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"unrivalled" poems
Being held in your embrace, Your head against my chest. How could you wonder why, I love this so so much? It's gentle security against the: Mind that claws itself every day, People sparring against our hope, Tumultuous times this life gives. An act of love, of friendship, Compassion and closeness. You are my companion, A joy unrivalled in my life. Everything said here, Is captured in a perfect act: Our arms wrapping around, Bodies pressed together. Your hugs. My hugs.
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Apr 18, 2016
Apr 18, 2016 at 5:33 PM UTC
Your Hugs
What I bring to the table is Sensitivity, Sincerity, Compassion, Honesty and Respect What I bring to the table is Intelligence, Good Grace and Humour, Understanding and Confidence What I bring to the table is Generosity in spirit and Deeds, Calmness and Reflection, Strength, Bravery and Courage What I bring to the table is a Caring Soul, a Good Heart and Faith, Loyalty and Truthfulness and Trust What I bring to the table is Versatility, Competence and Originality What I bring to the table is the Love of Romeo and Real Passion unrivalled.......... So tell me why I am being GREEDY if I say I do not care if I eat alone! Am I to blame if some chose not to see Am I to blame if stunted pride and ego blinds Am I to blame if stupidity and foolishness abound Am I to blame if complexes and insecurities assail some Am I to blame if dishonesty and fickleness is more appealing Am I to blame if envy and jealousy blind eyes and minds in others Am I to blame if they term caring and attentive as clingy Am I to blame if they term Intelligence and Honesty as arrogance Am I to blame if they term Strength, Bravery and Courage as Male Chauvanism Am I to blame if they term Intelligence Competence and originality as Controlling Am I to blame when they lack the Ability to look honestly and truthfully within themselves before pointing their fingers So tell me why I am being GREEDY if I say I do not care if I eat alone So tell me why I am being GREEDY if I say I do not care if I eat alone at my table..........
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Aug 26, 2018
Aug 26, 2018 at 3:33 PM UTC
Lets Talk Greed!......
What I bring to the table is Sensitivity, Sincerity, Compassion, Honesty and Respect What I bring to the table is Intelligence, Good Grace and Humour, Understanding and Confidence What I bring to the table is Generosity in spirit and Deeds, Calmness and Reflection, Strength, Bravery and Courage What I bring to the table is a Caring Soul, a Good Heart and Faith, Loyalty and Truthfulness and Trust What I bring to the table is Versatility, Competence and Originality What I bring to the table is the Love of Romeo and Real Passion unrivalled.......... So tell me why I am being GREEDY if I say I do not care if I eat alone! Am I to blame if some chose not to see Am I to blame if stunted pride and ego blinds Am I to blame if stupidity and foolishness abound Am I to blame if complexes and insecurities assail some Am I to blame if dishonesty and fickleness is more appealing Am I to blame if envy and jealousy blind eyes and minds in others Am I to blame if they term caring and attentive as clingy Am I to blame if they term Intelligence and Honesty as arrogance Am I to blame if they term Strength, Bravery and Courage as Male Chauvanism Am I to blame if they term Intelligence Competence and originality as Controlling Am I to blame when they lack the Ability to look honestly and truthfully within themselves before pointing their fingers So tell me why I am being GREEDY if I say I do not care if I eat alone So tell me why I am being GREEDY if I say I do not care if I eat alone at my table..........
