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i am lost in life to the point of being mute
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Our God who loves us, created the big blue sky, the great sun, and moon. And all the stars and clouds in the sky.
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I see you sitting in the shadows,
blade in hand,
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Gust of untouched words, spill,
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The stagnant mire
reflects a life
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Misery, pain...
these were
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Every passing moment,
I spent with you.
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awkward fumbling of forks
and a watery spoon hitting the side
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Doom for the wicked, no remorse for the creator, the keeper
The man who holds the keys to my asylum’s mental cage
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Buttered me up, as I asked for pay rise
Rye discussion refused.
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Mother nature provides and preserves at will
Yet, today when the fog had lifted, no thrill
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You and I share the silence finding some comfort
I touch this life to push me forward. Feeling as a
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Pop a few pills Just to feel a high
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"Do you know how to dance?"
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Wings of light,
free, not tethered to the bend of rock,
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I pull the plug within my soul
to empty cobweb's that stain the flow
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Dream-catchers share their song,
they flutter and gently sway
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Her door dead bolted
and latched
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One summer day hot and humid,
she, with ice bucket in hand,
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She held him safe under her pillow where his love touched her
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Caressing the sacred horn of the unicorn
I bathe your blade with blessed blood
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Come to me, breathe,
oh, resilient ray of light;
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I do not like this wraith around me
Clutched in the arms of her forgotten glory
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He rock and roiled me pleasantly
my baby brother is gone ~
by PageTurner
45 lines, 4 comments,
on Aug 2 9:55 AM 2008. In Personal, Life, Love, Hope, Spiritual, Family, Inspirational, Dedication, Contest.
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I can close my eyes
and feel the silk of her hair...
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He used to call me nickel-ass
summer nights when the top was down
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You spin a spider's web
of intricate design,
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I found that peace is transitory
and gifts me in splashes no matter where I am,
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It is always feathers and flight
and turning shadows
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Now the dim shade of darkness
is fumbled and warm
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I saw this from the swirl of thought
beneath the satin sheets
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Her dark presence was more like a shadow,
for she wore her quiet fortitude with Sunday hands
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Your angelic grace speaks
to my wearied spirit
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