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A poem is never finished, only abandoned.  ~Paul Valéry
Poetry is an echo, asking a shadow to dance.  ~Carl Sandburg
Poetry is thoughts that breathe, and words that burn.  ~Thomas Gray
Poetry is not always words.  ~Audrey Foris
Poetry is the rhythmical creation of beauty in words.  ~Edgar Allan Poe


2005-01-13 - 7:55 a.m.

He holds me in his sleep
Fading in and out of dreams
His arms tighten, making me feel
Precious and loved
His lips caress my forehead
His fingers tangle in my hair
He holds me only in his sleep
Where no one can see or care

He pushes me away in the daylight
His fingers now a fist of dislike
He no longer looks at me
He's blind to the sunlight
His arms no longer hold me
Instead they keep me at bay
With words of derision and hate
He pushes me away in the daylight
For all to see

Once the sun sets and we're alone again
His breathing regulates and he loosens tense muscles
His arms snake around me, holds me close
He buries his face in my hair
And breathes deep the flowery scent
He holds me tight in his dreams
Where his love can not be seen

raw || truth
Past Memories:

2006-01-13 - Fear In My Skin
2006-01-10 - The Moon - Our Silent Audience
2005-12-14 - Promise
2005-12-11 - Pure Bliss
2005-08-31 - In This Grave