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The book is closed, the end is writ
And here I am rereading it
The words unveil with every line
A placid state, collected mind
I spare the pen, its stain of red
Allow the ink to soak instead
Into my flesh and through my bones
My skeleton has always known
That what is done within this life
May come disguised, the form - a knife
And it will lay upon your back
You may not even feel attacked
But scars will form in every place
That you have ever tried to face
The end is writ, the book is closed
So rest your eyes, you've made it home
He was pale. Opaque,
His skin the color
Of a ghost.
For, that's what he was.

I could see right through him
As he moved in front of me.

He was so close,
Right before my eyes.

I wanted to reach out,
Grab him and pull him close.

I wanted to rest my head
Over his exposed chest.

I could see his heart beating
Behind his clear, glass, translucent shell.

For a moment,
He was still alive;
Until I reached
For his hand,

And couldn't feel his wrinkled grasp.
Gravity:
What goes up,
must come down.
That's what Science tells us.

And though I've never felt
the need to understand things,
only people,
I find myself circling around the
concept of gravity,
and how well it plays with
eastern ideology, with death.

After the spirit ascends,
It must come, crashing, back down
to Earth.
Sparking against the surface
as a new soul, a new way of being.

I've always been told
to read between the lines,
and maybe I've been treating my textbook
like a work of fiction,
but what if gravity is just
a metaphor for obsessive affection,
and reincarnation it's very
toxic enabler?

What if we're just stuck
in limbo, until the Earth
learns how to let us go?
 Apr 2013 James Ellis
Marian
Salty breezes blow
The lullaby of the waves
Palm trees dance and waltz

*~Marian~
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