When people are sleeping I'm awake,
Images of him my mind does create.
My thoughts are without any reason or rhyme,
There's nothing to seperate reality and time.
I've heard voices talking but just in my mind,
Answers to riddles for which I can't find.
Does it really matter or should I really care.
Am I insane or are the voices really there.
SAS
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Posted: Sep 2014
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It was then and only then that panic seized me...alone, I could have endured it-- but the madness of my heart would doom me, that much i knew. With one fal swoop (surely the only one fate would grant me)
Now I live my life like a warrior. On the edge of eternity, back with my child, my irises, my dog, my poems, I know I am not alone.
I am moving toward the light.
Like a moth fluttering my wings, if only to die in a blaze. Writing, painting, praying, making love, dying in the interstices between the light.
As long as flesh exists, someone will rise from the warmth of the huddle and struggle to her knees to scribble pictures-words- on the side of the cave to please- or irk- the gods.......
SAS
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Posted: Sep 2014
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well many years ago as this poem is crossed story line,
their was a boy whom played in an old mine shaft,
30 years later his children explore he same shaft as he once adored,
they look within it`s deep deep gauge and wonder should we go or stay above,
they enter it scared as shit to notice their daddys playground was shit,
but yet daddy returned to show them is life shit or do we play and follow suit,
they follow suit and enter within to see such crystals still in its depths,
it goes to show the young like old ejoy the past like present internet doth show,
my old home i once forget is now buried within my childrens heads ,
the past they say is lost again has found a way to be remembered again,
our minds can learn no mater how they forget as long as tims are memorizeed happy again.
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Posted: Sep 2014
About this poem:
well i have recently visited my home life to te establish my past and present together
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We are the many the broken hearted and the lost. We enter our thoughts on these bios like tender flowers.Will we meet someone who will fulfill the empty spaces?Are we expecting too much from ourselves and who ever reaches out to answer our quest? The days of white knights and dainty madiens trapped in high bell towers are over.Its a myth too often told and yet many times believed.We need to take our masks off and feel the air of honesty and acceptance.It would be a silly sweet world if it were that simple! By Bess Mahoney
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Posted: Aug 2014
About this poem:
Finding romance and love seems like an empty game at times.
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