It hurts / to write the words / that make their way / slowly and painfully / from my hand to the page
sometimes expressing yourself, even to to those who love you, has a risk…
Pretence the object, yet faithful the subject. / Where’s the logic? / Begat the face that reflects all my peers. / We are of the same person
The description below is the same as the last two Bits and Pieces thingies, so if you have read it before you can give it a miss! :D / / Throughout the years I’ve tended to write in fits and spurts… / A lot of things were started and perhaps not finished or perhaps did not need finishing and better left as they were. / Some writings are reflective, some philosophical and some… well, some are just there. / Anyway, rather than release 6 billion items onto your activity monitors I thought I’d share a few bits and pieces with you in one upload. / Enjoy, / ...bit nervous about putting these out there… too much of me may be exposed here… / Peace peeps! :D
How do I express what is in my heart? / The words you spoke today cut through me / My heart shrunk at the sound of your voice / Tears welled…
This planet is inhabited by very strange creatures…
these are frustrating times…
It is my escape / From my daily rape…
Escape through the beauty of word and thought…
verses available @ : http://rebelsoup.blogspot.com Facebook group : Rebel Soup’s Guide To Freedom
I could tell you every day / how much “I love you” because it is true / but I would like to write a poem / made with love; from me, to you…
Dad… / You will always be my hero!! I miss you so much! Art Collaboration: / berndt2
I believe you are in the brightest of lights, in the greatest levels of heaven where you belong out of this God forsaken place.
This is like a letter to my mother expressing all I thought of her, I am sure there is more but I want so much to share all she was with people. She was seriously an amazing woman full of knowledge and insight.
Head upturned toward the heavens / beneath the sun / spirit unfurls / eyes shut tight to mask the brightness / whirling twirling little girl ...
a brief memory of a moment of childlike innocense.
Her calligraphy is filled with ribbons and bows, / Nobody comes to read or study them,
I shake my mind like a rain-wet dog / to see what gems will fly; / released from their oppressive tomb / upon the wind, and none to soon / b…
Just looking through my archives and found this little poem about, what else, art! and how it comes…
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