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The summer air, I fear, brings a sort of mania.
Starting with the breath of mother nature's warm breeze
through my car window, and ending with my face pressed into the ground.
A sort of emotional and drug induced black out. In between is a madness.
Flowers bursting from their shy buds inside the bones of my arms.
Fireworks up the filaments and out the anthers.  
Sparking the tribal chants and patterns trying to live inside
my white blood cells. Forcing them to expand
and break, releasing a fever for sun and soil.
A sort of combustible stage production inside my veins.
Yes.  The summer air, I fear, brings an awful mania.
I want to replay
the roles of Juliet and Romeo,
Sneaking over for each other's company,
Feeling your skin against my own,
Draping me in your cologne.

And I want to wake up,
With my head upon your chest,
Surrounded by the warmth,
Of your button down shirt,
And the protection of your arms.

And nothing else.
An edited version of an earlier poem.
I would never
Refer to myself
As a
Murderer.

There's no blood
Stained on my hands,

Except my own.
Exhale your emotions
onto all of our memories
waxing as poetic candles,
rub your feelings all over me.
While vague unexpected hours
root deeply
and mingle inside all they see.

I can hear our laughter lingering
when night stands on the waters
of our love,
never growing tired or flickering.  
Following close behind
the heels of my heart
never leaving..........
or wandering.

We have been given a life
that comes after midnight,
guiding us,
letting no poison command our faith.  
I smile,
in knowing our love
will grow stronger,
as each day passes away.
Copyright @2013 - Neva Flores - Changefulstorm
What an awful thing it is to cast away your sun
To settle for reality that's never really done
I know the work that I have logged invited night to stay
But now I must come face to face with everything I say
As I confront them one by one, the words that I released
I find that rather than prepared, I've come to them decreased
And so I try to raid my thoughts for desperation's sake
In hopes that somehow memories can summon me to wake
Alas, the place I once arrayed has now been hollowed out  
And I'm ensnared inside a world I cannot  talk about
 Apr 2013 James Ellis
st64
1.
You go away
On camp
With big backpack
All ready.

2.
As much we'd miss you
No teary words
As such.

3.
Now, returned
Moody silence
Yet still my boy.

Big boy!


S T,  9 April 2013
Youngest son (11years) has just returned from school camp.
Three days, two nights.
Focus on environment and such.

Upon returning, he seemed so...independent, so distant!
Wow.
We are so happy to see him and he's so moody.
Maybe he needs time to adjust ....
Says he enjoyed it so much!
:)

Guess it's all part of the growing experience.....letting go.
Wish I could remember who wrote that one cool poem (maybe 'twas Sylvia Plath? can't recall now)....of letting go of one's child....?

Guess it wouldn't hurt to also remember the uber-wise words of Khalil Gibran in his beautiful poem, 'On Children'.


Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.
You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,
which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them,
but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.
You are the bows from which your children
as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite,
and He bends you with His might
that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let your bending in the archer's hand be for gladness;
For even as He loves the arrow that flies,
so He loves also the bow that is stable.

:)
Thinking back there was that time,
days when the sun shined - just for you
You took the long way
and peddled through the puddles
Green road - a tunnel of maples, undercover
letting go, no hands
Youth's fearless reign
of summer
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