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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,

Memoirs of A Lost Fairy

She was chained on every limb with addiction, profanity, fake freedom and false wisdom
She broke free, regaining her strength to shine her light once more
Her hair glitters in the wind with her golden reflection as she glides over the waters
She is literally walking on air, sighing heavy sighs of relief as she skates out into life
She is guided by THE LIGHT, shutting out every other sense of direction, eliminating viral thoughts, erasing voices of skepticism
She is soaring, flying higher, gaining momentum, accumulating speed, charging forth… then… bursting into outer space and sending down stars.
Do you wish you were that fairy?
(10 December 2012)

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