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his eyes are beautiful
they threaten to **** me into
the blue abyss of mystery
his eyes rival the beauty
of the deep azure oceans
his eyes remind me of
the cloudless sky
so bright and vibrant
flowers could never compete
with his eyes
morning glories
and cornflowers
and blue orchids
can't compare
I could stare at his eyes
for the rest of my life
and never get used to their beauty
sapphire stones inset
to his handsome face
bottomless seas of eyes
that pull me under
I am captivated
with his eyes
I had a best friend
bandana clad shepherd mix
his name was Possum.
In loving memory of those great war souls. Who chose no hidden goals who fought for no silver, jewels or gold with deadly stories to be told. To our young allies who risked there lives against those who blocked out the skies. In the dead of the night as it turned to daylight. May peace be with us in our hour of need to stem our enemies greed. While heads of states turn to brass it's tough to forget our past. With family names written on wooden benches. As battle worn trenches hide bones of the buried. So the living can stay alive watching there sons and daughters grow up to get married. So don't hurry your dreams in conquest or loss for our great world is full of hope. With no names on there graves. Just remember those brave lost souls.
This is written for my great grandad William Hill who fought in the great war. Everybody use to call him Will.
broken hearts yearning
hurts worse than being laughed at
it bruises the soul
every day is the same
every day is mundane
but if you ever want things to change

you have will it into being
it won't change on its own
you must know what you want

and make it happen, first in your heart, then into reality
Advice I should take myself
no friendly banter
my heart stays still for a while
just some small talk
They flow like rivers
from a fresh stream,
When nurtured with love,
gently with care.
The poem talks about how curly hair can be compared to ocean waves instead of the usual (and often clichéd) comparison to noodles.
It suggests a shift in perspective—seeing curls as beautiful and flowing like waves, rather than just springy or chaotic like noodles.
Meaning in my scars,
etched letters on my arm -

A man with a Bowie knife

Letters form the words:
"Dredge soil from his soul;
a lake without mud's alive."

Seemingly unharmed.

Best feeling ever had -

was spared from the shiny blade.

Now I'll stick around.
Scared? No, I think I'm brave;
let destiny have its way.
I know how dark this poem is, but being reminded of mortality can be a good thing. Being reminded can make you thankful for what you have, knowing it's temporary. I was assaulted, once, but I healed from those ****** stab wounds. I'm thankful. I needed to be shown how real death is. Great men have known this.

After a victory, Roman generals were reminded of death and kept humble by the tradition of having a slave whisper to them, "momento mori," which means, "remember you must die," or other reminders of mortality. The tradition was meant to humble triumphant generals. Many great warriors have fought, knowing that they are already dead in some way. They fight better, believing that.

Life is a constant battle.
my sadness is evanescent
soon I will forget how it made me feel
I used to feel empty everyday
now I feel joy and contentment
my sadness is evanescent
drifting away
out of my memory
the feeling of sadness
will be a foreign emotion
evanescent: soon passing out of sight, memory, or existence, quickly fading or disappearing
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