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To Anyone ListeningI'll be the thunderstorm in your night sky
If you'll just be the moon
Churning my ocean tides
Or I'll be the moon
If you'll be the solid earth
I can orbit around
I'll be a jasmine flower
And scent the night with love for you
If you'll be the rain
To keep me alive
I'll be a seedling
And grow in your love
If you'll be my sun
And warm the soil for me
I'll be yours
If you'll be mine
And love me
I'll love you forever and after
If you'll just be here
When I'm so lonely
And I'll be the thunderstorm in your night sky
If you'll come
And be with me
Hard or soft,
Or in between
I come in many guises
Basically the same
Despite all my disguises.
Or subtle and mild
Or very very bland.
Just milk made thick
By whey removed
And cultures added in.
You may eat me on bread
You may eat me with fruit
I may be sprinkled on your soup
But please pause
And appreciate me
And all the things I do.
I'm busy, it's true
But when I've a minute to think, I think of you.
My sigh when I finally go to bed
The first half, true is tired,
But the second half is lonely for you.
I remember what you say about clouds,
But to me they never look painted
When I look at them
For a minute
Before getting back to work.
I feel the touch of the wind and sun,
And it's nice,
But I want your touch.
My fork traces your name on my plate
I shiver into my chilly bed,
and wish you could help keep it warm.
My muscles ache,
but my heart aches more.
It misses you,
And the muscles just have an unoxidized buildup of acid.
In a room of people talking,
I sit and listen,
And write a poem for you.
I'm worried about managing everything,
I'm worried about fitting in,
I'm worried about making my boss like me,
I'm trying to get enough rest at night
I'm busy and learning and working and tired out...
But there is space in my life for you.
A hole in my life waiting for you.
To stop, and be cradled in the arms of the trees. Lean against one and feel her support.
They claw at life, desperate to live, to survive one more year, one more day. Lean against one, and feel your energy begin to drain away, sucked up by the tree's enourmous need, it's desperation.
The sensual, full-bodied celebration of season's end. A fiercely friendly competition of hue and vibrancy. Flamboyant laughter and color in a drunken dance across the sky before winter's sleep.
Defeat. The frost has won and stolen the summer away.
Sleeping – waiting.
...we will all die... we will all die.
We awake! Leaping into the cycle, we explode in leaves and flowers, a quiet hum of abundant life shivers through us.
With a sigh, we begin again.
Abandoned ChapelThe parish waits now,
the loneliness of corners
crawling outward on walls--
chipped away by the wind,
and held together
by silk spindles;
cobwebs align them like the membranes of memories,
the cut of a jewel in an broken window
against the sun
where beads of rain
gather in a mesh of strands
a new Mosaic
against the backdrop of a cemetery;
My eyes seek out the sermon
in close proximity,
paint no distance
between headstone and cloud;
elegies topple each other
in their climb to heaven
as light trickles
over the shade,
breathes a new glow over snuffed candles.
I feel the weight in these empty rows,
how a breath couldn't cease to be breath
in the midst of prayer.
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Bluefley has a gallery filled with artwork that whisks you off in to a Sci-fi daydream, and keeps you captivated for hours. Marc has been a member of our community for over a decade and has achieved nothing but success with his astounding commitment to interacting with the community, sharing a prolific amount of video tutorials and generally being an all round rockstar deviant. It is no joke that we are absolutely delighted to award the Deviousness Award for April 2014 to ... Read More