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"rurality" poems
Vitamin Forest nurture in nature healing the soreness from legislature metropolitan heart the sreets pulse like veins each hour depart clogged artery trains a lifeless appendage bleeding the suburb with no one to bandage deluge to each curb renewable resource found in rurality we ask for remorse draught, virus plurality Human being cancer lets all dissolve to find out the answer and utter resolve if the soul of a monster's sins be absolved
0
May 14, 2013
May 14, 2013 at 12:19 PM UTC
Redundant Abundance
take me to rurality no boundaries when it comes to the nature of reality. take impressive— yet not excessive— pictures of what you see we're to feel home anywhere because it's you and me. take me to rurality we smile before we're back to normality. we'll be there ashore overboard, we'll adore the strangest things. until our personal judgement of what beauty is wouldn't be how is used to be.
0
May 3, 2017
May 3, 2017 at 10:28 AM UTC
exotic escape
Her eyes shake in her sleep. Is she awake or is she dreaming? Dare I ask her and bother to interrupt? No, I'll wait for her to naturally wake up. It's so loud in the nighttime. The silence is deafening. The hums of the refrigerator, air conditioner, the small city rurality. Crickets chirp like frog croaks, dogs bark at bicycle spokes. She murmurs in her dreams, words that make no sense. Completely static expressions leave me in wanting suspense. I wonder where she is now. Blurry confines of pianoforte, soft & loud, like our bed sheets and pillow tops. Comfort without a sound. Sleep for her is an ease within which she slips carefully. She wakes with dreams and stories, descriptions bare vividly her soul for me to sip. She happily spends a third of her life having the plaque of her mind scraped fresh and waking anew. From the autumn dusk to the spring dawn, the drying evening to the morning dew. I sit here awake planning out a future based on days long past. Watching as dust lingers in the first reminders of sunshafts. Have you ever watched a loved one wake up from a gentle kiss? Feeling guilt in the hope of having her wake with your wish? Seeing the smile split her lips wide and her eyes linger longer as if she had been worried in her sleep that you had forgot her. I was always here in the nighttime making sure you were safe. I'm sorry I fell asleep on you while you were still awake. But I saw your eyes and they were thriving in their shake. I assumed you were dreaming, my darling. Now I'm left with guilt and shame.
0
Aug 6, 2018
Aug 6, 2018 at 4:21 AM UTC
Summertime, I've lost track of the numbers
Her eyes shake in her sleep. Is she awake or is she dreaming? Dare I ask her and bother to interrupt? No, I'll wait for her to naturally wake up. It's so loud in the nighttime. The silence is deafening. The hums of the refrigerator, air conditioner, the small city rurality. Crickets chirp like frog croaks, dogs bark at bicycle spokes. She murmurs in her dreams, words that make no sense. Completely static expressions leave me in wanting suspense. I wonder where she is now. Blurry confines of pianoforte, soft & loud, like our bed sheets and pillow tops. Comfort without a sound. Sleep for her is an ease within which she slips carefully. She wakes with dreams and stories, descriptions bare vividly her soul for me to sip. She happily spends a third of her life having the plaque of her mind scraped fresh and waking anew. From the autumn dusk to the spring dawn, the drying evening to the morning dew. I sit here awake planning out a future based on days long past. Watching as dust lingers in the first reminders of sunshafts. Have you ever watched a loved one wake up from a gentle kiss? Feeling guilt in the hope of having her wake with your wish? Seeing the smile split her lips wide and her eyes linger longer as if she had been worried in her sleep that you had forgot her. I was always here in the nighttime making sure you were safe. I'm sorry I fell asleep on you while you were still awake. But I saw your eyes and they were thriving in their shake. I assumed you were dreaming, my darling. Now I'm left with guilt and shame.
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35
In a place Away from rurality I found the urban upbringing That left me lost in the city In a place by the hills I can still see the county Like my painted past
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Nov 4, 2018
Nov 4, 2018 at 9:10 AM UTC
Painted Past