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"vibrance" poems
Lovers entered a forbidden forest bower, And as they stalked that range, with eyes glazed, She offered up her hind. Now, with doe eyes, Deep as his, deep in arousal's sleep, heels fell,  As he knocked and pulled her dark honey hair  And whispered, surrender, into wanting ears,  Softly he drove his hunting command, homing  To his huntress. Her body braced, yet bade, with heat and vibrance. Ruthlessly, he ****** his arrow deeper and then  Once more and then again.  She bucked fiercely  And defiant, goading his prodding lance ever more Ever longer, and parting the pink lines of her white Rose, he was, and once again, Prince to the dark Dominion of her quarters. In the middle of this carnal match they paused. And looking into the forest beyond they saw A yearling fawn, a feral Goddess, grazing still,  Bathing in a vale, virginal, wholly unmoved  By their act of venery, lustfully playing, in the innocent  Leaves.  It was as if they were among her kin, a gentle  Doe and a noble stag. From that moment on  The human hunters did not speak. Falling, again, rolling eyes were deep in arousal's sleep. Her back was a crescent moon pocked and wet with dew. He could feel her heart beating in time with his piercing  Prong, her arching back glistened in the suns spittle As it broke through the dark and vernal ceiling wood. In the final shot her quivering buck lowered and broke And a sound not heard, made a scene, a sweet murmuring Shuddered and sank onto the floor of the forest leaves  With her tale, taken and told, her breathless breath,  Her nostrils cold and her heated and lanced openings  Dripping, draining; here was a New World’s beginning. Sated, solemn and softly quaking, his woman sweetly laid, And now, doomed with her doe eyes, two lovers, fated, made; She glowed, divine, like the rolling brook that mellowed Slow, in the vine-dark and golden forest stable, In Artemis’s wood.
0
Jun 15, 2012
Jun 15, 2012 at 1:33 PM UTC
In Artemis’s Wood
Lovers entered a forbidden forest bower, And as they stalked that range, with eyes glazed, She offered up her hind. Now, with doe eyes, Deep as his, deep in arousal's sleep, heels fell,  As he knocked and pulled her dark honey hair  And whispered, surrender, into wanting ears,  Softly he drove his hunting command, homing  To his huntress. Her body braced, yet bade, with heat and vibrance. Ruthlessly, he ****** his arrow deeper and then  Once more and then again.  She bucked fiercely  And defiant, goading his prodding lance ever more Ever longer, and parting the pink lines of her white Rose, he was, and once again, Prince to the dark Dominion of her quarters. In the middle of this carnal match they paused. And looking into the forest beyond they saw A yearling fawn, a feral Goddess, grazing still,  Bathing in a vale, virginal, wholly unmoved  By their act of venery, lustfully playing, in the innocent  Leaves.  It was as if they were among her kin, a gentle  Doe and a noble stag. From that moment on  The human hunters did not speak. Falling, again, rolling eyes were deep in arousal's sleep. Her back was a crescent moon pocked and wet with dew. He could feel her heart beating in time with his piercing  Prong, her arching back glistened in the suns spittle As it broke through the dark and vernal ceiling wood. In the final shot her quivering buck lowered and broke And a sound not heard, made a scene, a sweet murmuring Shuddered and sank onto the floor of the forest leaves  With her tale, taken and told, her breathless breath,  Her nostrils cold and her heated and lanced openings  Dripping, draining; here was a New World’s beginning. Sated, solemn and softly quaking, his woman sweetly laid, And now, doomed with her doe eyes, two lovers, fated, made; She glowed, divine, like the rolling brook that mellowed Slow, in the vine-dark and golden forest stable, In Artemis’s wood.
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39
I pop a pomegranate seed. It bleeds, Delicate fuchsia delight, Mineral scented, warm, bright, Full of nectar and promise (now wasted) I pop another one, In a soft cove on my arm- A slight dip between two veins - And watch the blushing drop Edge closer to my elbow. Stop. A third time, With the fury of fear Tiptoeing listlessly in my mind, Like raindrops on a rooftop.   It is sweet, and ****** A waste of time but an act of god Nonetheless. I crave the sound and texture of it, So a fourth time comes around. By now, the citrus is overpowering But I keep going, For the sake of purity, For the sake of the shock of vibrance On deathly pale skin.    When my arm is covered in juice, I give up. There's no sense in envying the wasted. Scarlet sticks.
