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CK Baker Apr 2017
to exonerate the clipping
we took the back road to oswega
the tudor house rabbits
had long lost their heads
(presumably to the *****)
and what remained
of the scape
was dead
and dry
and orange

that happy home
on the brink
of cattle loop
was now gull grey ~
the needles
and stragglers
(from shady bay)
remained in numbers
on the outskirt
of the park

the fabled town
of horse drawn tours
was stone washed ~
on the back of
government docks
sat decrepit toppers
set on high tide
against the lighthouse
and its measured song

flutes and fiddles
and acoustic sitars
ride the accompaniment
nose rings
and signage
in the hands of
staged protesters
the sickly spit strewn
with tidal run
and ocean bags

hedgerow trimmed
alongside the sea walk
rolling hills bend
before the chuck
mint juleps
and flop hats
peak the parade
clydesdales
and royals
blinded in back
am i ee Feb 2016
years pass

things that
bothered me

songs that
pierced my heart

songs that
brought only
sad memories

don't,
anymore.
how i kick my
****
for getting rid of you

vinyl and CD
but especially
vinyl
****... why did i let you go
steeping in the memories

songs
music
how fast
they take
us
right back

to those moments
bittersweet memories
with ones we loved
so seemingly deep
or not
such great passion
such great wisdom

don't hurry through
your pain
but don't ever
think you cannot
get through it
if you so choose

sometimes it is time
to check out
who am i
to say

but....
maybe...
another day.....
another moment...
will change how
you feel
what you think.....

i say...
plan it out
be very detailed
but do not be impetuous

take your time

for you have all
the time in the world
all the time in the
universe

for there is no where to go
nothing to do
and
all the time to
get there

if you might
ever ask for my advice
and i caution you
you may not want to
do that

procrastination in
some things
is the very best
hand.....

now what the ****
am i talking about...

i know.
do you????
Daisy Marrow Nov 2014
Have I ever compared you to the stars?
Have I ever described your eyes in ways that resemble constellations?
Talk to me about time.
Talk to me about the universe
in all ways that I'll never be able to understand.
Spin me around like a clock and take me back in time
to the days when stars shined brighter than these city lights.

We don't have to say a word.
Make no noise, not a sound.
Let silence fill our ears.
Let the quiet take over the earth.
Let us float in this peace,
and enjoy the time we have together.

I had a dream, however insane, that we were dancing with the cosmos.
Twirling with the burning stars,
and playing hide and seek with the spaceships.

I know that you have to leave soon
and I know that stars don't burn forever,
but lay with me here on the ground.
We'll count sheep all night until
the sun greets us in the morning letting us know
that the night is dead and gone.

It's not my fault that I fell in love with the world in you.
I see so much life in you
and I think we should stay in this position forevermore.
We will never miss another darting star,
Whirling its way passed us breaking our silence just for a second.
I wrote this after seeing The Theory of Everything.
A+ movie would highly recommend!
John Stevens Jan 2015
(c) 01-25-15
The cold has come
What once was green , now brown.
The air is cool
Promise of Spring to come.

Boys are gathered
Practice begins
for the games
to see who wins.

The ball is passed
Ball aloft at last.
Through the hoop
the points are cast.

They finesse the ball
as they pass and trick.
To out wit the opponent
as the clock does tick.

They win they lose
this season thus far.
Led by great coaches
has been better than par.

When the games are done
whether lost or won.
It is all in the fun
As they have a great run.
Basketball is upon us. The bleachers are hard but the fun is great.

Has been 6500 reads.
11-18-16.   16,100 times
12-21-16.   17,200 times
07-28-17.  28,300 times
05-18-18.   42,400 times
10-15-18   48,400 times
Who in the world is reading this?

Version called "Baseball"
http://hellopoetry.com/poem/1583323/baseball/
theforest Jan 5
i'm a list of
unfinished netflix movies
greasy potato chip bags
and half empty soda cans
the couch is sick and tired
of me missing you
Lisa May 2018
Plagued by a flagging heart at the very mention of Brazil,
and the poor habit of scrolling to Capricorn at any and all astrological babble.
Meaningless and heedless whether together or apart,
tyros or hedonists,
perhaps both.
A volatile amalgam any way you slice it.

