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One of the ancients,once said that poetry is "the mirror of the perfect soul." Instead of simply writing down travel notes or, not really thinking about the consequences, expressing your thoughts, memories or on paper, the poetic soul needs to seriously work hard to clothe the perfect content in an even more perfect poetic form.
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What is poetry?


Reading books RomanceThe unity of form and content is what distinguishes poetry from other areas of creativity. However, this is precisely what titanic work implies.
Not every citizen can become a poet. If almost every one of us, at different times, under the influence of certain reasons or trends, was engaged in writing his thoughts, then it is unlikely that the vast majority will be able to admit to themselves that they are a poet.
Genre of poetry touches such strings in the human soul, the existence of which a person either didn’t suspect, or lowered them to the very bottom, intending to give them delight.


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Read books online » Poetry » Of Ruby Slippers and Pocketwatches by Lions Dream In Gold (fiction novels to read .TXT) 📖

Book online «Of Ruby Slippers and Pocketwatches by Lions Dream In Gold (fiction novels to read .TXT) 📖». Author Lions Dream In Gold



I Used To Have This Dream...




I used to have this dream
Her eyes would ponder quiet.
Where the winds were ribbons laced with blue
Her lips would part reverent.
And sound was but a taste praying calmly in the gloom.
Her hands would twine refined.
I never saw a soul, no person to be doomed.
Her lashes dark with kohl.
I only saw the sounds, a rainbow of a school.
Her words would never part.
I would walk the candy cobbled paths as sweetly as could be
Her pallor pale as dusk.
And I would come upon a doorbell, a handle to be knocked.
Her hair simple as powdered leaves.
Then upon the doors opening, all the color would be leeched.
Her skin falling into dust.
The ribbons would wrap so tightly around me.
Her breath having long failed.
I would awaken to the sun.

The Power of a Kiss




He couldn't help but laugh
Ridiculous and loud
Echoing strangely in their living room.
She was furious
A raging frightening mess
of hurt words and angry tears.
She was screaming at him,
had been doing so for a while.
And he had screamed right back.
Had yelled and ranted and raved
his bewildered confusion.
Grasping her shoulders firmly between his hands
in some primal, instinctive way to maintain
a glimmer of his fleeting control.
still fierce and proud,
Her chin still up and raised
glinting powerful in her eyes.
And before he knew it
He was laughing.
Not at her, per say
nor even at himself.
He laughed because he knew her face.
Had seen it in his dreams
since the day he was small.
Had held those cheeks
Every day since he could imagine.
Had seen her eyes
Glimmering in every shade of light.
“Why are you laughing!”
Her scream rang incredulous
As he looked at her adoringly
Humor lining the face
She had known since she could dream.
And stood shocked at he gently pressed his lips
warm against her own
In the way he had done a thousand times before.
Some unspeakable thing making her breath hitch
Catching air frozen in her throat as his hand swept
Ever so gently across her red flushed cheek.
Eyes wide as he pulled away contentedly to answer
“Because I fell in love with you.”

Ask Me Not


Ask me...
Tell me of destruction.
Ask me...
To dream of the worlds end.
Ask me...
Tell me of rejuvenation.
Ask me...
To recall times of great peril.
Ask me...
Tell me of familial love.
Ask me...
And I will write it all.
Ask me...
And I will tell you everything.
Ask me...
Anything at all, but please.
Ask me...
Not of a kiss.
Ask me...
Not to recall the precious press of lips.
Ask me...
Not.

Woe To The Angel


Woe to the angel
Who so shrouds herself in black,
Her sweetly pervading innocence
Lost among those who lack.

Silently, she grieves
As has become her custom
Unnoticed by kindly eyes
This leads to her destruction.

So sweet tis this angel being
Who’s’ cloaked herself in shadow
All but oblivious to painful fiends
She fears the looming battle.

Oh, for the angel
Her fears flow down her face
Her wounded pride becomes fearsome wrath
As sense does seem to fade.

Woe to the angel
Who cleverly hides the pain
Who, even with battered wings
Her light is still sustained.

Words from the Wise


Stand Tall.
He said,
Stand Strong.
Be Wise.
He said,
March On.
When the world falls down,
He said,
Fear None.
When victory is inevitable,
He said,
Push On.
When all is lost,
He said,
Hold On.
Be Kind.
He said.
Lead On.
Be Courageous.
He Said.
Walk On.



Imprint

Publication Date: 11-20-2011

All Rights Reserved

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