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I run away when it does seek me out the mere sound of its voice I go astray at the nags of self-doubt there's never any choice there's just this wall that's far too high to climb which I could never scale ever, at all even with all of time I'd still find I would fail that's why I run and that's why I tremble it's the reason I stress but once begun it's painful to dispel impossible unless I run away
Michael
PS and Sandra WOW! You wrote a whole poetry book! You going to do one of those a day?
After reading Presentiment, all I can say, is
That's how I feel and it cuts deep into me to feel a connection in that.
The young fire grows, but too much warmth escapes; Rocks pile round higher and higher, Matching the wind that pulls sparks unforgiving Into the darkness.
But each rock cools the last 'Til each is more feebly warmed And, inexorable Night rises within as well.
The young fire grows, but too much warmth escapes; Rocks pile round higher and higher, Matching the wind that pulls sparks unforgiving Into the darkness.
But each rock cools the last 'Til each is more feebly warmed And, inexorable Night rises within as well.
Unsafely enclosed. What should I have done?
"Matching the wind that pulls sparks unforgiving Into the darkness."
Made me think of the recent wildfire that destroyed the entire town of Slave Lake, here in Alberta.
The blackness and night rising from sparks and flames-- it's a familiar feeling.
"Unsafely enclosed"
Has me always begging,
"Release the captive!"
I appreciate the fact that perhaps,
Although I might interpret it wrong:
In youth, too much warmth might escape.
Our passion burns us into feeble warmth unless we capture the resultant sparks, saving them for their worth as many pennies add up to a great sum.
Were wishes real I would hold you again. Drop coins in wells and exorcise pain. I'd search for Fairies in forgotten lands. Rub golden lamps with eager red hands.
Were wishes real I'd see you once more. Find magic rings of Old Folklore. I'd break every wishbone, pray to a star, Keep Monkey's Paws in broken glass jars.
Were wishes real what dreams we would share. But all magic died the day you weren't there.
Were wishes real I would hold you again. Drop coins in wells and exorcise pain. I'd search for Fairies in forgotten lands. Rub golden lamps with eager red hands.
Were wishes real I'd see you once more. Find magic rings of Old Folklore. I'd break every wishbone, pray to a star, Keep Monkey's Paws in broken glass jars.
Were wishes real what dreams we would share. But all magic died the day you weren't there.
It's so very strange. That the thing that remains when a loved one isn't there anymore, emotionally, or physically, or maybe they have indeed, died-- the magic was there all the time, but how much did we appreciate them? Acknowledge their presence. Hug them absolutely every time they ever walked out that door.
The family I grew up in never ever left each other before giving one another a hug before leaving. Maybe that was magic. Maybe they are still there.
Kate wishes she were thinner. The reasons, she reasons, are many -- Sex with a different type of person; People with a different personality; (There will be less of her to hate, too) And what they want will change considerably.
What Joel wants, actually, is more of her. His reason, he reasons, is only one -- (Regardless of what she can offer) She's such a lovely lady.
Kate works to be thinner, oh yes, daily. What hell! She lies to the judging glass that it's beautiful; She wears the right clothes, the ones Joel rages don't suit her; At least, on the days she knows what she wants.
Joel knows what he wants. What hell! Just her, after all.
Hey all! Well done on the three days we got to do this Poetry challenge but the OWC is off and running so we'll have to stop here. I'll do this again some other time.