0
Jul 25, 2018
Jul 25, 2018 at 3:53 PM UTC
an act of nature
the sophiatown i live in: is a place i call home is where i come to from work is a place riddled with crime is where i'm proud to be from is a place being renovated is where i'm not far from means is a place that gets frustrated by the westbury fiends the sophiatown i read about: is a place void of silence is where bra hugh got his trumpet is a place full of vibrance is where miriam caught hold of it is a place that was razed is where a new place was born is a place that couldn't be fazed by the lines that were drawn the sophiatown i love: is a place that i live in is where i've chosen to stay is a place that i read about is where that won't go away is a place that's still here is where apartheid escaped is a place made austere by the forces it shaped the sophiatown that inspires me: is very triumphant is very intact so what was your reason for doing that
0
Dec 8, 2015
Dec 8, 2015 at 6:26 PM UTC
sophiatown
Something about women in red dresses... A vibrance, a radiance an essence of vitality basking bright youth beyond all age. The lines rendered whether curved or slender, sleek and elegant, one with the material one with the color.
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May 24, 2014
May 24, 2014 at 7:18 PM UTC
Red Dresses
Warm summer blooms from the cold spring When rain falls and snow melts Flower petals show off their life and vibrance Roses don't care for November While the orchids dream of summer nights Few violets will have memory of winter Yet I will remember them all of my life
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May 14, 2016
May 14, 2016 at 10:29 PM UTC
Witness For The Flowers
It was one of those days when nothing else seemed to matter but him and me. We strolled around campus with his hand in mine, guiding me through the heat. "Hold on," he interrupted. "Have you ever written a piece about me?" "Yes." *I have written a thousand pieces for you,* I thought. "I'd like to read one. Why haven't you shown me any?" I shrugged. *Because none of them do your vibrance justice*.
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Apr 28, 2016
Apr 28, 2016 at 2:32 PM UTC
More Than Words
midnight dark is my true love’s kiss of clove and citrus scented cradled in the subtle woven voices of the conspiratorial night wind soft as the silver-blue edges of light cast from nocturnal lanterns sharing in silent thunder secrets held in coffers of crimson jade blazing with the vibrance of constellations blown before celestial storms full as skyward Luna rounded and buxom heavy with desire veiling my worldly sight so her truth can pierce me blinding me that I may see
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Mar 8, 2023
Mar 8, 2023 at 11:25 PM UTC
Transfigure
the sun has that certain haze as if it were the dead of Summer and heat radiated through the air but this is a tease a reminder of those days because indeed the air is fresh and sharp as it should be in Winter at the seaside a roaring song and dance those distant waves appear as a range the ridges of a desert mountain top and silhouetted at depths with the vibrance of sunset hues bringing shade to the wild while preparing for the cool of night the reflections are shorter now and I lose sight of that glowing orb as far off clouds take shape to dip then colors shift to violet, navy and maroon leaving a bruise to bumps in the night and dream of an August day by the sea
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Jan 21, 2022
Jan 21, 2022 at 9:40 PM UTC
39°F
Damsels of distress, Wings of vivid crests. All elegant in a romance. Spin my Fairy. Tilt your head. Sprinkle fairy dust, To ressurect the dead. The dead who don't dance. Who stand in awe of your crest. Spin my Fairy, Recruit the rest. Vivid streams, Violet strings. Strung on thy lute of play. Spin my Fairy, Sing your song. Of Vibrance. Of Honor. Of love. Spin now, Your wings beautifully carved. As a monarch or a sprite. You give life to the crowd. Elegance above Royalty. Love above Lust. Play your reverend strings. Of Story Springs. Spin my Fairy, Flare those vivid wings. You are the final act. Praise your Lute of Rings.
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Sep 4, 2014
Sep 4, 2014 at 8:23 AM UTC
Spin my Fairy (Final)
I felt its power, And it's resonance, Vibrance. It's eerie dissonance Came forward, closer, Wavering, Twisting my heaving heart.
