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 Jul 2015 xx
Chris
Because they are
 Jul 2015 xx
Chris
~

Pillow talk whispers,
a good morning kiss
Coffee for two
on a day such a this

Watching the sun
glowing soft in your eyes
Waking the dawn
with the bluest of skies

Hearing the birds
as they sing in the trees
Rose petal fragrance
afloat on the breeze

Butterflies flutter
so free on the air
Flower to flower
with nary a care

Gazing at you
and that beautiful smile
Feeling your love
as we sit here a while

Living each day
as if it were brand new
Because they are
*when I start them with you
Good morning beautiful
 Jul 2015 xx
poetessa diabolica
Poets were created
       to emulate grandeur,
            whilst suffering the blues
 Jul 2015 xx
Havran
My hands
 Jul 2015 xx
Havran
are often unsteady;
you could see it when
I write,
as the words
form on formerly
blank
sheets in a jumbled mess
though not devoid of
meaning
as I found it
with my hand
kept safely in yours.
Holding hands with someone you love
can make days shine ever so brightly,
doesn't it? :)
 Jul 2015 xx
Rare but Relevant
My words do not match the dreadful truth that suffocates the human being within me
 Jul 2015 xx
Daniela Nordquist
I knew she was like water, she'd probably wish to be compared to a sea but she was more like a lake. Still, calm, never moving without an outside force.

But still I loved her. Her calming waters soothed my wounds and her reflective surface forced me to see myself the way I am. But still she never moved. I could ripple her surface, make her waters splash upon new sides of her shores, but in doing so I watched in somber wonder as she washed the people in her shallows up upon her banks, sore and bruised down to their hearts, and neither would reach for the other, trapped in the curse of stillness.

She assured me she loved me, she assured me I'd always stay in the deepest depth of her heart. And yet slowly, what was once a depth so warm and vast, I found my toes grazing the bottom, and every time I did I tried to swim back, back to where the water was endless, bottomless, yet never could I stay there long. Other people were causing wakes, and fighting against them was becoming difficult, for I am not the strongest swimmer.

I began to wonder whether I was still welcome, for her silences were getting longer, her ripples I could cause we're so much smaller, and in my self doubt those wakes moved me ever closer to the shore, and with each step I could take full footed along the bottom I began to sob.

I tried curling myself into a ball in those shallows, tried to allow the water to cover my head and tell myself I still mattered. But the water here was so frigid, my lips began to turn blue and my lungs burned. I'd return to the surface and take long breaths and use them to scream silently.

From where I stood, the water only knee deep I saw the figure of a man at her center, and as he raised his arms my scream became caught in my throat, and as his arms slammed upon her surface I saw the wave come rushing toward me, the longer it moved the more it grew and I said silently to myself "this is the end."

In those surreal seconds I remembered the others, and was reminded of her stillness, and in those horrible moments I knew I was nothing anymore, just another piece of useless trash to be lying upon her shore.
 Jun 2015 xx
Havran
It doesn't matter what age you are,
or what era you live in,
a writer
is someone with
an old soul,
a young heart,
and a timeless mind.
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