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27
Can we believe -- by an effort comfort our hearts: it is not waste all this, not placed here in disgust, street after street, each patterned alike, no grace to lighten a single house of the hundred crowded into one garden-space. Crowded -- can we believe, not in utter disgust, in ironical play -- but the maker of cities grew faint with the beauty of temple and space before temple, arch upon perfect arch, of pillars and corridors that led out to strange court-yards and porches where sun-light stamped hyacinth-shadows black on the pavement. That the maker of cities grew faint with the splendour of palaces, paused while the incense-flowers from the incense-trees dropped on the marble-walk, thought anew, fashioned this -- street after street alike. For alas, he had crowded the city so full that men could not grasp beauty, beauty was over them, through them, about them, no crevice unpacked with the honey, rare, measureless. So he built a new city, ah can we believe, not ironically but for new splendour constructed new people to lift through slow growth to a beauty unrivalled yet -- and created new cells, hideous first, hideous now -- spread larve across them, not honey but seething life. And in these dark cells, packed street after street, souls live, hideous yet -- O disfigured, defaced, with no trace of the beauty men once held so light. Can we think a few old cells were left -- we are left -- grains of honey, old dust of stray pollen dull on our torn wings, we are left to recall the old streets? Is our task the less sweet that the larve still sleep in their cells? Or crawl out to attack our frail strength: You are useless. We live. We await great events. We are spread through this earth. We protect our strong race. You are useless. Your cell takes the place of our young future strength. Though they sleep or wake to torment and wish to displace our old cells -- thin rare gold -- that their larve grow fat -- is our task the less sweet? Though we wander about, find no honey of flowers in this waste, is our task the less sweet -- who recall the old splendour, await the new beauty of cities? The city is peopled with spirits, not ghosts, O my love: Though they crowded between and usurped the kiss of my mouth their breath was your gift, their beauty, your life.
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2.9k
Cities
Can we believe -- by an effort comfort our hearts: it is not waste all this, not placed here in disgust, street after street, each patterned alike, no grace to lighten a single house of the hundred crowded into one garden-space. Crowded -- can we believe, not in utter disgust, in ironical play -- but the maker of cities grew faint with the beauty of temple and space before temple, arch upon perfect arch, of pillars and corridors that led out to strange court-yards and porches where sun-light stamped hyacinth-shadows black on the pavement. That the maker of cities grew faint with the splendour of palaces, paused while the incense-flowers from the incense-trees dropped on the marble-walk, thought anew, fashioned this -- street after street alike. For alas, he had crowded the city so full that men could not grasp beauty, beauty was over them, through them, about them, no crevice unpacked with the honey, rare, measureless. So he built a new city, ah can we believe, not ironically but for new splendour constructed new people to lift through slow growth to a beauty unrivalled yet -- and created new cells, hideous first, hideous now -- spread larve across them, not honey but seething life. And in these dark cells, packed street after street, souls live, hideous yet -- O disfigured, defaced, with no trace of the beauty men once held so light. Can we think a few old cells were left -- we are left -- grains of honey, old dust of stray pollen dull on our torn wings, we are left to recall the old streets? Is our task the less sweet that the larve still sleep in their cells? Or crawl out to attack our frail strength: You are useless. We live. We await great events. We are spread through this earth. We protect our strong race. You are useless. Your cell takes the place of our young future strength. Though they sleep or wake to torment and wish to displace our old cells -- thin rare gold -- that their larve grow fat -- is our task the less sweet? Though we wander about, find no honey of flowers in this waste, is our task the less sweet -- who recall the old splendour, await the new beauty of cities? The city is peopled with spirits, not ghosts, O my love: Though they crowded between and usurped the kiss of my mouth their breath was your gift, their beauty, your life.
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83
Celestial, heavenly queen Beauty unrivalled Oh vanity! ‘Tis quicksand of reason And angry Gods speak Purity and innocence Surrendered Shackled to crystalline quartz And blamelessness the sacrificial quarry Retribution is costly -- Though beauty shines brightly With vanity Comes lonely truth
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Jun 28, 2011
Jun 28, 2011 at 8:10 PM UTC
CASSIOPEIA
To think for ye self, solely and unrivalled. -aye, Victorious! To sculpt a smilen on others' visage; -ye ne’er crave. But, the kin’s desiren hath thine becometh.
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Nov 30, 2011
Nov 30, 2011 at 2:24 PM UTC
Ironic
A maidenly form with goodly balcony: Chic design of an unrivalled Architect. Finely balusters decorate her dreamy Shape--especial from fore to aft. As the Shulamite's apples in Solomon's Pleasing courtyard is her love in my Heart, exchanging thus my flagons With her berries on the bed of sapphire, Until dawn choruses enter the day's ear-- Heaven's chandelier beams into the bower.
