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It was many and many a year ago,
  In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
  By the name of ANNABEL LEE;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
  Than to love and be loved by me.

I was a child and she was a child,
  In this kingdom by the sea:
But we loved with a love that was more than love—
  I and my ANNABEL LEE;
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
  Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago,
  In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
  My beautiful ANNABEL LEE;
So that her highborn kinsmen came
  And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
  In this kingdom by the sea.

The angels, not half so happy in heaven,
  Went envying her and me—
Yes!—that was the reason (as all men know,
  In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
  Chilling and killing my ANNABEL LEE.

But our love it was stronger by far than the love
  Of those who were older than we—
  Of many far wiser than we—
And neither the angels in heaven above,
  Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
  Of the beautiful ANNABEL LEE.

For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
  Of the beautiful ANNABEL LEE;
And the stars never rise but I see the bright eyes
  Of the beautiful ANNABEL LEE;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling, my darling, my life and my bride,
  In her sepulchre there by the sea—
  In her tomb by the side of the sea.
 Sep 2014 young poet
Lía
Ghetto
 Sep 2014 young poet
Lía
They call me Ghetto.
They call me
gunfights and drive-bys,
pregnant teens.
They call me Poverty,
and concrete winter walls
splashed with blood-red
graffiti.
They call me
junior-high druggies
and gang-banging muchachos.
They call me Mexico
like it’s a ***** word.
They call me Ghetto.

But haven’t they seen through
the white-washed walls
of the
“American Dream”?
Don’t they know hurt
and suffering,
imperfections
and neglect,
as well?

So call me Mexico;
call me Poverty;
call me Ghetto.

I am
run-down yards
filled with laughing brown children,
small apartments
bursting with the scent
of tamales,
mingled with joy and the chatter of relatives.
I am home-made tortillas
at Thanksgiving
and wrinkled hands pounding masa
at Christmas.
I am friendly smiles
and shouted jokes
followed by roaring
laughter.
I am the lilting syllables
of a beautiful
culture.
I am comfort.

They call me Ghetto
and so I am.
 Sep 2014 young poet
Tupelo
I never considered myself one for the books,
A pen felt clumsy in my hands,
Something too delicate to touch,

You introduced me to my first romance,
Tales of rivers and sweet words of Hughes,
Pages were my optics, my eyes danced in the light,

Nights turned into highways of jazz and beat poet longings,
Kerouac and Ginsberg whispering into my ear
of corrupted ivy manifestos,

Maya told me to sing, I did.
My love for her still echoes in her passing,
Set sail to the open waters where Neruda lies,
sonnet 17 afloat upon the tides,

You knew my addiction before I ever got high on the ink,
Drifting across the sentences in the midnight hours,
A prayer in thanks of what you gave to me
 Sep 2014 young poet
harry ride
the wind kisses my cheeks
the ground clears my path
the plants bares fragrances
the fire slowly sings
the water crawls down the trees
the world treasures me
for
i am the daughter
 Sep 2014 young poet
harry ride
his hair dances with the wild animals
his eyes roar with the howling wind
his heart pounds like the thumping waves
his feet running like the pounding  flame
his courage never ending
his whole body kindling the excitement
his pray just minutes from death
 Sep 2014 young poet
Mad hatter
Life
 Sep 2014 young poet
Mad hatter
The cold wind shatters me inside
as the darkness takes my life
the frost starts to spider up my skin
the soul that was there  is now nothing within
the tarp just holding as a house
the empty pockets, empty wallets
as if a mallet has taken my life
this is how it is now
as i am poor
I stare at you from a distance.
My heart keeps you close in mind.
No matter how far away you appear,
you're always right here in my soul.
So next time you see me from afar,
know that I'm with YOU in your heart.  
That's the way WE are,
when soul mates are apart
© All Rights Reserved Dustin Matthews
 Sep 2014 young poet
Beaux
Her
 Sep 2014 young poet
Beaux
Her
The stars are shining bright
Come sit with me tonight
Your hair is a perfect mess
I would never think more or less
Of you than perfection
Listen to the crickets sing
The melody of harmony

8,000 miles isn't enough
To keep me away
8,000 miles isn't enough
For me to stop loving you

We share the sky
As we dance all night
The world is alive
Buzzing with sound
Natures music is my remorse
We won't stop until the sky turns pale
Time and space aren't enough to stop me

8,000 miles isn't enough
To keep me away
8,000 miles isn't enough
For me to stop loving you

The stars are shining bright
Come sit with me tonight
Your hair is a perfect mess
I would never think more or less
Of you than perfection
Listen to the crickets sing
The melody of harmony

8,000 miles isn't enough
To keep me away
8,000 miles isn't enough
For me to stop loving you

We share the sky
As we dance all night
The world is alive
Buzzing with sound
Natures music is my remorse
We won't stop until the sky turns pale
Time and space aren't enough to stop me

The world can move on without us
I just want to live here and now

8,000 miles isn't enough
To keep me away
8,000 miles isn't enough
For me to stop loving you
For Rosie
You can't hold her
When you grip tight
She will
Slip
Like sand
Falling through the tiny cracks
In between each finger
You can try
But every time
Your hand will end up
Empty
White knuckles
Snatching up
The air
Nothing else
For she
Alone
Holds herself together
Pieces of string
Globs of glue
Strips of duct tape
Hastily slapped on
Her two hands
Alone
Pull and
Cover and
Push away

There is no room
For
You
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