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Poems,

Vingt

The leaves still rustle when the wind yawns.
The stillness is short lived.
Temper. Temper and controlled storms.
A million bottles of hearts that grieve.
There is beauty in your soul’s brain.
Matchless pairs make up your being.
You are unaware that gold flows through your veins.
Such sanity will cause a stone to sing.
Vingt.
The wounded crawl into hiding once again.
Petals wither at the hour before dawn.
Bleed the oil lamps and drop the curtains attached to the frames.
Then the green light will flood in from the cracked window screen.
20ème
We will slowly rekindle the dousing flame from the beam.
It’s time.

Poems,

Battle

The sugar coated words made of knives we utter
It hits the ears and there it melts, as soft as butter.
Darting straight to our hearts, they pierce us
And tear us apart leaving bare sores.
Forgive me for falling victim
To the show you staged, so depicting.
Now I’m left to bleed alone, still breathing
But you’re nowhere close to my reaching.
Yes, those were the same words you said
Believing, sending different signals to my head.
I put them down, yes I noted
And you’re angry now that I quoted.
Like a bee sting, it still hurts
But I will stay strong ‘cuz I must.
I never took that armour off
Although I was as hard as a powder puff.
It was an adventure, so I learnt
You left your mark, way too many dents.
Why do I care? This is strange
Bizarre. I thought I turned that page.
High off of love, almost suffocating
As weird as I get I still won’t start the hating.
I made a promise and I’ll keep it
Losing this game is no option. I was born to win it.
(14 April 2013)

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