by the man in 2b who has a wife, son, and a taste for resistance. Don't tell me I'm overreacting, when the single most terrifying thing I can do is walk alone under the street lamps. Don't tell me I'm too uptight just because I've learned that flattery can come with a horrifying price tag. Don't tell me I'm wrong just because you don't understand. Look me in the eye when you have waited until a security guard can walk you to your car.  When you have held your breath in a shared elevator.  When you have lowered your eyes to the men who yell obscenities at you, because standing up for yourself could prove deadly.   Look me in the eye when you have held back the curtain of experience, and walked in the shoes of someone who lives every moment knowing this could be the day someone decides to steal from me what is only mine to give. Then look me in the eye when you tell someone of your wound, and they reprimand you for daring to walk this world as a woman.
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51
Hurry now, it’s leaving soon Car door slams, gravel underfoot And from the boot Grandmas lil helper is lifted Oh! Where did it go? Wind twists scarf to snake Released from frames captivity I stoop and tug Under your foot, Gran She shuffles, Ties it firmly around tiny shoulders Bright colour against delicate skin Paper thin, both, One for beauty, one to hold the blood in And may it hold the blood in, Just a little longer... The train awaits, Monstrous, Steele stark against surrounding bush. Matt has a sausage, Mum bothers about tickets, Both fuss and fizzle, I press lips firmly together Deciding then and there Never to let entertainment turn to stress; It’s more than it’s worth. We’re to be in the engine room, The rest will be left behind - As something faulty. Matt lifts Gran up; She’s tiny, She’s flying, She’s in. And then we’re all in. Crammed. We stare longingly through grimy glass At empty carriages Can’t we be in there? It’s all a bit stuffy. There’s a fire along the track But we don’t go any further. The smoke streams out over forest. And jerking and bumping, Dipping along, We reverse back to whence we started. Petrol fumes and smoke fill our tiny cocoon Here, let me help you Passenger to passenger, Fellow human, Compassionate eyes. Gran has a seat; She sways while we lurch. Deep within Railroad country I make believe I know something Of the girl Of the Plannies; That sacred connection To land and sky, To Native country, To Golden Macrocarpa I stare over hills of tree ferns, Kawakawa, Wheki, Punga And, knowing no other, I feel this land Majestically My own.
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Nov 3, 2014
Nov 3, 2014 at 9:47 PM UTC
Railroad Country, Sacred Land
Hurry now, it’s leaving soon Car door slams, gravel underfoot And from the boot Grandmas lil helper is lifted Oh! Where did it go? Wind twists scarf to snake Released from frames captivity I stoop and tug Under your foot, Gran She shuffles, Ties it firmly around tiny shoulders Bright colour against delicate skin Paper thin, both, One for beauty, one to hold the blood in And may it hold the blood in, Just a little longer... The train awaits, Monstrous, Steele stark against surrounding bush. Matt has a sausage, Mum bothers about tickets, Both fuss and fizzle, I press lips firmly together Deciding then and there Never to let entertainment turn to stress; It’s more than it’s worth. We’re to be in the engine room, The rest will be left behind - As something faulty. Matt lifts Gran up; She’s tiny, She’s flying, She’s in. And then we’re all in. Crammed. We stare longingly through grimy glass At empty carriages Can’t we be in there? It’s all a bit stuffy. There’s a fire along the track But we don’t go any further. The smoke streams out over forest. And jerking and bumping, Dipping along, We reverse back to whence we started. Petrol fumes and smoke fill our tiny cocoon Here, let me help you Passenger to passenger, Fellow human, Compassionate eyes. Gran has a seat; She sways while we lurch. Deep within Railroad country I make believe I know something Of the girl Of the Plannies; That sacred connection To land and sky, To Native country, To Golden Macrocarpa I stare over hills of tree ferns, Kawakawa, Wheki, Punga And, knowing no other, I feel this land Majestically My own.
