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I know deep in my chest
That letting your spirit go
Is all for the best

Best friend
Companion
Little sister

You have fought
your valiant battle
now lay your lovely head to rest
Your arms and legs are the sky
Full of formations of stars
That used to be clear
When the sun used to shine

But with darkness comes night
And with night comes being alone
Cringing at the sound of silence
So many questions
Now imperfect visions
Of what used to be constellations
Blurred through the telescope

The clocks are backwards turning
Stomach uncomfortably churning
Although it's concerning
That your heart is burning
Those pills mean no returning
From where you're leaning towards going

You can't go down there

Down in the ground
When your body was found  
You seemed to have drowned

The thought of it sends you away
Mind now spinning
Like the Milky Way's silky waves
Swirling in a circle down the drain
The color of crimson red
Or down the toilet
Like your last meal

All you have left
Is the darkness
From your fingertips to your toes
And those dark constellations
Sweeping across your arms and legs
Like the night sky
Mystique

- a framework of doctrines, ideas, beliefs, or the like, constructed around a person or object, endowing the person or object with enhanced value or profound meaning: "the mystique of Poe."

- an aura of mystery or mystical power surrounding a particular occupation or pursuit: "the mystique of nuclear science."

the mystique of Poe,
the mystique of nuclear science,

don't you see the irony extraordinaire,
the perfect intersection of
human and science?

atoms of a poet.

what, who better to
radiate
the profound complex meaning of
mystique

smile while
commencing the
delving, inhaling,
comprehending,
subsuming the
aura of human cells
odors of the atomizer
flavors mellifluous
chain reacting

the set theory of all my senses,
at the ultimate overlapping
of the primordial intersection
of the nucleus.

I am the living scientific proof,
the written poem,
the
realization of mystique,
the enhanced value
of the human you.
Written to Copeland's Variations on a Shaker Melody

For she who knows where the inspiration came from...
Hard to sleep but found peace
Insane thought for dramatic change
Felt I can be and do more the opportunity
Never occured but you work for that moment
Train for that day so it doesnt conume
The stress of knowing you can
But not given a chance
Heart set on more but dealing with less
You could protest still stuck lies
Break through one barrier faced with another
Love cant start not ready to commit
Cant move up at work till they find time to train
Writing takes time find the right words
Something of my own from within
My life is simple but a complicated mind
Think outside the box instead of being boxed in
Make a difference but being different
Why blend in when you can stay out
Not like the rest meant to be the best
in a few minutes
my second load of washing
will be pegged out
flying
winging  
gliding  
soaring
an eagle flying and winging high
his gliding soaring so majestic
ever had those days of nagging
the ears are punch drunk
taking lefts rights and upper cuts
the retinue of blows are countless
this follows that
it's punching bag material
you know how Joe Frazier felt
when he left the ring
stunned to stupification

ever had those days of bagging
nothing you attempt to do for people
turns out as it should
everything ends up pear shaped
and asymmetrical
the best is done to fix the problems
without the proper tools
a jack of trades
is a cunning fool
a master
is a pilot ace
who do they think you are
some super hero

ever had those days of ragging
*** shot are taken
keeping you on your feet
like Ginger and Fred
doing a four two step
you hope a ****** doesn't lay in wait
hitting the all important red dot
notice how rabbits
dart and dance
not wanting to take up the spot light

ever had those days of slagging
the words are directed
like hacking scissors
chopping a crooked edge
at your sleeve
leaving you at the whim of humiliation
you dignity left in tattered shreds
where's a seamstress
when you want one
at a stop work meeting
shop stewards are thugs
and stand over merchants
no one comes to your rescue

have you ever had those days
none of us are immune
he is the guy who plants the rice corn and wheat
so each one of us has something to eat
at break of day he tills the many acres of land
for his harvest of food there is a great demand

he is the guy who milks the cows twice a day
to make the butter and cream for afternoon tea trays
shop sell these goods to people everywhere
his milking shed produces such fine fair

he is the guy who grows peaches and marrows
collecting them on tractors and in wheel barrows
he is dedicated to the pursuit of growing staples
which grace our kitchen and dining room tables

he is the guy that rarely gets much recognition
hard work he does and in all weather conditions
the man on the land provides our mouths with a feed
his vocation serves a community of need
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