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Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 10:22 AM UTC
Berries for Flagons
The mighty Atlas, father of those seven sisters, Bears the weight of heaven on his broad shoulders. And even one of the brothers three, lives eternal; In Chaos realms, Tartarus' black abyss, in which No soul returns, to gaze upon life's light once more. Although, forgive me, I lie; a few, a few selected, Have returned from amidst heavy woe, pushing Down their sorrows. Orpheus ventured, With sweet song, motherly ordained and with divine, Unrivalled skill on his lyre, seduced Hades himself. I too, challenge his great powers; and with her skirt Flapping with speed, ride on Auroras saffron chariot, Cooking the sky's dark covering wings, to a baking red, While the sun gallops up, stampeding behind our cart. I play, not keen, to act the fool, and lay these pale ivy Laments in front, which my lips have yet not touched. I place you in the centre, forests following, clear streams Flowing as crystals sway on its surface; and yet, I have not put them to my lips; but keep them by. I praise not this, but sing, because together we sit On this soft green grass; now the woods are leafing, Now the year is at its loveliest, the cheeky girl Pelts me with apples. Presents are laid up for my Emily, I myself have observed where doves make their nests. I'll pick ten apples, picked from a woodland tree, And for you, I'll pick ten more tomorrow. You breezes waft a word or two to the gods' ears And to my pure white seraphim, for her to hear. I love my angel most of all, for when I left, She wept and said ‘So long, love, so long.' Wolves are sad for the folds, rain for the crops, Gales for the trees, and Emily, me for you. I love my muse, let him who loves you share your paradise. Let honey flow from him, let roses blossom From his pores, to pick flowers and earth born strawberries, To dip you, in springs of tears myself. My love is ruinous And the sky extends no wider than my heart. Say, in what lands the flowers inscribe your name, The name of goddesses; for who fears the sweet, Or feels the bitterness of love; let them drink their fill.
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Jan 5, 2013
Jan 5, 2013 at 9:13 AM UTC
The mighty Atlas
The mighty Atlas, father of those seven sisters, Bears the weight of heaven on his broad shoulders. And even one of the brothers three, lives eternal; In Chaos realms, Tartarus' black abyss, in which No soul returns, to gaze upon life's light once more. Although, forgive me, I lie; a few, a few selected, Have returned from amidst heavy woe, pushing Down their sorrows. Orpheus ventured, With sweet song, motherly ordained and with divine, Unrivalled skill on his lyre, seduced Hades himself. I too, challenge his great powers; and with her skirt Flapping with speed, ride on Auroras saffron chariot, Cooking the sky's dark covering wings, to a baking red, While the sun gallops up, stampeding behind our cart. I play, not keen, to act the fool, and lay these pale ivy Laments in front, which my lips have yet not touched. I place you in the centre, forests following, clear streams Flowing as crystals sway on its surface; and yet, I have not put them to my lips; but keep them by. I praise not this, but sing, because together we sit On this soft green grass; now the woods are leafing, Now the year is at its loveliest, the cheeky girl Pelts me with apples. Presents are laid up for my Emily, I myself have observed where doves make their nests. I'll pick ten apples, picked from a woodland tree, And for you, I'll pick ten more tomorrow. You breezes waft a word or two to the gods' ears And to my pure white seraphim, for her to hear. I love my angel most of all, for when I left, She wept and said ‘So long, love, so long.' Wolves are sad for the folds, rain for the crops, Gales for the trees, and Emily, me for you. I love my muse, let him who loves you share your paradise. Let honey flow from him, let roses blossom From his pores, to pick flowers and earth born strawberries, To dip you, in springs of tears myself. My love is ruinous And the sky extends no wider than my heart. Say, in what lands the flowers inscribe your name, The name of goddesses; for who fears the sweet, Or feels the bitterness of love; let them drink their fill.
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40
The anger swells inside me; a hurt unrivalled, do I wish to seek out revenge? Revenge on who?! The monster smothers me until I can no longer see, hear, breathe! Controls me. I am no longer sure if it becomes me or I become it, I see no beginning and no end. Infinite aching so deep within my chest that it threatens to consume me until there is no longer me! Can't they see?! It's drowning me in an ocean of tears and pain and confusion. It's too late.
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May 15, 2013
May 15, 2013 at 10:12 PM UTC
Reckless abandon.
