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 Jun 2016 John Thomas Tharayil
Ja
You stole the light from my soul, when you left
But I had no way to prevent, or report your theft
You left me behind all alone, groping in the dark
Searching the ashes blindly, for some sort of spark

I fell into a deep, never ending abyss
Don’t know how long, I existed like this
Until that scar, on my heart fell off
It’s only then I knew, I could once more love

Now I endlessly search, for a cinder or glowing ember
To relight my soul, like those days I remember
But with every spark that I’ve chosen, to my light renew
It only fades and dies, with each memory, of you
BOEMS BY JA 482
In peace...
Sons bury their fathers
In war...
Fathers bury their sons
So are we at war
Are we...at war
Because today all there is death
Fathers burying sons as mothers and daughters cry in vain
Not understanding the pain that course through their veins 
Screeching why at the top of their lungs
Unable to breathe in the depths of hell
As they fall to their knees praying to their gods
Are we at war
Or is this some type of twisted peace
Because sons are burying their fathers
Who they never knew because their fathers were always away
Looking into the reflecting pool only to see themselves in blooded tears
Forcing their sons to become men at early ages
Causing them to become so conflicted they commit sins to compensate
Attempting to fill the dark void in their already shattered hearts  
Opening the gates of hell becoming demons that feed off the souls of others
Thus the cycle begins again
So are we at war
Are we...at war
Or is this just the true face of peace
To love a poet
Isn't always rainbows and sunshine.
For we are oh so passionate
about everything.
If you've won the heart of a
Poet ..remember you
Never actually leave
Their mind.
Don't forget it is you who
Makes their heart spin.
It is you who they
Depend on to be an unwind.
We will dress you with words and
Show you our way of viewing.
Keep this as a token for
The dark times.
Try not to wonder why
Your poet is constantly stewing.
Mostly we are trying to connect lines.
The ones to this. And the ones to that.
Your poet loves you forever deeply.
Even after you leave. Even after
Time stands still.
You will be tattooed to their soul.
And that is a certain fact.
Everlasting you will roam through
The corridors of their mind.
Even after.
You have.
Run out.
Of time.



- Jennifer DeAngelo
Copyrighted 2016.
#PoetsLove
#Everlasting
#WeRememberYou
First stage

Man and wife are equally blind
Not a single blemish comes to their sight
Like Cyclopes they are one eyed,
Each feels a love like theirs is hard to find
Every now and then they chant the litany of love
They are on an exciting expedition
Explorers rather than fellow travelers
And thrilled at every new discovery,
They stick together as two magnets,
Moving in a high powered circuit

Second Stage

They begin to taste life’s bitter juice
Between them grows a stale familiarity
Which on their face they carry like an ugly wart
Now they become Argus eyed
Nothing escapes their notice
Distance creeps into them
Tastes differ, arguments prop up
Sometimes they holler at each other
Even minor differences of opinion
Can end up as a high voltage drama

Third Stage

Both grow equally frail and infirm
Differences are ironed out
Their talk always verge on their ailments
Constipation and insomnia often surface up
In looks, they grow more and more alike
As though the long years
Have made their features blend and bleed
Even they smell similar
A mixed odor of dried cuticle
And the smell of some balm or ointment
That they liberally apply
On their aching back and stiff joints
While walking, they support each other
Careful not to slip and fall

Has the lost love come back?
Or is it all just a survival mechanism!
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