0
Jul 9, 2014
Jul 9, 2014 at 4:27 PM UTC
To Add Another
. Lovers entered a forbidden forest bower, And as they stalked that range, with eyes glazed, She offered up her hind. Now, with doe eyes, Deep as his, deep in arousal's sleep, heels fell, As he knocked and pulled her dark honey hair And whispered, surrender, into wanting ears, Softly he drove his hunting command, homing To his huntress. Her body braced, yet bade, with heat and vibrance. Ruthlessly, he ****** his arrow deeper and then Once more and then again.  She bucked fiercely And defiant, goading his prodding lance ever more Ever longer, and parting the pink lines of her white Rose, he was, and once again, Prince to the dark Dominion of her quarters. In the middle of this carnal match they paused. And looking into the forest beyond they saw A yearling fawn, a feral Goddess, grazing still, Bathing in a vale, virginal, wholly unmoved By their act of venery, lustfully playing, in the innocent Leaves.  It was as if they were among her kin, a gentle Doe and a noble stag. From that moment on The human hunters did not speak. Falling, again, rolling eyes were deep in arousal's sleep. Her back was a crescent moon pocked and wet with dew. He could feel her heart beating in time with his piercing Prong, her arching back glistened in the suns spittle As it broke through the dark and vernal ceiling wood. In the final shot her quivering buck lowered and broke And a sound not heard, made a scene, a sweet murmuring Shuddered and sank onto the floor of the forest leaves With her tale, taken and told, her breathless breath, Her nostrils cold and her heated and lanced openings Dripping, draining; here was a New World’s beginning. Sated, solemn and softly quaking, his woman sweetly laid, And now, doomed with her doe eyes, two lovers, fated, made; She glowed, divine, like the rolling brook that mellowed Slow, in the vine-dark and golden forest stable, In Artemis’s wood. .
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May 3, 2018
May 3, 2018 at 2:50 PM UTC
In Artemis’s Wood
. Lovers entered a forbidden forest bower, And as they stalked that range, with eyes glazed, She offered up her hind. Now, with doe eyes, Deep as his, deep in arousal's sleep, heels fell, As he knocked and pulled her dark honey hair And whispered, surrender, into wanting ears, Softly he drove his hunting command, homing To his huntress. Her body braced, yet bade, with heat and vibrance. Ruthlessly, he ****** his arrow deeper and then Once more and then again.  She bucked fiercely And defiant, goading his prodding lance ever more Ever longer, and parting the pink lines of her white Rose, he was, and once again, Prince to the dark Dominion of her quarters. In the middle of this carnal match they paused. And looking into the forest beyond they saw A yearling fawn, a feral Goddess, grazing still, Bathing in a vale, virginal, wholly unmoved By their act of venery, lustfully playing, in the innocent Leaves.  It was as if they were among her kin, a gentle Doe and a noble stag. From that moment on The human hunters did not speak. Falling, again, rolling eyes were deep in arousal's sleep. Her back was a crescent moon pocked and wet with dew. He could feel her heart beating in time with his piercing Prong, her arching back glistened in the suns spittle As it broke through the dark and vernal ceiling wood. In the final shot her quivering buck lowered and broke And a sound not heard, made a scene, a sweet murmuring Shuddered and sank onto the floor of the forest leaves With her tale, taken and told, her breathless breath, Her nostrils cold and her heated and lanced openings Dripping, draining; here was a New World’s beginning. Sated, solemn and softly quaking, his woman sweetly laid, And now, doomed with her doe eyes, two lovers, fated, made; She glowed, divine, like the rolling brook that mellowed Slow, in the vine-dark and golden forest stable, In Artemis’s wood. .
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41
The letters of your name Matches with the ones engraved in my beautiful nightsky     The words you speak Are like calming music that gently soothes my wounded heart       Out of thousands of promises I've heard I will choose to listen to yours and count on it                                   Like how summer days are full of vibrance and hope But if time comes and darkness filled my galaxy Meet me in our rendezvous and see me waiting for you   "Can you please walk me home?"   Perhaps, be my home.
