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Archive for August, 2015

Punch Line

My head, immersed in the fire
of your passion, pushes my heart to take
the lead in our foreign dance,
and there’s no way this couldn’t end well.

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Brushstroke

The paint, moving along
the canvas like musical notes
grazing my ears,

a song unfinished but
getting closer to completion
with every stroke.

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Cleanse

I turned off my computer,
my phone, my television, looked
at the trees and the bird bouncing
from one to another.

I called out to the strip of
grass, but it only swayed as if a light
wind had brushed its tendrils.

My thoughts became pure,
no longer sullied by the violence
of humanity. My hands

became robins floating from
branch to branch, and I
finally felt at peace, my heart
slowing to its natural state.

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Are We There Yet?

Is this my death,
the bitter end?
The wound from which
I’ll never mend?

Is light descending
on my soul?
Has perfection come,
finally whole?

If it is so,
I will not try
to fight it off,
or even cry.

Your touch assures
me of the care
I’d been longing for,
and now I’m there.

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Dancing and turning
and holding her close,
in this moment alone
with the musical notes.

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Muffled

negativity
or
positivity

it seems like
a
simple choice

but when hate
is
commonplace

it leaves love
a
muffled voice

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Better Than These

I fell in love.
It feels so nice.
A simple poem
won’t suffice.

I’ll spend all day,
I’ll spend all night
searching for ways
to show my light.

It’s safe to say
you’re the bee’s knees.
I’ll write you words
better than these.

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You Shine Without

The sun has nothing
on your warmth.
You shine without
burning.

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Only Hope

This closing of our throats
made to silence speaking out
is the smokescreen over us,
for they’re the ones who shout.

Ignorance is all the better
for what they wish to do.
While we fight over the pieces
they’re conquering our view.

The dragon isn’t what we thought,
so put all your swords away.
Set fire to the things they taught,
and watch them toil in vain.

If we can flee from unconcern,
the battle will be won someday.
If we stay rooted to the past,
our only hope will be to pray.

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Partial

The record spins a cheerful tune,
music from the window’s gap.
We dance under the partial moon,
perfect lady, lucky chap.

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