A star Is to be born, Unplugged From its conspicuous flesh, Nonpareil soul--vibrant colours That mesh. Unrivalled, Big, Brilliant and unique At core, Eternal splendor--growing Forevermore A light so brilliantly bright, An energy So powerfully electric, But ever so light. Free, Reborn into infinite life, The sun and moon Extend their immediate family, Just, as husband and wife. A star Is to be born--metaphorically Speaking, Death of flesh... A soul transitioning, No longer in pain, No longer seeking. Immortal in God's domain... Eternally free of pain. By Lady R.F. (C)2018
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Sep 22, 2018
Sep 22, 2018 at 2:56 AM UTC
Death Of Flesh
Equally at home in the streets and just as gifted in a suit with a delicately done press. the smooth operator Is one of the most dangerous creatures we've yet encountered They're found everywhere, coast to coast, from NY To Chicago, also spotted up north in Canada and down south in Key Largo. The smooth operator is equipped for any encounter with eyes that pierce deep into the soul and can approach anybody with a confidence level unrivalled by none but their own kind. There is only one, Nay Two known deterrents of the smooth operator, either a pathetic Roger Rabbit like nerd, or a spilled drink. careful out there ladies. it's a jungle.
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Mar 30, 2015
Mar 30, 2015 at 3:22 AM UTC
Smooth Operator
Astonishing Beautiful Caring Dazzling Exciting Fabulous Generous Heart-felt Implicit Joyous At the moment, I have name ten qualities that makes up you. And those that knows you would agree are true. Keen Lofty Marvelous Nice Original Perceptive These are six more reasons that keep me loving every part of you. They represent you. Quietude Reliant. Sensual Tenacious Unrivalled Valuable These are six more things people can testify about you. If they know you. Or dont. They will spot this within every part of you. Worthy. This quality alone any many could see. And come away believing it. It just shows. X In my life. This you'll never be. You simply means the world to me. Yearnful. This I admit is my weakness. When it's you. You has this control to create this feeling within me. Zest. Again, you shows it. And anyone that has been in your company knows it. Twenty six words of loving qualities. And love wasn't used once except in my ending of this message about you.
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Nov 30, 2012
Nov 30, 2012 at 4:40 PM UTC
Twenty Six Words
I find it easy not to love you, but after all these years, that only lasts about 30 seconds For it is your love that does beseech my innermost thoughts, takes a grip on my senses, never to be set free, Your beauty , not a parody, unrivalled in its power to render human flesh lifeless, statuesque I stand, You found me, I was hiding, you love me , I am now alive
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Mar 1, 2016
Mar 1, 2016 at 6:16 PM UTC
30 seconds
Some don’t believe our souls are meant to find a mate. That no matter what, we will be left utterly alone at the end of the day. You have you and I have me. Until you wake up and discover that all this time, every part of yourself you considered your own unique piece, your personal treasure – well, it doesn’t actually belong to you. Because after all, who are we but reflections of all the beautiful things we see in the world; smeared and speckled slightly by dirt and grime we either attempt to clean or condemn. And yet neither beauty nor ugliness would exist in complete isolation. Myself and my soul are me because of you. Every tiny little ray of goodness that exudes from you has become a part of me. For the beauty of the world lies not in the hands of I; but rather can be found in the crux of every different strand of companionship. The chapters you have written in my life are extraordinary and unrivalled. And though the eroding forces of time may one day leave those pages yellowed and torn, the stories they tell have been permanently imprinted in the most precious depths of my memory. Maybe I don’t believe in a higher power than that of ourselves, but somewhere within me resides the belief that sometimes true love has a way of finding its way back into our lives. Back to the people and places where the most pure forms of bliss and happiness dug their deepest roots.
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Mar 20, 2012
Mar 20, 2012 at 2:56 PM UTC
For You, Bologna
I wonder if this is how a snake feels when it sheds its skin. A cold blooded, fearsome creature, stretching in unrivalled freedom of its new found unprotection. Revelling in the glorious vulnerability of being alive, growing. Understanding how close to death and out of control it is and knowing that these moments, so heavily punctuated with danger, are what makes it feel alive at all.
