Organized by Collection
Blessed by the WavesShe runs to me; I have welcomed others, but she is special
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Her long, wavy hair sways as the slight breeze blows
She enters my water, water so crisp and clean
I embrace her body and gently caress her
This angel moves her arms through me
Marveling at how easily the water flows
She is relaxed, floating peacefully,
As the fishermen try catching the nearby fish
The underwater sand is soft and fine beneath
Her feet; she sinks and takes a handful
What has happened? Little girl, do not
Pay attention to that; look at my waves
I call to the wind-it picks up speed
The result: my waves come crashing ashore
She finally notices and understands
I grew jealous of the sand
She laughs then sets the sand free
Her attention is now turned back towards me
Impressive, says her eyes. Very impressive
I calm down, for she is mine again
She still floats; I carry her happily,
But it seems everyone is leaving
Do not go, my precious occupants
Stay with me and enjoy relaxation
I endeavour to make them stay
Time is RuinYesterday it rained.
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Yesterday I sank in my seat,
Sank in defeat.
Let the whiskey wash it away.
Just wash it all away.
Time is evil,
As all human creations are.
A deadline comes and fear grips my star.
Thick is the air, and I am well aware.
So very aware.
The end, death himself is right there.
Softly taken sips sweep down my throat.
Cold and cutting, a real whiskey kiss.
And death is there, running hands through my hair.
I am so aware,
But the end, it doesn't care.
Today it rained again,
Laid siege on the wood boards.
But I still sat there in my seat.
And time would work its evil crime.
Tomorrow it will come to be.
A van, with dogs to herd sheep like me.
A warhorse is still a horse,
Shot when weak.
Yes, time is evil.
It wrecks you, it is ruin,
Like an aging tree, as it leans before the fall.
I am like that, but not so tall.
Not at all.
Mended WingsI was young and looking at rain,
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Sat behind the window in vain
Hope an end would come. And it poured,
Vicious drops fed only a bored
Sadly I reflect to that day,
Gloomy grey a fleeting display,
For the Horror crossed me and changed
Focus. Play was sharply exchanged
With fear and worry.
Small red robin crashed with such force,
Window shuddered, hearts too. The coarse
Gravel bed now switched for the sky,
Heap of broken chirps, a soft cry,
Of this injured bird.
Mother moved it gently with hands
Known to healing, forming the plans
We had failed before- so we pained-
Yet not deterred from trying. Feigned
Robin was the first.
Sprigs of food, the water dish filled,
Box with paper nest we would build,
Hopes that chirps would ring and take flight,
Back with sky now blue. Yet that sight,
Alas, not to be.
Water brimming, food fresh, intact-
Tissue paper empty, still packed.
Box now buried, garden will store
Little robin. Rain ceases to pour,
I did not notice.
Sometimes I do wo