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67
Octavian Octopus lives In the sea with eight long tentacles to hug you and me He spends his days with Seahorse Sabrina who dreams longingly of being a ballerina Octavian wants so much to be like his crony but sadly, all of his dance moves are bologna. Still he felt that he needed to impress his funky fresh pal in the pretty pink dress so for hours, Octavian practiced his spins and his twirls he even got a costume with glittery frills So came the day of the big talent show He could show old Sabrina that he too, was a pro But alas, half way through his act his big squirmy arms got caught in a crack He tripped and he stumbled and fell off the platform tears started to fall and away, he started to storm "Stop!" a voice shouted at him and he turned around to see his best friend Sabrina giggling with glee "the very best dancer, you don't need to be if you really want to be friends with me" He smiled and she laughed "you're very cool, you silly-old-goof, but just be yourself, not a stumbling doof"
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Nov 23, 2013
Nov 23, 2013 at 10:43 AM UTC
Octopus and seahorse
you are like the sun i might be flying too high wanting you you are further than i can reach but close enough to hurt me i can feel you melting my wax as i come closer longingly ignorant of my own doom because i only realized how little i knew you so as i make a last attempt my own wings tear apart and i'm left falling alone
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Sep 3, 2018
Sep 3, 2018 at 8:48 PM UTC
sun
Mesmerized. No other word can describe the feeling I have right now but that. The crickets chirping. The sound of the wind. The clairvoyant light cascading from the moon. The cold wind against my bare chest. The hot air filling my lungs. The sound of the paper sizzle as I draw a breath. Mesmerized. I look at the moon, pondering something great, longing deep into the moons light, looking for a Theocratic meaning. Mesmerized. I notice a glimmer. Soon another. and another. like a fire starting a chain reaction, twinkling glows slowly appear, joining one after another. That moon is not alone I come to realize, As it is connected to all the little lights. One by one, as my focus clears, dazzling lights shine over my fears. A little light show all for me, All dancing, wanting to be seen. I bask in this euphoric moment, my prayers answered, I peer shyly at this gift that I have captured. The wind kisses my ears, slowly going down my neck, it kisses my navel, giving me a loving peck. Mesmerized. No. Not mesmerized, but in love. In love with the beauty I have been able to witness, Her beauty. I stare longingly into Her. The lights in the sky seem to smile at me, Knowing just how I feel, Warmness filling my heart, creating a seal. In love. I am In love.
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Oct 27, 2014
Oct 27, 2014 at 11:21 AM UTC
Mesmerized
You’ll never see me again. Who’s going to cry for you? This pen writes in black, but its green. I want to dance under a silly disco ball. I want to feel the earth on my skin. dig in the dirt, bury myself in the sand, climb a tree and swim in the sea. looking over me. I want to paint my nails with every color in those kindergarten classrooms, every pattern we learn in geometry. I want to no longer feel the need to look this color (arrow pointing to the color of the paper: red). I want to do yoga when I can and go for runs and eat healthy. I want to starve and feel hungry and weightless 24/7. I want to make a decision. I want to make music. I want to dance with a stranger, hands held, eyes close and sweaty bodys. I want to get their number and fall in love. I want a movie moment. I want to kiss everyone. I want to be wanted. I want to apologize to everyone. I want to stare into someones eyes; not longingly, but lovingly. I want them to look back just the same. I want them to make me things and work for me and only me. “make sure to write a poem about my prettiness”. I want to have a higher self esteem than her. I want people to come when not directly called. I want to look **** I want to hold someone **** I want *** to be my celebration for (arrow for where my self esteem is better). I want to think rationally always. I want to stop disappointing people I care about. I want to know the difference between a good impulse and a bad impulse. I want people to be okay with what I want. I want to sleep. I want to kiss. I want to give up smoking. I want to give up on my quest for the perfection every one speaks of. I want to foster dogs.
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Oct 23, 2012
Oct 23, 2012 at 8:46 PM UTC
flower ***
You’ll never see me again. Who’s going to cry for you? This pen writes in black, but its green. I want to dance under a silly disco ball. I want to feel the earth on my skin. dig in the dirt, bury myself in the sand, climb a tree and swim in the sea. looking over me. I want to paint my nails with every color in those kindergarten classrooms, every pattern we learn in geometry. I want to no longer feel the need to look this color (arrow pointing to the color of the paper: red). I want to do yoga when I can and go for runs and eat healthy. I want to starve and feel hungry and weightless 24/7. I want to make a decision. I want to make music. I want to dance with a stranger, hands held, eyes close and sweaty bodys. I want to get their number and fall in love. I want a movie moment. I want to kiss everyone. I want to be wanted. I want to apologize to everyone. I want to stare into someones eyes; not longingly, but lovingly. I want them to look back just the same. I want them to make me things and work for me and only me. “make sure to write a poem about my prettiness”. I want to have a higher self esteem than her. I want people to come when not directly called. I want to look **** I want to hold someone **** I want *** to be my celebration for (arrow for where my self esteem is better). I want to think rationally always. I want to stop disappointing people I care about. I want to know the difference between a good impulse and a bad impulse. I want people to be okay with what I want. I want to sleep. I want to kiss. I want to give up smoking. I want to give up on my quest for the perfection every one speaks of. I want to foster dogs.
Continue reading...
1
Mirrors are all traitors As in them I can see Just what a monster I am; That I will always be. I have lumps and and spots That make me unloveable. And everything I eat is Another bite of trouble. Why can’t I ever look Like the models in the book? Why is it that I Can’t look myself in the eye? No one will look longingly At the gorgon I turned out to be. I don’t watch cartoons Because what I see is me What did I do to deserve To become so **** ugly? Did I cross the path of a cat That was an omen meant to warn And I ignored it so now I inherited this awful form? Why can’t I be the kind With a beautifully formed behind? I wish it was my history To stimulate evil jealousy. I want to look like a dream, But instead I must surrender A fragile wish, as it seems An unfilled hope altogether. Some friends are sweet to me They say I look fine to them, But I know what I can see And I deserve no diadem.