My best poems are about you,
my worst thoughts too.
i see your face in the sky
the blue color comes from your eye
the clear color from your face
i believe your name will pass
every wish to make my world fine
and the worst will be wide
every one sees his lover in clear image
Blair Baker Dec 2018
I wonder if trees feel pain when asked to accept a season's passed?
Or if the path trodden with footprints side by side, grieves when only one returns.
Leaves drop, but I hear no crying.
Rain falls, but puddles call the children near.
I'd like to be a tree whose branches bend with the turning winds
Or the muddy trail full of splashy laughter and grins
But it's Winter and the wind of change cuts, icy blades, and my tender roots are battered and torn.
So I will wait until Spring arrives, and with her Hope.
She will dry my tears and shake off the dust.
Show me beauty I can love and trust.
She will fill my baskets to the rim.
And heal my heart deep within.
Aurelia Ward Oct 2018
The downy plumes
Surround his eyes
His twisted mouth
A tired disguise
The cotton shell he
Held so close
To hide the sheep
That cried inside

Sticky memories
Keep him trapped
Gooey fleece
Is gently wrapped
Fingers outstretched
Tenderly
Until their tears had
Overlapped
For Lashes
Johnny walker Jan 10
Watching people pass me by were once with my wife
they would stop and say
H'i
But now they just pass me by as If I'm no longer there
I don't want to be entirely alone In
life can't do
that anymore more but when younger I just lived the day I was
In
Growing up facing the truth life ***** and can be very cruel
Blissful Nobody Aug 2018
I lay under the sheets,
Undressed and yearning,
Famished and waiting,
For a taste of ambrosia.

Knock knock knock!
Come now and come in,
Embrace your desire,
And ravish my senses.

Don’t tease me,
I am at my peak,
Mortally enraptured,
By my physical form.

Come lay beside me,
Put your hands on me,
Take me whole,
I surrender in flesh.

Caress my *******,
Moisten my urges down,
Hold me tight,
And feel me now.

Hold me down now,
Watch me sizzle,
With fierce intensity,
Burn my passion out.

I need your body,
When mine takes over,
Come in and take it all,
Out ; when I simmer down.

Come again when I desire,
Hear my carnal call,
I want you in me,
A taste of ecstasy.

I lay here now,
Bare on the bed,
Ceased by desire,
Free me now.

Restless feet bother,
Kiss them and in between,
Soften the bridges,
So you may pass.

Forward and backward,
All leads to ecstasy,
Touch me whole,
Touch me now .
Experimenting with erotica;)
CK Baker Feb 2017
it falls through the glow of the wintery trees
building a cover under the breeze
luminous lights sparkle and hatch
snow pack high on the briar patch

pine cones fall from majestic fir
squirrel and robin rustle and stir
sitka spruce at tunnel bluffs
ravens roost on cedar rough

dusted peaks at hurley pass
snowline cuts the avalanche
fox and lynx are on the prowl
hollow eyes from spotted owl

cool winds up the valley trail
whirling snow from diamond vale
chilling flakes in candle hands
moonlight shines across the land

northern lights in krypton green
the sounds of verve are bitter sweet
curtains hang on a cold dark sky
counting stars, a lullaby
Alyssa Underwood Jul 2016
It's at the point of desperation that the soul finds its deepest desire,
and in that desire lies everything of which true life is made.
Perhaps the first and central question concerning surrender
ought not to be, “What am I willing to give to God?”
but “What am I willing to receive from Him?”

For it's only in the realization that I have nothing to give Him and
He has everything to give me that true humility and surrender come.
If I would simply receive all He offers me and let Him fill me up
I would have no room in my hands to hold onto anything else.  
But how often it is that we won't receive it until everything else is lost.

It's the secret and inexpressible dreams of the soul
which are the hardest things of all to let go and the last to go.
When they are finally gone we have nothing left to run to but Him,
and when we do we find that He is the beginning,
the end and the center of every secret dream.

