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There's a song in my heart
I cannot sing
Only because
You're not here with me yet

So many things left unsaid
So many words spoken in gest
Was it all truth
Or have I been deceived

I have gone through my process
Something you've been lingering on
I got clean
But I cannot really see a difference in you

Why am I still sitting here
Waiting for you to come home
Have I been blinded
By the one thing I never believed in

Love is blind
I believe it now
When people cry they feel relief
Their pain is washed away
Tears can comfort the sting of grief
Or a feeling of dismay

A poet's tears are different indeed
For they form into a word
An ever growing poetic seed
A feeling that can't be heard

The paper becomes the poet's sleeve
As they wipe their tears away
Their words will form an intricate weave
Deciding what they'll say

Each teardrop has a life of its own
As it trickles down their cheek
It stains the paper, their seeds are sown
Their tears begin to speak

So listen close when poets cry
Though it barely makes a sound
You'll hear a soft and tender sigh
When all their words are found
We turn on a clock
we've created ourselves
while the nature around us
seems to sit on a shelf
But it's all moving too
just on its own time
how selfish to assume
this world is only mine!

We live and we breathe
and then our lives are done
But the dirt and the rocks
continue to run
they seem to be the ones
having all the real fun!

In the light of reality
I'm the insignificant one.
Far within the forest deep,
where Pixies play and the Willows weep.
There lies a pond with lilies pink,
that within the night, the stars do wink.

Those that the pond loves and feels,
has respect for the Magi ways, will reveal,
to the one who gently sips,
the wish it will grant from whispered lips.

Not far from there, within a glen,
resides a lovely lass named Rose-Lynn.
With hair the color of brandied wine,
adorned with Hiacynths entwined.

A fey woman-child, our Rose-Lynn be,
who walks between dreams and reality.
Born to the woodland Fairy folk one night,
from a Star Flower in the moonbeams sight.

Raised on honey and Humming Bird eggs,
sprinkled with stardust and nutmeg.
Her skin as pale and smooth as Thistle milk,
she wears a dress spun from soft spiders silk.

In the forest she spends her days,
her laughter like bells, while she plays.
Though she loves the life she's given,
it is the wind in her hair, to which she is driven.

She watches the birds while they fly,
as they dip and weave, she gives a soft sigh.
As she watches she wishes with all her might,
that she could join them in their flight.

One day she chanced to find the cool pond,
that called to her to look upon,
its surface that reflected the world around.
Rose-Lynn curled herself, next to it, on the ground.

Rose-Lynn heard her name sweetly spoken,
as though a lover, offering a token.
It bade of her to gently sip,
and whisper softly, her fondest wish.

No sooner had she sipped and whispered thus,
the ponds surface was rippled in a wind gust.
Upon the surface settling once again,
there was a new reflection of Rose-Lynn.

There from her shoulders were wings, snow white.
That would enable, Rose-Lynn her flight.
The voice told Rose-Lynn, the wings would be hers,
all she need do was to whisper one word.

Rose-Lynn stared at her reflection,
at the wings pure perfection.
She didn't need to take time to guess,
with a smile, Rose-Lynn, whispered "yes".
The man in the shroud appeared at my door
Impersonating Three-in-One persons
With his Two-D visage.
He said if I ironed him, a reversed negative image would appear
On the other side of him.

But I wanted to know,
Where are the wine stains from the Last Supper?
He replied that he'd changed clothing
Many times since that day.
The flora was exquisitely exact, he said-
Even the Calcium Carbonate signature of the cave was there.

I asked if it weren't all just a fake
And he asked me if we had the science yet to make even one?
And then he raised his arm
And called down one giga-bolt of the Infinite universal X-ray
With which he burned himself into my memory forever.
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