contemplation

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The Snowy Hollow  Trees reach up Like long slender hands Over the stillness. All is hushed There is no need for Words.
1. 2. 3. 1. 2. 3. pause BEat drones like a belle where does the noise aller? interruption With pleurs
Bus people really have a lot of time to think.. Weary, they are always on the brink of knowing what's it's all about. Bumping, heaving,  sleeve-to-sleeving their way to work. Yearning to be back in bed, learning they are spiritually dead.. And all
What comes after death? What lies beyond the final breath? Is the body just a mere shell? Do we really go to heaven or hell? Or the murky fields of Asphodel? Or are we all under a spell?
Under autumn sun and shadow Cool air flows within and without, hands clasping wet earth, surrounded by fallen leaves Ah yes! Autumn leaves; filled with the flames of summer, and the youthful spirit of Spring
I am in love with the lines on your face, A decade of wearing you down.  Emotions run like rushing water, Engraining caverns of joy and pain, Of thoughtfulness and contemplation Of a million experiences
Love is wild, Like a flower.   When you like a flower you just pluck it, When you love a flower you water it daily...  You nourish it, Heal it, Rejuvenate it,
It is easy to lose oneself gazing into the vastness of space.   The calm beating of the heart begins to mirror the gently pulsing twinkle of the stars. The consciousness is perfectly absorbed
I've cried, I've weeped, I've screamed Can you not see me?? Tell me have I become of a burden You've taken me into oblivian Can you not see me??
The phrase, “culture and tradition are the enemies of evolution” is the modern artists excuse to erase what had been before, and impose themselves on the works of life. Such misery!
I been on a hot streak to run my life to a place much to bleak.... Took a pit stop at the corner of depression and despair..... A place much to familiar, god knows Ive already been there....
This forgotten world, we are a
We can only climb as high, As low as we can sink. I love how you keep my head in the sky, And never put a reign on the power of think. I grew roots into soil I never wanted;
  Memories are a part of me, They drift apart from me. So many thoughts, just like my old matchbox cars, Simpler times---remember pogo sticks and toy guns,
Contemplation
But I'm probably just rambling to air at this point.  No matter how prolific,
Do you know what it's like every day Dreading your life in every way? Fearing you'll never be good enough The minutes get longer and your life gets tough.  
There are times I scream out to the stars, Thinking of you and all these times, so hard.
Heartless. Soulless. 
 Memory of memories, Dream of dreams, Fading light into
 Shattering obscurity. 
 Where do we come from? 
 Where are we bound? 
 Perpetuity is a shadow

30 minutes till midnight
LilyPad, LilyPad Why must you cower away? The same question you ask every day.
Droplets of water, In we go to depths unknown; Impact magnified.
Rain drops on the pond, Their tiny little ripples that stir the water in curious patterns. Oh, how I love to watch the rain. Maybe our lives are like those itty bitty rain drops,
With a Godly breathe he inhales the heavy, yet hollow whispers of the night siphoning the miniscule remnants of assurance loosely woven, each with its own cynical thread
A young soldier with knowledge and wisdom doomed by man. It's possible I may never touch land. How could you let a voice of such substance go unheard, left to be forgotten and others just don't understand.
Empty sparkles, From the gray-nothing up yonder, Swirling before me…
Sand is sifting, The grains of time, tumbling Through, down to the dune of The underworld of times past. Moments descending upon us, We take no notice. Moments falling, behind and below existence,
She gets one more bad gradeThe loans are piling up; Never fully paidStarts to look like there's no way out...
That was the only Tuesday I'd feel for seven days. Tracing hands over things I had often taken for granted. Kiss them goodbye with sorry fingertips, Until I fall asleep.   Half of me is there when I wake up.
The city trembles under the rumble of the trains under the light of one million sunrises under the the anticipation of one million sunfalls
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