Ah, blessed Peniel—that mysterious and holy ground
where heartache collides head-on with romance,
that deep and shadowed land where we struggle
with God and with men and we overcome,
that painful yet glorious place which we may leave limping
with a wrenched hip but we do not care, for we have seen God’s face—
like Jacob, may we not pass you by without being forever changed.
Genesis 32

~~~
Lazhar Bouazzi Jul 2018
Azure was the sky, and leaden was the sea;
Not surprising would this discord be
For him who has only half read Wordsworth.

What ailed his thoughts were the debris
Of broken glass fishermen-in-boats
Might have thrown into the ocean
On a night of 'Celtia'* with no pairing,

Or the sight of a woman’s dress
Whose darkness was swollen, as
A giant sea urchin, whose quills
Had been plucked by the greenness of rust;

Or a German parachute
Over Kasserine pass**, my thyme nest
And the center of Tunisia.

©LazharBouazzi, July 15, 2018
*'Celtia' is the oldest and most popular tunisian beer
**The Battle of Kasserine Pass was a battle of the Tunisia Campaign of World War II that took place in February 1943. Kasserine Pass is a 2-mile-wide (3.2 km) gap in the Grand Dorsal chain of the Atlas Mountains in west central Tunisia. The Axis forces, led by Generalfeldmarschall Erwin Rommel, were primarily from the Afrika Korps Assault Group, elements of the Italian Centauro Armoured Division and two Panzer divisions detached from the 5th Panzer Army, while the Allied forces consisted of the U.S. II Corps (Major General Lloyd Fredendall),[5] the British 6th Armoured Division (Major-General Charles Keightley) and other parts of the First Army (Lieutenant-General Kenneth Anderson).
The battle was the first major engagement between American and Axis forces in World War II in Africa. Inexperienced and poorly led American troops suffered many casualties and were quickly pushed back over 50 miles (80 km) from their positions west of Faïd Pass.[5] After the early defeat, elements of the U.S. II Corps, with British reinforcements, rallied and held the exits through mountain passes in western Tunisia, defeating the Axis offensive. As a result of the battle, the U.S. Army instituted sweeping changes of unit organization and replaced commanders[5] and some types of equipment.” (Wikipedia)
Ironically (or, correspondingly), West central Tunisia (notably Kasserine mountains) are now being used by what is left of Islamist terrorists, whose colors are green and black, as their headquarters in their battle against democracy. (my note)
CK Baker Jan 2018
who lit the candles
placed eloquently
behind purple rock?
the sculpted radiance,
chapel grace
wound in a chosen
defined way
down the spiral
stone stairs

street cars dawdle
alongside
the packer slew
biding merchants (and frontmen)
shuffle their wares
as the madman
and pock face
sing their
holy blues

cut jazz echoes
over the accompanied
gabble and drone
incense and haze
pour from
a lower trap door
sack fish, truffles
and splendid crafts shine
inside the stained glass fronts

a wide mouth
snapper
with a bloated tongue
greets the
morning tide
(not camera shy
in the least!)
fish traps
and beaneries
dot the busy causeway

hula hoops
and ballers
join the
cobaine stage
favoured rogues
and mac jacks
speak easy
of the big daddy

beth’s triple by pass
taking firm hold on
tricky ****
and the nutcracker
maze ways,
taggers and
lost tunnels
of cu chi
strike a
nerving blow

a poised finger man
belts out his tune
(with a sniff sock
and iterating glare)
his nosey neighbors
cut artisan bread
(with a white wine
and jelly spread)
midwives push forward
for an afternoon
toddle and stroll
"i love you",
"you're my forever", "i love you more",
"im never going to leave you",
"i'll always be there for you",
"i love talking to you",
"i can do anything for you",
"you're my world", "I’d die without you"
"i'll love you till my last breath"..

Things people do to pass time when they are bored and lonely.
CK Baker Jan 2017
( i )
I lucked out
on table 4 last night
window seat
baseboard heat
with intimate passages
from Ginsberg
in his purest
and most evident form

Cover-all Carl was draped
in his usual garb
turning pages
of yesterday's news
animating, culturing and bantering
on the fate of the
Greek barber
(in an accent of which
I'm not so sure)

His cronies
looked on
with a twisted conviction
countering
with their own tales
of ingovernance and woe
did you know that Panasonic
lost 5 billion last quarter?


The evening moved
in time lapse
with painted winds,
streaming lights
and a host of
high school girls
running cold

Maleah passed
on her late shift
(checking the pile and trough)
patronized the boys
and called it a night

( ii )
The bald man
is back at it again
bickering at the till
something about
a cold free coffee
or 99 cents
or the coloured guy
behind him who got it hot
a kind Filipino
is trying to get it done
