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Just a Child
She is lonely in life, just starting to bloom.
She sits silently with clouded impressions of herself.
Blindly she stares down a hollowed tunnel
of metallic sheen, and the smell of blackened oil.
Her thoughts in a whirlwind and without warning,
she makes the decision in her fragile young mind.
The fragrance of wild roses, pink, red and yellow...
An explosion of red hot ice breaks the window
and shatters the silence of the dusty shed.
The moldy air is filled with gray-black smoke.
The pain and hurt that sorrowed a tender heart
with self-doubt, despair, and confusion
is set free from her own torment.
The shade is gently closed shut, and
the golden rays of the horizon disappears.
The smell of burning flesh and gun powder
smothers the light of her innocence.
Memories and shattered prints of her life
is all that is left behind.
A dreamland of color emerges
from the depths of the spirit.
Flowering pastels of spring are revealed.
Steps of aqua-blue smile through intentions,
and a cool breeze of love whispers
to bring warmth to a stilled heart.
Her spirit wanders, searching for peace,
for tranquility, and a place called home.
Velvet moccasins of sweet sage touch down
wistfully awakening the baby-green grasses.
The seeds of new life, in the land of the old,
blaze bright in her soft gentle eyes.
The river's flow clear crystal's
of starry sunlight, and rippled laughter.
The tree's flutter with shades of green, and
twinkle with their outstretched arms.
The flower's dance to forgotten songs
on the path of familiar voices.
Mother Earth smiles upon her,
and
all her relatives
welcome her home.
Learn more about this author, Janet Neumann.
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The blackness falls over my eyes
I let it go too far again
Anger clouded my thoughts
A black thunderstorm of hatred
Now he appears
PORCELAIN GODDESS
In tomb stone sunshine I see a shadow swing
Swaying with the wind above me
A porcelain goddess hanging by
by S. C. Mask
A deathly grip by icy hands
cold and unforgiving
Nails embedded in my soul
clutched, hooked, and ripping
The fear has faded
but
Finding My Way
All of my life I have been all alone
Never finding a place to call home
Beaten and abused so many times
With nothing
THE WICKED WITCH OF TORNALEE
The wicked witch of Tornalee,
So filled with evil is she,
No love inside her can there be,
So is
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Poetry: Dark Poems
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