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I watch as an older woman in a red flowery
dress holding yellow flowers looks out to the sea
Searching for the young man she fell
in love with at the ripe age of twenty three
He gave his life that day on the Normandy shore
on the sixth of June the year was forty-four
Every year this woman comes to the sea to remember
For when she said her marriage vows
she meant them to last to the end of her forever
She throws the yellow flowers out to the sea
Always grateful for the love they shared
and proud that he fell in the cause for the free
Remembering the 74th anniversary of D-Day
 Jun 2018 Ronell Warren Alman
BMG
My scars tell a story
Of the person that existed before you
Before the person I am now
They explain how I become
Who I am today
Reminders of my past

I may not talk about them
That doesn’t mean
I am ashamed of them
I may not explain why
That doesn’t mean
I don’t remember each time

I use to be someone
That needed each scar
I use to be someone
That couldn’t fight back
Fragile little girls grow up
Forces to be reckoned with

Just because I carry my past
For you to see
On my arms
On my thighs
Doesn’t mean
you have a right to my story
Does not mean you know
Where I have been

You see a faded delicate red line
You can’t see it still alive within me
I use to rely on those sharp edges
Rely on the pain it brought me
I still rely on sharp edges
Now they exist within me
They may use you
abuse you
slap you
kick you
shoot you
stab you
curse you
mock you
choke you
tear you

and at times,    defeat you
in that time a   n   d time alone
They may do   all    this because
they know you can reach the
heights, the impossible,
that they can only
dream of
but

they won't      ever destroy
you.    You        know       when to be
a tempest and     when       to be tranquil
You know when     to         be a flicker and
when to                     be                        a flame
When to shake the        earth and to sprout
they may put so much energy to see you
on your knees, vulnerable and weak,
but as long as you continue to
rise to your feet, they will
be blinded by the
light of your
glory.
Feeling a lil optimistic now. You know, I can say that there are ALOT
of people I can list now that really want to see me fail, friend and family.
Shame but at least I know who I can and can't trust. I'm on that level of
consciousness now. This is a poem dedicated to them.
To let them see me down is a victory to them.
But it'll always be hollow because I will have that strength
to get back up again.

If anyone is in need of more fire to their flame, I hope this poem is at least a drop of fuel / a piece of wood.

Be back soon!
Lyn ***
There's a brick wall in a neighborhood not far
Though if I were an ant
might be like the distance of here to our star

Sometimes I transform into a fluttering butterfly
and over the grand impenetrable wall
I fly

Just to see what's on the other side
Brick walls dividing neighborhoods
O' a happy little gnome family
enjoy sweet bread and butter
From behind a cascade of ivy
and a rainbow splash of color
Sometimes you have no reason to stay,
and realize that's a perfect argument to go.
And that taking an entirely new way,
is the sore but single method to grow.

If you're washed-on abeyance's bight,
and you feel decision's heavy heft:
To choose the left where nothing's right,
or go to the right where nothing's left.

Remember it matters not where you proceed,
or which mountain you want to ascend.
It does not matter whether you succeed,
it is the journey that matters in the end.
She sits rather still, stitching her loom
shackled and bound to the whispering room
While the walls shutter speeches
she slouches then reaches,
her stitching resumed.

Threads of silk pool in spools
cast to the floor
Hushing the voices
as they pour

the voices repeat their crippling phrase
dancing the space
bound to their maze
Not sure. I've been editing it for awhile and I give up.
We dance in the ashes like
Literary scavengers.
In the ruins and after rages
We draw the shreds of words and pages
Around our naked bodies like Blankets,
A quilt of the quintessential struggle
Which all people suffer
I'm not sure if I posted this before,  but it's have been a while. I wrote this not too long after reading "the Book Theif" which was wonderful
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