Posts
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Rose Petal Dawns
In a world of rose petal dawns
And freshly mowed lawns
And the warmth of a million suns
There lives a child
Meek and mild
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It Can All Go Up in Flames
I would let the world burn
If it meant I could see you one last time
I could let the skies collapse
if I could press pause on time
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When Everything is Well
in a little sun filled gale
there is a wooden swing
it's creaky and it's old, but then
so is everything
it is so dear and pretty
the meadow's filled with bees
there are flowers brushed
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When History Speaks
I'm sorry.
And I guess that's all I can really say.
I watched them fall
watched and I couldn't do anything
at Columbine
at Sandy Hook
at Parkland.
I couldn't do anything
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Death of the Cat
If curiosity killed the cat, then homo sapiens sapiens is closer to felis catus than humanity would like to admit, which is all the more reason to reach for new frontiers.
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We the Broken, Weary Now
The clock is broken
It stopped ticking a long time ago
stopped counting how much time has passed.
It's an old grandfather clock, oak wood, and sculpted to perfection
carefully crafted by hands
that belonged to men
Loves
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the language
there is a language,
of clear skies and fluffy
sheep-like clouds
of tree-whispers
and shooting stars.
spoken
in smile-lined faces
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a lamb to the slaughter
she comes from a world
of puddles and stars.
from a world where
lion and lamb play
innocently, happily together.
a world where she wears
her heart on her sleeve,
and hopes and trusts although
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empty
emptiness is sort of strange, isn't it?
when you've got
an empty piggybank
or
an empty backpack
it isn't much,
it's nothing really.
but to feel empty,
to feel hollow and frankly
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to want to be
i don't know who i am
nor do i think i ever will
but
i want to be so much.
i want to be a poet,
carefully nurturing
then raising and sharing,
the sustenance of the soul.
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when the sky cries
every once in a while,
the sky gets tired
and hides its face behind
hands of light gray clouds.
it sighs in quiet thunder,
and lets tears of blue
slip loose, trailing softly down
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snow angels and sledding
i long for the times
of snow angels and sledding.
how free we were,
way back when.
we slipped down the hill,
narrowly avoiding several trees,
and mr. wilkins,