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Feb 24, 2019
Feb 24, 2019 at 12:36 PM UTC
be my home
Abundant With Life The River Stretches Its Body, Bending And Winding Around The Earth's ***** Cormorants Swim Happily-Their Wings Tucked, Diving Into The Clear Water As My Warming Soul Embeds Itself Into The Folds Upon Her Surface, Fish Swim In Schools Among The Weeds While Gators Quietly Lurk In The Darkened Shadows, Herons Stare Deep Into The River; Spying A Meal, I Felt So Alive, So Free Over The Turqouise Water, Jungle Like Trees Waved To Me As I Floated By, Kayaking Really Soothes The Soul, I Realized Lifting My Paddle Out Of The Water Then Back In, Maliable The Water Beneath Me Swirled Between, Nothingness, And Nobody, Here And Now, Old And Ancient, Spiraling Where Secrets Are Kept, Plunging Into Her A Slight Drizzle Disturbed The Quiet Calm That Lapped Upon Her Cheeks As The Rain Grew Heavier, While The Sky Broke In Two, Silent My Kayak Drifted, Following The Currents, Tugging Me Through The Almost Blinding Rains, Under The Rolling Droplets My Skin Grew Cold, Vibrance Of The Water Below Then Warmed My Core, While I Drifted Back To Shore I Awaited For The Xenophobic World To Come Back Into My Life, Yelling Loud To The Heavens My Soul Spoke Of A Wish, Zealous The World Should Be, Great Spirit, Take Them To The River
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Jul 3, 2013
Jul 3, 2013 at 3:19 PM UTC
Kayaks In The River (A-Z)
* **some memories preserved for special one, some reserved for long, some freezed with time, some released some memories' fragrance yet infused in the ambience when they cross the mind the life gets new vibrance** *
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Nov 23, 2018
Nov 23, 2018 at 3:51 AM UTC
Memories
I once felt like words gave me power Like they gave my quiet shell of a self a leg to stand on Now I feel like I have none left to speak, to write I've been drained of verbs and left broken -- immobile My adjectives fall soft and simple, even the deaf don't pretend to hear It's strange Being so far removed from the one you called yourself I don't know what there is left for me to say It's like being a young musician on stage And people have slowly stopped cheering as they realized You have no more tunes left to play Yet I've stood frozen, stuck, despite myself I'm waiting for them to come back The words The crowds The self that I used to know That I thought I did know I haven't a clue to where they've left, to where they'll go But I hope that they find it The messages they seek I can no longer provide them My inkwell bone dry My spirit missing it's former vibrance, now dully meek They once called me wicked I thought it ironically sweet That for someone so bitter Many worshiped me
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Sep 27, 2018
Sep 27, 2018 at 10:59 PM UTC
Is WickedHope Dead? [Not Clickbait!]
Gray. The gray walls. The gray desk. The gray chair. Even the gray teacher stares back at me. I look outside to only find myself in company with The trees. The green, vibrant, and lush buds of the trees.. Oh, how I’m intoxicated by its beauty. I keep staring out the pain window glass..I am in the tree, Touching the velvet buds, looking down at the purple, pink and Yellow roses and daises budding. Nothing gray can be found here! I am snapped out of my day dream by the gray paper and gray Pencil landing on my desk. The gray voice saying you have A gray amount of time. It’s wrong…It’s wrong! It is ALL wrong! What is heaven to hell, like gray to nature? I long for freedom, color, and vibrance…not gray bars! A jail cell! That is what it is! Substance! I need substance to sustain me or I will feel empty! Time is ticking..the buds are turning..my life will Soon be consumed by gray but I won’t let it! Break Those gray bars holding you in this cell and just a Touch upon those green buds…that new life…will Make all the difference. I can not be put in this reality. I live in my fantasy. I want to be free with the yellow Sunshine raining on me. Back in my daydream..but Now it is bitter-sweet you see. More! I want more Than gray! I want to feel chills run down my spine as I Touch the supple leaves of the willow trees and the buds Of the daises. The sunshine is pouring on me and I am Just about to reach out and glide my fingers Along the smooth branches…until I am snapped Back into a reality. I see gray. The teacher calls another gray amount Of time. My paper is blank, but my mind is not. It’s time to slump back into my gray world you see, Because my Fantasy can’t last forever. Only until The day I am resurrected when the final bells ring Freeing me from society will the gray Melt away. The gray teacher carries on and on...but I look back Outside you see, And I don’t feel so empty.