at 8 bucks per,
losing her cool
and shedding a quiet tear

Wonder what the Purewals
or Haitians or Cossacks
would have to say
about this grim public reminder,
wonder what
this sad f*ck
will do tonight...
without his
bus pass
or sling sack
or broken Turkish stems
Path Humble Jun 2018
left my phone unlocked
on the taxis back seat,
won't be the last time

called it a few times
finally, the driver picked up

he had a fare immediately after mine,
and was now headed way downtown,
and would call later
when fate returned him nearer my office

and so it came to pass,
very shortly thereafter,

we met on the street,
he rolled down  the window
and with the greatest smile of pleasure,
as if he had won the lottery
beaming,
handed me my phone

I had two $20's to cover any expense he might have incurred,
neatly folded in my hand  
and offered it right up, right away;
but the driver repeatedly pushed my hand away
as I insisted,
saying:

"No sir, no no, not necessary!

Allah sent me a fare
that took me soon back close to you, so,
  no loss of time did I suffer,
so your offer is kindly unnecessary!"


to which I replied,

"exactly!
Allah sent you to me
so I could reward you!"


and with an equally, beaming smile continued,

"our ride and meeting today,
together was pre-ordained it was


Inshallah!" ^

something he could not dispute...

  we parted ways
   each believing,
   each receiving
a heavenly check plus,
each, credited with a mitzvah^^
on our
respective trip logs,
our humanly divine balance sheets,
kept by the
single
supreme taxi dispatcher
Arabic for ^"God/Allah willing" or "if God/Allah wills," frequently spoken by a Muslim


^^a meritorious or charitable act in the Jewish tradition

FYI,
NYC taxi cab drivers are suffering economically by the explosion of ride hailing app cars, many unable to pay their bills, earn a living, have committed suicide over the past few months
https://www.nbcnews.com/news/us-news/sixth-new-york-city-cab-driver-dies-suicide-after-struggling-n883886

true story, poetry is there for the taking
CK Baker May 2017
like that pill bitter Sunday morning (after)
with a nauseating hack
the previously uneventful Tuesday
derailed
in surrealistic tale
with Auntie and Jack (and a quarter of fate)
in the 748
on a night flight
from Sherwood to Lore

reverberating waves
of imminent summer haze
river flats
and flower fields
fly weights
and silver bait
shredders and shysters
and open gates
(into those everlasting
and sweated journeys of hope)

bloods and strays
and florentine grays
(reminiscent of Rockwell fame)
running horses
and overgrown country lanes
morning grace
and gentle cheer
eyes clear
on the river pass
blunted paddles for those ancient
and not so willing suckers!


duke making his own way
(to the corner club)
Parsons and Poe
stream from the torn screen door
cricket cadence
and symphony of the Deere
calm and deliberate
in the soft
and silent fields

meadows open for grazing
(guineas scamper across the till)
pocket apples fill
the country ripe air
drunken bees
and chestnuts
and electric fingers
strike the surface pool
(a cedar ***** wedged on the white wash dock)

baited bull heads set to cast
evenings with hearts
and Nolten Nash
may flowers bloom
across the grass
~ time unmatched ~
with blue jays
and river bends
and channel cats
...and that warm
and recurring
Coleman drift
In a wakeful contradiction, it lays fact between my fiction,
Tangling subatomics, it unravels as its tricks spin
deeper toward the outward...
                         it won’t let up, 'til I give in.

Over matter, lay my mind…
I tell a lie to pass the time...
But there’s no reason nor a rhyme --
                                      Less still, a purpose?
I search for something to remind my mind
                                      that there’s truth that isn’t worthless…

But as always, failure appears;
                                        in a sort-of amnesic continuity.
And my reality lies to my own mind
just as well as it succeeds in its futility.
With destruction as its manifest,
It tells me that I stand my tallest
                                       Upon two buckled knees.

Just as faith will find one’s doubt --
                           a search within has left without.
It seems that an answer, once sought out,
                          will be left lacking its question.

My truth divides itself, as a product of infinite misdirection.

I try to substitute a reason for a rhyme.
But with no lies left to pass the time...
                                              I swallow a dose of ignorance.
                                   It goes down smoother than the truth.

In a war that started with a truce,
This world betrayed my faith to show me:
                                                  that I'm only tall enough
                                        Once I’ve been