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Oct 27, 2021
Oct 27, 2021 at 10:33 PM UTC
Shedding
I was sure Sure of myself Thought I was above clichés Live to please someone? Psh i'd think "it'd never come to that" But then he was there He'd been there a while No stranger A comfortable smile I kid you not It came to me like a slap in the face This sudden urge? This unrivalled adoration? It felt so out of place Its the simple things Your little gap between your teeth The effortless and energising teasing I began to see see parts of me within you The quiet thoughtfulness The smile you had for everyone Always a thousand times more beautiful when directed at me
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Dec 5, 2013
Dec 5, 2013 at 2:50 PM UTC
love isn't just for losers
*Grief has pierced her from childhood days Today she is forty but still the same Nowhere to go, no one to protect Surrounded by eagle eyes to tear her Scared of her own breath now Heart gravely asking this world of dirt Is her birth responsible for this? Merely because she is a girl,woman ? Tired of survival in this butcher’s world Chanting God ’s mantras has become the unrivalled option God, losing His patience seeing her grief Came to her with a helping hand Enough of your tears in this inhumane earth Come with me my child Taking you to a world where there’s no human smell Waving goodbye to this fateful life Doors of her eyes closed calmly*
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Mar 30, 2017
Mar 30, 2017 at 1:57 AM UTC
Responsible Of birth
Intrepid damsel, a heroine unsung. A willing martyr with courage unrivalled. Unransomed captive with a ransom infinite. She gladly faces death with eternity in view. Like her lover before her, she chooses to be a sacrificial lamb to the slaughter. Leah Sharibu, the heroine unsung. She that chose to mortify her passions for timeless paradise. Hardly daunted by Kalashnikovs and thunderous explosives, she inherits a world deemed abstract by unfaithful adherents.
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Aug 3, 2019
Aug 3, 2019 at 9:52 AM UTC
Leah Sharibu the unsung heroine
You skip through my mind Every second Half way then to the extreme And then it goes back to normal With your unrivalled spirit Untenable, you daunt around Your playfulness and optimism Giving my life an aura or freedom With every step on the nature's vein You rouse a feeling of an unbridled passion in my mind Roaming about exploring jungles of my innermost thoughts Influcing me and my psyche with your cheeky demeanour And I know that I'll be in debt forever Because of your unquenchable love and heartiest grins You little monkey, this will be the way to our humble plight.
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Aug 24, 2015
Aug 24, 2015 at 11:38 AM UTC
Monkey
As a gentle pulse of my verdant heart, caressing my gracious unrivalled dreams, you are the color to my shallow art, I observe you and at once my soul beams. You were the nitid glimmer that saw me when I was in the purity of dark, as if your captivating eyes told me between us lays love's invincible spark. Honey, your love shuddered my withered heart, like the breeze that crosses rills and shakes oaks, with the abscense of you my world falls apart, to the ashes of our warmth die my hopes. Roses are red, violets are blue, I'm out of my head while thinking of you.    
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Apr 22, 2017
Apr 22, 2017 at 8:45 AM UTC
Your love
I still can’t find the words Because, perhaps, a part of me feels That you’ll look at me like I have ten heads If I say how I cannot heal. Perhaps I don’t want to heal at all, Now I am a vulnerable, scorned thing. The looks of realisation passing over their faces As I tell my sorry story, my frightening fabula. The tale of poppies and lilies and The coldest winter I have ever known. I was skin and bone with a big black coat And I didn’t like who it was that I was. The tale of glassy eyes and cold ones And throwing yourself at me The tale of black and white pudding Of Brett Ashley and Daisy Buchanan Of ostentatiousness unrivalled. I still can’t find the words I’m angry, sad, tearful in public alone Confused and bewildered. Is that how you love someone? Or claim that you do? Is that the ‘nice thing’ you’re holding back? Is that the swivelling chair or the casting couch? Is that why I cannot seem to get over it? Not over you, it. And you say you weren’t well at the time. I supposed we were both stuck clinging to each other To broken to move away, to scared to be alone. But no, this isn’t an excuse. I still can’t put it into words How profoundly odd I feel these days You didn’t hurt me but you hurt me And all I can see if your smirking face. ‘Calm down, you’re gorgeous.’ Oh, I could hate a hurt like that. My sorry story, fantastic fabulam Is it too posh if I speak outside English? Why do you care? You knew who I was. You know who I am. You know. And I’ll bet you also can’t find the words So you hide behind cheap drinks and albums And everything scummy because you despise who it is that you are. Hoi polloi, the common man. Whatever ‘common people do.’ I still can’t put it into words And I don’t want to. It’s too complex and I don’t have the energy to tell a story To tell the world of the war I won The hollow victory, the end of our empire. Red lips, red boots, silver shoes. Go to sleep, it’s over now.