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Jul 22, 2013
Jul 22, 2013 at 10:30 AM UTC
Conformity
Gray. The gray walls. The gray desk. The gray chair. Even the gray teacher stares back at me. I look outside to only find myself in company with The trees. The green, vibrant, and lush buds of the trees.. Oh, how I’m intoxicated by its beauty. I keep staring out the pain window glass..I am in the tree, Touching the velvet buds, looking down at the purple, pink and Yellow roses and daises budding. Nothing gray can be found here! I am snapped out of my day dream by the gray paper and gray Pencil landing on my desk. The gray voice saying you have A gray amount of time. It’s wrong…It’s wrong! It is ALL wrong! What is heaven to hell, like gray to nature? I long for freedom, color, and vibrance…not gray bars! A jail cell! That is what it is! Substance! I need substance to sustain me or I will feel empty! Time is ticking..the buds are turning..my life will Soon be consumed by gray but I won’t let it! Break Those gray bars holding you in this cell and just a Touch upon those green buds…that new life…will Make all the difference. I can not be put in this reality. I live in my fantasy. I want to be free with the yellow Sunshine raining on me. Back in my daydream..but Now it is bitter-sweet you see. More! I want more Than gray! I want to feel chills run down my spine as I Touch the supple leaves of the willow trees and the buds Of the daises. The sunshine is pouring on me and I am Just about to reach out and glide my fingers Along the smooth branches…until I am snapped Back into a reality. I see gray. The teacher calls another gray amount Of time. My paper is blank, but my mind is not. It’s time to slump back into my gray world you see, Because my Fantasy can’t last forever. Only until The day I am resurrected when the final bells ring Freeing me from society will the gray Melt away. The gray teacher carries on and on...but I look back Outside you see, And I don’t feel so empty.
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39
Holding down a button Until everything turns Black as pitch Is just like clutching Someone's throat Until they can't Move another inch. So much life and vibrance Flashes across this screen, Yet it seems to tear happiness apart At its fragile seams. Technology is quick, It's capabilities are ample, Yet my mind has gone slow From ingesting only samples. As such, It is time for me to quickly depart, For using you has made me Everything but Smart.
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Oct 9, 2017
Oct 9, 2017 at 7:45 PM UTC
A Silent Resignation
i remember it like it was yesterday, which i have to say is strange, because i have trouble remembering everything else. i remember you were sitting in front of me and i was terrified, palms sweating, eyes watering. i was truly scared if you, or rather of myself. a little part of me hated you too. you looked so, self-righteous sitting in your rolling chair, with you perfect posture and your clicky pen. when you started to ask me question i ignored you. id been shacked up in my head for so long i forgot how to talk to people. anyways, my head was comfortable, familiar. i had a bed full of memories and a closet full of monsters. i had drawers full of hopes (i never opened them of course), but they were there, it was nice to know they were there. my favourite possession in my mind however, was a little glass jar on my nightstand. it looks empty at first glance, but the harder you look the more you see. there are colours, like rays of light, they swirl around and hit each other, a vibrant crimson color. theres a green in there to, if you saw it you'd swear mother nature put it there herself. theres also a blue, its the largest of all the swirls. it looks royal and dark, beautiful. theres also a yellow. but its different, not in its beauty or vibrance, but in its location . it isn't in the jar. the yellow swirls around the edge of the glass. occasionally bumping into it almost as if it wants in, but theres no way for it. i remember holding back, never telling you that because i thought you'd think i was crazy. so i didn't say a thing. but man do i remember that jar. that room. i remember the colours, their saturation, how they moved. i remember the monsters beating on the closet door looking for a way out. i remember the bed of sweet memories. but im sorry, i don't remember more important thing, like how to feel. i truly am.
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Jan 29, 2018
Jan 29, 2018 at 11:22 AM UTC
derealization
i remember it like it was yesterday, which i have to say is strange, because i have trouble remembering everything else. i remember you were sitting in front of me and i was terrified, palms sweating, eyes watering. i was truly scared if you, or rather of myself. a little part of me hated you too. you looked so, self-righteous sitting in your rolling chair, with you perfect posture and your clicky pen. when you started to ask me question i ignored you. id been shacked up in my head for so long i forgot how to talk to people. anyways, my head was comfortable, familiar. i had a bed full of memories and a closet full of monsters. i had drawers full of hopes (i never opened them of course), but they were there, it was nice to know they were there. my favourite possession in my mind however, was a little glass jar on my nightstand. it looks empty at first glance, but the harder you look the more you see. there are colours, like rays of light, they swirl around and hit each other, a vibrant crimson color. theres a green in there to, if you saw it you'd swear mother nature put it there herself. theres also a blue, its the largest of all the swirls. it looks royal and dark, beautiful. theres also a yellow. but its different, not in its beauty or vibrance, but in its location . it isn't in the jar. the yellow swirls around the edge of the glass. occasionally bumping into it almost as if it wants in, but theres no way for it. i remember holding back, never telling you that because i thought you'd think i was crazy. so i didn't say a thing. but man do i remember that jar. that room. i remember the colours, their saturation, how they moved. i remember the monsters beating on the closet door looking for a way out. i remember the bed of sweet memories. but im sorry, i don't remember more important thing, like how to feel. i truly am.