                                                              cu­t
                                                                ­     down
                                                                ­              slowly.

Like a pill too large to swallow,
                I think I’m choking on myself . . .
Or the irony of asking,
                     “How could I be so careless?”
Here I stand, Barely standing,
                   Consumed almost entirely
By my own dry-heaving self-awareness...

Left to fight the fears that my nightmares create;
I’m still running from my past,
yet, haunted by my fate.
They walk beside me always, shadowing wholeheartedly —
Existing as a duality, both apart from, and a part of me.

These ghosts have taught me very little...
                                    Aside from what I hate.
But, I've come to learn not to fear
                                    The forceful hands of fate.
For I shudder not at the thought of destiny,
                                    Or the inevitable in time...
Instead, I fear the eventuality of the choices
That were solely, and entirely, mine.

I fear that my will may be of enough influence, alone...
That fate itself may collapse beneath decisions like my own.
Or that I, myself, might be constructing
What destruction I will find
Among my shattered spirits and convictions,
In these depths to which I climb.

Thera Lance Oct 2018
The movies lie,
Every single image that flashes through these eyes of mine
Promises that I’ll have more
Seconds to braid your hair,
Minutes to whisper sorry so that
The past no longer drags you down with cold steel
Biting deep.

There should be
More moments to hold your hand as
The hourglass’s red sand dribbles through your fingers
And pools around us,
Mirroring a world where
We could have walked side by side,
With sunlight streaming through your hair
And moonlight illuminating our bed where we rest
With hair the same silver.

There should have been a time where
I could have held your hand
With the strength of a chain,
Wrapping around our arms in golden threads
And binding our fates.

We should have been able to
Sit under the same tree,
While smaller others played around us.

The screens vowed
Long enough to say all
That could be said between us,
Yet, the only thing that I can give you
To wipe away tears that I can no longer reach,
Is a smile.
Lyn-Purcell Sep 2018


Many years and tears pass
till we stare and rise
from the ashes
of love


Just a short poem before I hit the hay.
Tommorow is interview day!
...save me...
Lyn ***
Twigzy Jul 2017
10th July 2017

To My Husband

As I watch your life, slipping away
We share all the things we want to say

We have time to reflect, encourage and love
To be grateful with warmth, to look beyond and above

We remember the good and laugh at the bad
And take time to listen and embrace the sad

It is a rich time, this time that we have
What has been, what is now, is what will be had

As your strength fades, and your eyes slowly dim
We look beyond the body you are in

When death approaches and your final breath taken
We know your spirit, will soar with elation

You will look at this world and say your goodbyes
And peace will take you as you pass through the sky’s

All the best for your journey
Your loving wife
My husband was diagnosed with terminal stomach cancer we only had a few months to say goodby and make peace. It was the richest time of our marriage
Ilion gray Jul 2018
If the endless invoked me
”come”
I would leave these days
Without me
the solidarity of hidden deserts
Under unfounded skies
Will still be resting;
If I remain
Amidst the swaying morning
by earth
Inside your space
my hands
Dark as shadows cast
From holes burned
through walls
behind heaven
Eons dripping
billions all at once
Trying to keep every drop of you
In my hands
But you are a quasar
Even breaking atoms
collapsing everything
And lowering yourself
back to earth
Tonight
inches equal aeons
Here in this place
Where no one ever goes
I watch the universe
crush
In my palm
I witness
the strength of megallactic clouds
I am alive
Because I
snatched only the essence of the galaxies
bleeding
your skin is perfect
You having been born of tears
Of the endless face of God
Racing back
Down through
Darkness' unnamed
And unnumbered
Rushing down
Leaving every empty space
Stained with the fingers of your
Flames while you
escape heaven
I will reinforce
Every constellation
Else the ether
could never hold you
for a moment
Your skin was placed
superbly over
bones
and flesh
Veins endless
And all the tender entrails
in its time
Sat suspended
Remember my love Forget
all other things
But this
When your Hours finish
It wont be day
nor December
There won't be rain
And stars will not descend
From the space from which you came
you woke up in childhood
You have learned to dream in mirage of minutes
Be Silent in the shaken shadows
Of hours