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Nov 5, 2018
Nov 5, 2018 at 11:31 AM UTC
Fabula
I still can’t find the words Because, perhaps, a part of me feels That you’ll look at me like I have ten heads If I say how I cannot heal. Perhaps I don’t want to heal at all, Now I am a vulnerable, scorned thing. The looks of realisation passing over their faces As I tell my sorry story, my frightening fabula. The tale of poppies and lilies and The coldest winter I have ever known. I was skin and bone with a big black coat And I didn’t like who it was that I was. The tale of glassy eyes and cold ones And throwing yourself at me The tale of black and white pudding Of Brett Ashley and Daisy Buchanan Of ostentatiousness unrivalled. I still can’t find the words I’m angry, sad, tearful in public alone Confused and bewildered. Is that how you love someone? Or claim that you do? Is that the ‘nice thing’ you’re holding back? Is that the swivelling chair or the casting couch? Is that why I cannot seem to get over it? Not over you, it. And you say you weren’t well at the time. I supposed we were both stuck clinging to each other To broken to move away, to scared to be alone. But no, this isn’t an excuse. I still can’t put it into words How profoundly odd I feel these days You didn’t hurt me but you hurt me And all I can see if your smirking face. ‘Calm down, you’re gorgeous.’ Oh, I could hate a hurt like that. My sorry story, fantastic fabulam Is it too posh if I speak outside English? Why do you care? You knew who I was. You know who I am. You know. And I’ll bet you also can’t find the words So you hide behind cheap drinks and albums And everything scummy because you despise who it is that you are. Hoi polloi, the common man. Whatever ‘common people do.’ I still can’t put it into words And I don’t want to. It’s too complex and I don’t have the energy to tell a story To tell the world of the war I won The hollow victory, the end of our empire. Red lips, red boots, silver shoes. Go to sleep, it’s over now.
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53
Her stem a rod of iron proudly holds a pearl a rose with many petals flowering in the girl Skin softened by the silk of kindness in her veins innocent and on the brink of taking up the reins Essences flow within her beauty is unrivalled flourishing into womanhood declaring her arrival Flowering rose of honesty threshold of youthful verve exceptionally stunning blooming on the verge Her perfume radiates oozing from her heart the rose intoxicates with promise from the start Flowing locks encompass her graceful heavenly flare not yet a woman this pretty rose is rare
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Jul 12, 2015
Jul 12, 2015 at 3:44 PM UTC
Pretty Rose.......
Springing, a wooden fountain clawing up and seizing handfuls of sky, From a seed, once pierced, flooding bark and vein and leaf, A flash-frozen image witnessing centuries of inching growth, Earth’s womb births a living monument to the beauty of tireless patience. His grip streams also downwards, cascading away from the light, Roots surge, a backwards tree, a forest to gravity submissive, Sundering stone and breaking bedrock, juggernaut tendrils, Disdaining gold and diamond to drink deep decomposed dirt. Come summertide, branches bow and bend, saluting the forest floor, Spring flowers fall and seed-fruits swell, the weight of promised life, Fecundity unrivalled, to feed man and bird and wasp and deer, And to charge the earth with secret plans of sprouts for future days.
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Mar 8, 2018
Mar 8, 2018 at 8:59 AM UTC
Springing, a Wooden Fountain
They call her the ''Unrivalled'' , that she is the most confident and the most sanguine girl they ever met. They say that not even a pinch of dejection will ever let her get crushed between the walls of miseries. But they are yet to know the truth which hides behind the most charismatic smile of hers. Deep inside know that she is weak. So weak to even admit it. So weak to dispense it to the world thinking that she is craving for comfort, that she is craving for consolation. She'll never want people to feed on her fears. She never will.
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Mar 19, 2015
Mar 19, 2015 at 2:58 AM UTC
The Unrivalled.