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Jun 7, 2017
Jun 7, 2017 at 11:06 PM UTC
BODY DYSMORPHIA
The sea is vast as the clouds are rolling And in between is air. They'll never touch, though never falter And this just isn't fair: The clouds and sea wish to meet, you see But they can never be together For powers that be keep sky from the sea; They're only bound by weather. When it rains, the clouds can touch the sea Gently, caress in wave - The clouds give all they have to her But the sea, it must behave. The sea is aware, that through the air Is something she never can touch, But when calm, she reflects the beauty of the clouds And they smile when they see this much. So resigned, the two stay far apart And the clouds look longingly to sea For they see the weather, reflection and more That they know can never, ever be.
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Apr 2, 2017
Apr 2, 2017 at 3:42 PM UTC
The Sea and the Clouds
Loving and talking to you is like loving and talking to a blackhole— useless! Every breath is a hot mess of wasted gasses. Every wail is a vain attempt to be heard. You devour everything and let go of nothing. I’ve tried leaving it alone. I’ve tried letting you go. But this grudge of mine draws me in, a will to exhume those white skeletons in your black closet of a heart. Pointless; but I’m caught in your arms that pull me in to the point of singularity. I know you’ll rip and tear me to shreds and then tear those shreds to dust and dust to particles. My ghost won’t even be able to escape. . . . Stay away. . . . . . Stay away. . . Maybe someday I’ll watch the massive riptide turn and become a warm star I wish longingly to orbit.
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Mar 30, 2013
Mar 30, 2013 at 6:46 PM UTC
Blackhole Love Affair
*Always lingering, longingly Like leaves frolicking in trees Your gaze entraps me Tempting me Mesmerizing me Engaging me in a lovers dance Seducing my senses Only you, only you*
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Nov 11, 2013
Nov 11, 2013 at 4:30 AM UTC
Always you, only you
O,Thou lands lovely afar, across Those blue oceans,gleaming deep Odd shapes in my old atlas torn, Gazed wistful at, dreamt longingly Of honeyed milks and coffers rich. Having now made you mine by mind, Heart,Faith and an allegiance soulful I kiss your Earth, breathe in the Air, Tasting somehow the same as a yearning For the motherland quit so long ago.
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Dec 13, 2013
Dec 13, 2013 at 5:44 AM UTC
THE IMMIGRANT.
I found myself buried deep within the womb of creation Lost, I climbed through the mud of life Pulling myself up on the bones of the ancients I broke through to the light, and heard the earth cry Rise, Woman, Rise I looked upon the face of the eternal Reaching upward, I tried to touch the sky So with my feet planted firmly in the past I grew toward the future, bridging both earth and divine And in me, the words rose once more, Rise, Woman, Rise After I had bridged the heavens, After I had delved through the mud I branched out towards the stars surrounding Souls glittering in the lonely sky Beckoned by a need, I reached to them But just out of reach, they twinkled distantly When a single answer I heard them call Rise, Woman, Rise And from my roots, I grew down deeper And from my arms, I reached out high With my fingers, stretched out longingly Glancing over them, I swept the sky Fingers clasped my own in their hands Pulling me towards their brilliant light Connected, I am tied to the universe Woven into the web of life And now, when I see another reaching, I cry out the words that brought me here, Rise, Woman, Rise
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Aug 8, 2015
Aug 8, 2015 at 8:53 PM UTC
Rise, Woman, Rise
*What would I give for a nook and a book to cuddle and snuggle and longingly look the pages unfolding as I listened to the babbling song of a fast flowing brook. Oh, if it had pictures, a faraway place, mysterious villains, a dark alley chase I’d pick up the phone I’d call in sick disappear in the mist, leaving no trace. What would I do to be captured by words impressed into service by pirates with swords, adrift without wind, current silently slow half crazed crew pacing the sun-baked dried boards. Perhaps of an evening a stroll on the beach salt, surf, and moonlight on ebony skin passion full sated on cooling soft sand last dream of the shanghaied seagoing men. What would I give for a storybook nook I’d offer it all the time that it took to take me away to wherever it would leave me enraptured by a murmuring brook.*
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Oct 2, 2017
Oct 2, 2017 at 9:18 AM UTC
What Would I Give
I rejoice in feeling ungraceful, for grace is such a silly thing to bear. I do not still the waded waters of my stay: I lay unevenly and sing loud. And try to leave reminders everywhere. I step closer to the edge out where I play and peer longingly into the raging seas. When I die, listen to the voice of morning. And you will hear me blowing ungracefully as wind through the trees.
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Nov 17, 2013
Nov 17, 2013 at 8:53 PM UTC
Grace