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Blooden'd tears fall upon
Thy tender cheek.
A hollow chime is laid
Bare on swollen ears.

The blank canvas of thy
Body lies still like a mirror'd
Pool in aspect of night's
Algid face of innocence.

Under evocative, tragic skies,
In the fields of summer bright,
Lost in lamentation's hue
Thy death as sweet as roses' bloom.
 Jul 2014 Emma S
Poetic T
Shards 10w
 Jul 2014 Emma S
Poetic T
I live
In a
Glass house
But like throwing stones..
Listen to nature,
never money.

At least trees can rustle their leaves.
Dollar bills just smell.
 Jul 2014 Emma S
Poetic T
I woke to find the world covered in white
I ran down the stairs,
Opened the door,
Running through the white ground
Sinking deep,
Lying  flat the ground beneath.
Cold,
Vivid white,
Pure,
It crunched under my weight,
I spread my arms out like wings
My feet spread
I moved them in sync
Left
to
Right
My head still,
As it sunk ever more deep
I lifted up to see what was done
A white snow angel
Pure as the snow that surrounds
I made a wish to the snow angel
Protect,
Care,
Look after
Those in this house from now,
The hours past it went to fast,
I slept a deep sleep blanketed in the dark
I woke as light pierced the room
Shoeing the darkness away.
I looked out to the ground below,
Where once there was one
Now more did appear, encircling the house
Days pasted and the white did fade,
But the angels now ice
Not melted away,
The sun shone down,
The ice did gradually faded away.
I awoke to my mothers voice
Come look my child,
Wings spread,
Angels before my eyes,
What once was white
Its shadow in green,
They heard my wish
Though the snow had gone,
They were still here there circle of wings.
Here to stay to forever protect me
And  those who live in this house,
Each year it snows.
Cold,
Vivid white,
Pure,
The angels appear,
But leave a space, for my own angel to reappear
As I lie in the crisp white ground
Surrounded by my angels all year round.
 Jul 2014 Emma S
Joe Wilson
I often wake up in the night these days
and if I lie very still and quiet
listening to the house I’m rewarded
as it makes all the nightly noises
that I find are so very reassuring.

Crack!! I recognise that sound
as the little lumps of ice falling
down a chute at the back of the fridge
as it defrosts itself by some
magical force once again.

If I wake soon after I fall asleep
I can still hear the creaking sounds
of the furniture as the springs
seem to relax and get themselves ready
for those who will use it next.

Should I wake nearer to dawn I hear
the gentle gurgle of the hot water
as it makes its way along the pipes
warming the house for the new day and
getting us all ready to rise and face it.

When the day is bright I hear the roof tiles
as they tighten up when the warmth of the sun
slides over the trees at the bottom of
the garden and gradually release their
wonderful rays of light on the house.

It is life and it should never, ever, be taken for granted.

©Joe Wilson – The tells 2014
 Jul 2014 Emma S
Forgotten Dreams
Dear Random Strangers,
            
Your sideways glances and whispered remarks have been noticed.
What you think has no effect actually means the world.
I would like to ask you...
No...Beg you...
To please stop judging me because of the marks on my wrist,
Allow me the chance to tell you my story,
Before you put the damaged book in the trash.
I know my corners are dog-ear,
Yes some pages are ripped,
And my cover is torn and scratched.
But looks can be deceiving.

Random Stranger, I know we haven't met
But every time one person disregards me,
It becomes more easy to believe I am trash,
And it makes me want to throw myself away...
I have an itch.
It needs soothing.
I can't scratch it, I won't stop.
I'll scratch until the crimson petals appear.
Watch the vermillion bloom against the white.
Then pick and scratch some more.
Feel relief as I watch the red run in rivulets down into a deep pool.
Hitching myself to an already aching itch was a mistake.
A mistake and itch scratched away with a meat fork*.
© JLB
04/07/2014
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