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Pariah path

It’s easy to be part of the party,
to match the mood, the tempo, the time,
and let the world swallow you up.

But I am a solitary soul,
and I feel like I don’t fit in,
for though I am kith,
I’m no one’s kin.

The crowd’s no consolation to me,
because a love that demands everything
deserves nothing.

I am my moods,
my tempo and temperament,
perfect in their imperfection,
even when they cannot keep time.

So I take another step
down my pariah path,
unsure where I’m going,
unsure when I’ll get there,
and willing to walk alone
if I must.

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Prism

Red like a rose,
like blush,
sweeping across a face,
lighting the night on fire
with the heat of a memory.

Blue like the sky,
like a song,
played to a melancholy memory
of someone who took flight
beyond the horizon.

Yellow like fear,
like the sun,
shining down on the day
when you leave your anxiety behind,
and step out into the light.

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The dawn procession

It starts with a wish
that leads to a kiss
which lights a fire
whose name is desire.

And they start to explore,
hungry to see more,
letting their hands wander,
letting their heart wonder.

Until finally they can take no more,
and throw each other to the floor,
as they let nature take the lead,
and sate each other’s lusty needs.

And long through the night
to first morning’s light,
their passions boil, burst, and burn,
as they satisfy each other in turn.

And when others rise to start their day,
these two remain tucked away,
finally getting a few moment’s rest,
snuggled up to one another’s breast.

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Up the Mountain

Please Sir,
will you take my hand?
Please walk with me;
please walk with me
on this journey.

Please Sir,
will you fill my cup?
Another drop;
another drop,
and it will be enough.

Please Sir,
will you carry me?
A little further;
a little further –
I’m sure we’ll be there soon.

Oh Sir,
are you leaving me?
I’ll do better;
I’ll be better –
please don’t abandon me.

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Time shares

If I ever play the market,
I think I’ll buy time shares,
because everyone I encounter
would love to stay and chat –
if they only had the time.

And if I could monetize that –
all the hours and minutes,
the days and months –
and charge people a premium,
it would be like owning a mint.

Who can find the time?
I hear it all the time.
And maybe I’d be kind to them,
in my financial ambitions,
but I doubt it.

Why would I spare a second
once I’m finally on the top
on any of the people
who had no time for me
when I was on the bottom?

I’ll charge them every cent
that I know my goods are worth
for I learned the value
of kindness, and company,
and spare time, in absentia.

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The Traveler

You come like the wind,
and go like the wind.
But I cannot love the wind,
and I cannot let myself love you.

I would hold you too close:
your smile, your laughter,
the velvet sound of your voice –
I could no more hold them
than I could a storm.

You are beautiful
because you race,
because you soar,
because you a free spirit
drunk on the world.

And in loving you,
I would try to cage you,
and you would wither
in a prison too small
to fit your heart.

So like the wind,
so like the storm,
I watch your work upon the world
from a prison I built
to save myself
from my own heart.

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Falling stars

Summer is in the air,
and the sky is falling.

It is so hot – I cannot breathe.
Summer is in the air,
and the sky is falling.

I fall to my knees;
It is so hot – I cannot breathe.
Summer is in the air,
and the sky is falling.

God must be crying.
I fall to my knees;
It is so hot – I cannot breathe.
Summer is in the air,
and the sky is falling.

Heaven is streaked with starlight tears –
I can hear God crying.
I fall to my knees;
It is so hot – I cannot breathe.
Summer is in the air,
and the sky is falling.

I cannot hear God anymore.
I fall to my knees;
It is so hot.
Summer is in the air,
and the sky is falling.

I fall to my knees;
I cannot breathe.
Summer is in the air,
and the sky is falling.

I can’t feel anything anymore.
Summer is in the air,
and the sky is falling.

Here I lie:
broken, silenced,
breathless, faithless,
beneath the fallen sky.

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Prominence

Empty arms that yearn to be held,
dry lips desperate for a kiss,
meals to be shared,
conversations to be voiced,
sheets to be fought over…

How this single life,
tedious at times,
burns like a hard drink.

And if I treat it like shots,
it is too many,
too much, too soon,
and I regret my actions
come the morning.

But if I nurse it through the night,
like a fine Scotch or Cognac…
Then? Oh my, then…

What exquisite pain.
What a magnificent flame.

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Meine Lieblings-Narben

My Favorite Scars are not
from those who loved me dearest,
nor those who held me closest,
but from the ones who taught me the most.

The ones I left…
The ones who left me…
The ones who built me up
before burning down my world.

Because every scar I carry –
every blemish, bruise, and burn –
is married to a memory,
and linked to a lesson.

You helped me grow,
inspired me,
and called me out
on my bullshit.

Meine Lieblings-Narben,
I hold you close to my heart,
and treasure all that we have shared –
the good times, and the bad.

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