just once you were called by the finite
But do not be afraid
My love
Because the caverns of my heart
were forged in the thickest charms
In darkness
Reclusive
In the unchanged
Spaces of gods thought
I'll tell you now
Spill everything
from your fury down
inside me
Because my emptiness can not be filled
when there was a real light
in the days of the day
I sat with the wicked
In kingdoms where light can not pass
In repentance

I will save a calm battle
Until every atomie of my skin has perished
I will rage against the black angels
In the clouds Behind your eyes
Until the ice
Until innocence
When they lay you in the empty space
soon you will be the bones
and the flesh unexcited
The unexpected veins of the earthstar
Your scent goes away from the moon
Your breath on my skin is gravity only you could be born once
as a single kind of dust
drifting with Silence
violently Bubbling
and Spinning-Recklessly
Endlessly
forever
Nat Lipstadt Sep 2018
if I got a poem out of every message I receive...ha!...I do...

quite a bit upon to chew,
but a request from her,
to please ignore her weirdness,
too juicy to pass unnoticed,
because it goes to the heart of the mad matter

'tis that weirdness that I do so cherish,
fully reflected in my own poem-children,
my multiple identities, that the FBI is yet tracking

give me your weirdness, yearning to be free,
so my poems can be inscribed upon a crown

and daughter adopted dear,
that one crown,
thy name,
thy madness upon it, etched,
modified to rest
easy
upon thy temples

<•>
for Ali
sara Jun 2018
Oh, to be a poet
one must be so emotional.
Well, no. Not necessarily.
We're only really capable
of understanding feeling,
investigating our emotions.
It doesn't mean we cry all day,
or pass nights in dark rooms moping.

We have lives; come home from work
or get in on a night bus back;
it's from all this experience
that we can draw out fact.
From mundane to extraordinary
we will become inspired.
Our strength is versatility
and life ignights our fires.

So, we do not all have to be
constricted to intensity
-to ponder oh-so seriously
on what it simply means 'to be'.
We can be strong, flirty, or mean
or to the brim with confidence.
For, what does 'to be a poet' mean,
if you cannot explore yourself?
'Our strength is versatility' is something I feel is very important and sometimes forgotten among stereotypes of what poetry should be about
Ilion gray Aug 2018
The people
Are going anywhere
where they will wait,
Where the aluminum tops of pop
Bottles crash to earth
Releasing one last
Tiiiiinngg!!!((())))))
A kind of
Musical note...
A single sound through the corridors
Of order-
Watching the wind tease the trees/
Like the fastest boy
On the block,
Subtly walking
Over scattered grey
loose gravel
In the parking lot
Of the park,
Running his
Tiny ***** fingers,
Through
The other boys heads
Dusty and
Stagnant,
Filthy with earth and
Hours,
their
Blood black and  smoldering
Beneath a ceiling of skin,
Every pore
Like a window
Open
Waiting for the
One who knows,
To pass by,
All of them
Believing they
Were chosen.
"duck"
    "DUck"
              .........."DUCK
"GOOSE!!!­"

I watch the wind tease the leaves of trees-
Just this way,
At play,
Aloof
To the price of days,
Each one,
Their own.
Yet, both
The tree
And the child
Are Subtly dying,
Whilst also
climbing,
Closer to the
The sky,
Those ageless eyes
watch
their tiny fingers
stretched high
Reaching beneath
The ribs of wind,
the deepest end
Of the Seas of mid-heaven,
Into the sacred
Waves of secrets
everlasting,
Where
God taught his only
Son to swim.

I also watched,
as the wind teased
The trees that held the leaves-
Each decaying
As they rise
They bend forward like,
golden fields of days
Like sun-beaten blades of grass,
Their giant broken bodies
Like stones
So still,
That at times,
unfortunate seconds
Drifting past
Quietly,
wander
Too long
In the sadness,
Then crash
Violently,
In the silence.

If you ask some of the
people,
They will say
"We are going everywhere,
And yet we have found nothing-
Nothing/
While we wait-"

I have watched the wind tease
Everything,
All that I can hold in my eyes,
There
Where there is life everlasting-
Fingerprints,
Left after
the years wrapped it's hands
Around my neck squeezing
Till my skin began
To die and wither,
Like a brown trout
Tired, and weary
Floating way too
Close to the bank
As the edge of March,
Eat the last days of winter,
Now the evenings
Fall like ash,
Slowly arriving,
Hovering,
Softly
covering my shoulder.
The long night has just begun
Solemn and Subtle, sewn with
years
And hours
Of days that dripping
minutes
Never fill,
Arriving always
at the coldest hour
From the woods
That none
Can enter,
Lest you have reinforced your thoughts
With stolen rays of sunshine
Lest you have mapped
Constellations in the
Shattered glass  
From the broken
Windows of your eyes
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