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4
You think you love them and so you give Body and spirit and this mystical soul You open your arms and your ***** and your Defenses are disarmed For this is living and this is life and this is transcendence You think I love this person and so you unshackle Unfettered you give and the spirit is lifted The drugs of *** and love and temporary commitment Mix in your arterial pathways changing you for the better? It is beyond anything else and is chased with much vigor What else is there you wonder? Chasing the high that makes you feel accepted and connected and finally alive. Sure it ends and the withdrawal is miserable But who cares when life is lived so vibrantly? Who says the price is not worth the pleasure?
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Apr 1, 2014
Apr 1, 2014 at 9:04 AM UTC
Achieving Vibrance
I move through the woods in ritual The trees have shed their leaves like Third sons and eldest daughters, They cling bravely until the wind uncurls their hands and bears them away from home. A scavenger, I search them out, hold them between finger and thumb, Their last embrace. Sometimes I will pluck a fading life from a branch, melded amber and crimson, the dregs of sun in their veins, offered in the last vibrance of summer’s heat. At home, I press them between pages, tiny spells of weight and gravity cast to keep their color. I know this magic, Autumn and I are kindred in this, Our eyes are the same soft green and sepia of hiraeth cradles of remembrance, nets always cast back into memory. Like all memories There are a thousand useless, The umber of old blood, trodden underfoot, the seconds that dripped by unmarked. But we hold the fragile, happy few, High upon a shelf the glowing phosphorus of laughter The currant red of a last kiss Returned to and returned to Like an unanswered prayer.
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Oct 9, 2021
Oct 9, 2021 at 7:09 PM UTC
Ritual
My night, my day, my darkest black and highest noon. My dawn, my dusk, my brightly shining sun and moon. To a life once comprised of only black and white; you brought such vibrance, such colour, such saturated light. So caring, so thoughtful, such generosity of spirit. To me - you see - its clear; your essence is exquisite. Never mind skin - this is soul-deep beauty - one that shines from deep within, one that I love absolutely. Your shining eyes, your smiling face, how we get lost for hours in sweet embrace. How when the beat of life demands it, and with barely a sideways glance, you'll take my hand and we will rise and dance and dance and dance. My nights are bright, my days are lifted, my eyes alight at this new life gifted. And it's down to you my graceful swan, and all you are and do. And for this - with all my heart... Thank you
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Apr 19, 2014
Apr 19, 2014 at 12:35 PM UTC
Thank You
She was sewn from a stream of significant disasters, but she has taken charge of the tide. Directing the course of the storm, she became one with the fiercest gyre. The lightning, the moment through the raging sea, the season of her storm is done. The smell of the after-rain, the calmness of the shores mended the remnants. A rainbow of colors and vibrance, the abundance of black clouds is gone. The beautiful sky,   a magical release from these painful bonds. Courage and kindness, gratitude and strength, the real treasures are now found.
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Jun 11, 2022
Jun 11, 2022 at 7:15 PM UTC
Blended Bliss
One memory Would endure everything Always coming back like the bounding footprints left beneath each drop of rain And that is The smell of her hair in the morning air The stringiness and collective song The shortness of breath The vibrance of wave And all at the length of a violin's strings born long Torn is such a memory of song Between fondness and regret
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Mar 17, 2019
Mar 17, 2019 at 12:58 PM UTC
Her Wet Hair
to the girl whose golden heart was never tarnished despite the afflictions the world allowed her to experience somehow; ♡ — i hope your heart stays the same and will always be aflame for the things you love doing because dear, you are amazing. to the girl whose illustrious mind was never obscured even if she was aching; ♡ — i hope you realize that you are impressively splendid more than any could ever poetize and that your feelings are valid. to the girl whose beautiful soul never stopped blooming like flowers in the spring despite the adversities she has encountered; ♡ — everything you do is always appreciated; and your existence is a tremendous blessing and adds vibrance to this somber world.
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Oct 12, 2018
Oct 12, 2018 at 11:55 AM UTC
to the girl.