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 Jul 2017
Megan
If I had to describe
Love as a season
I would like to think
For myself that is
That it would be represented
By winter.
Now I'm not just saying it
For the sake of it
I actually have given this
Much, much thought.
Ok so winters opposite
Would be summer
Alot of people would think
That love is summer
And maybe it is.
Hot nights, midnight adventures
Damp hair and Sandy clothes
Summer bodies and bikini's
And every other summer cliché
You could possibly
Think of.
I just sort of identify summer
As one night stands
Or new
Fresh relationships.
Because it's just a time
When you're absolutely
Carefree.
Or atleast I think it is.
Whereas winter
Is weirdly
More personal.
It's when you're wearing alot of layers
And your hair is always a mess.
Pink tinted cheeks
And hot drinks.
I feel like this is a time
Of the year
When I'm more vulnerable.
For some very odd reason.
It's a time when
You really know
Who the important people are.
It's when you know you'll jump in puddles with them
And freeze your *** of to keep them warm
Or when you have conversations
About stuff that really means something.
It's rain.
And the scent straight after it
Petrichor.
I either feel cozy and warm
Or drenched and miserable
But wanting to be with someone
No matter which way you're feeling
I think that's love.
 Jul 2017
Persephone Springs
She came to him one day and said
That She wished to fly
He met her gaze and shook his head
And begged her not to try

Her lips twisted and brows knit
As She failed to understand
Just why He wanted her to quit
And be content on land

An oath, She made, to herself to see
The stars She would explore
Although He said no just let it be
And wished to hear no more

She asked him why She shouldn't go
And why He so loved the ground
For She dreamed of soaring to and fro
And living amongst the clouds

He looked at her, sighed and said
That this journey would only lead
To disappointment in the end
As She would surely not succeed

Encouraged by his stinging words
She set out to do even more
She promised to be just like the birds
To not just fly, but to soar

So for a time, through night and day
She tried again and again
Until the morn She found her way
And rode, gracefully, the wind

She glided, majestically, here and there
And also far and near
And so She told him so, with love and care
That He had nothing to fear

Yet, on the ground He wished stay
And still refused to go
So the two went their separate ways
She flying high, and He perched below

Through his eyes, his sorrows fled
His heart a heavy stone
Because He had known how this would end
With her free, leaving him alone

And He remembered the day She said
That She had wished to fly
For it was not She he doubted, but himself instead
As He had never dared to try
 Jul 2017
Donna
Beautiful blue sky
Floating endlessly in love
Making the clouds sigh
 Jul 2017
Pax
I can say the right things
yet in the wrong time,
while I say the wrong things
in the right time.
seems contradicting but in truth, I better stay silent and listen more than confronting any situations thats for the later part....
 Apr 2017
RIVIS WRITES
I spend more money
on books and *****
than I do on women
than I do on food
this is my necessity
my foolish bare necessity
this is my fire
my coal
my fuel
https://rivislives.wordpress.com/
 Mar 2017
Sjr1000
he won't shut up
when he's around
he wants to write everything
keeps on formulating phrases
hallucinating
couches into flying carpets
swearing that he's seen
the ground from the sky

The Poet
we never know what he's doing -
turning black sheep
into heaven
he's stuck on the inside
looking out

The Poet
he won't shut up
but when I really need him
he's no where to be found

when he wants what
he wants
in these poems of his
I know I'll wind up
embarrassed humiliated and forlorn

The Poet
when he's around
he won't shut up
he keeps going on and on

And when he's gone
Silence.
 Mar 2017
Joel M Frye
To my friends
who can write
fresh-smelling
bouquets of words
with splendid color,
I offer my envy.
Mine are the blunt, stunted words,
rooted in the cracks
in pavement,
or forcing their way
to light around
overbearing rocks.
Some useful
in their own way,
edible or flavorful,
some with a
pedestrian beauty,
but few that one
would bring home in a bunch
with a box of candy.
More appropriate
in a grimy, young fist
crumpled in love,
destined to be vased
in a water glass
by a doting mother,
or shredded petal by petal
for the sake of soothsaying...
he loves me, he loves me not.
The beauty of your words takes my breath away some days.  Thank you.
 Mar 2017
Charlie May Cullip
I am like cheap nail polish;
When first applied into a person's life I appear fresh, neat, immaculate.
But the next day I am chipped, broken, hurting.
It's not you, it's just the way you see me.
I put on a fresh coat to please you and make me seem fine.
But it's no good.
I'm not fine.
The new coats won't hide me forever.
Tomorrow is a new day.
Tomorrow I'll apply a fresh coat.
Tomorrow I'll be fine again.
 Mar 2017
South-by-Southwest
Maybe some day we will dance
Holding hands in disbelief
As tears of joy
flow from our eyes
While the field of flowers
will cheer in salute
Maybe our eternity
will come to an end
And our day will come
to begin . . . just maybe

Just maybe I hope
beyond my dreams
Waiting for the one you love
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