A Showcase For Ph Poets: June 2015: Section 'A'.... [sharing Poems; Not A Contest; Monthly On Bri Edwards' Ph Site] Poem by Bri Edwards

I’ve started a 'showcase' on my PoemHunter site,
which is NOT a contest; it’s no arena for a fight,
but instead a place where once a month I shall post..
a poem* from you, a PH member, which you’d like read most.

NO title, topic, nor length* do I plan to require.
Just send in a poem to set the PH members on fire.
Send to 'A Showcase For PH Poets', care of me.
Let's show off our stuff, and this also is free!

I was intending this to showcase poems by you, the member,
BUT, heck, send someone else's ** if you'd like, BUT remember....
to NOT get me involved in copyright disputes, please.
Of course if I were sued, there is NO money from me to squeeze!

(February 28,2015)

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*I now allow and welcome TWO poems per month from each PH member. At least one of them should be not much longer than 24 lines in length, but I’ll judge each case separately, trying to be fair to all.

So, now for some information about my monthly SHOWCASE for PH poets:

In anticipation of a great response for my first showcase, in February,2015, [I sent notices to about 75 members from my inbox and my list of PH friends], I have added to my poem's title: “section ‘A’ ”, but there MAY never be a “section ‘B’ “.

I plan to submit one of my own short (24 lines or less) poems, and one of my LONG ones (which may go on for a couple of pages) . Therefore, and since I will allow other members to also submit two poems per month [if one is 24 lines or less], I may well add a second, third,4th, etc. 'section' so readers will not have to scroll up and down too much to refer to poems and the comments area below the poems. Understand? I hope so. This first 'section' is 'A' and I shall follow the English alphabet: A, B, C, etc. IF I FEEL A NEED (or desire) TO DO SO.


I also plan to have a LIST OF POETS [whose poem(s) are included in a following section] above the posted poems.

**I WOULD LOVE TO HAVE ALL POEMS BE WRITTEN BY PH MEMBERS, and be submitted by the authors. If you choose to submit a poem by another PH member I will try to verify that the member agrees. Poems attributed to non-members I may want to ask about also.

Starting off will be the first poem submitted to section 'A' of JUNE's showcase.
[PLEASE READ THE POET'S NOTE ALSO FOR MY 'A SHOWCASE FOR PH POETS'.]

I WILL ALWAYS GIVE THE AUTHOR’S NAME WITH THE POEM POSTED.

My first showcase was in February 2015, and I consider it to be a success, with almost 20 poems to view, from almost as many poets. My thanks go to all contributors! ! This is meant to expose poems and poets to readers and to provide some entertainment and/or enlightenment and/or knowledge to PH members [and I guess non-members who, I think, can also view the poems but not comment].
Some of the poems may not be on the authors’ PH sites. But if you are enthused about a poem, I hope you will visit the poet’s site and read more and leave comments.

Did I forget anything? ?

[[some ages of poets' may be age+1.
AND i use PH for the names and countries and gender as well.]]

[AND I TRY TO keep typos etc. out of the poems, but if i miss some, OR if the poets wants their poems added as they've given them to me, then i'm not going to edit the poem! ]

In last month's (May's) showcase, there were 14 poems from 9 poets.

HERE WE GO!
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The POETS (and poems) :


1. VALSA GEORGE (India; Female; 61)


Prenatal Pangs

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2. BRI EDWARDS (United States; Male; 67) (1st poem)


Prejudiced? Who? Me? ? .....[personal; Human Nature; Racial Prejudice]

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3. BRI EDWARDS (United States; Male; 67) (2nd poem)


A Sailboat's Last Thoughts.......[human/Sailboat Nature; Drama; Weather]

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4. STEPHEN KATONA (United Kingdom; Male; 45)


The Zonkey And The Grolar Bear

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5. KELLY KURT (United States; Male; 57)


When I Die, Remember This Alone

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6. DARLENE WALSH (United States; Female; 21)


The Monster Beneath The Bed

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7. ANDY (aka PAUL aka BB) BROOKES (United Kingdom; Male; 61)


Barefoot in the Park

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8. IS IT POETRY (United States; Male; '100')


Grandpa Pa Dad And Uncle D' El Roy

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9. BRIAN JOHNSTON (United States; Male; 72) (1st poem)


Why Fireflies Dance 2

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10. BRIAN JOHNSTON (United States; Male; 72) (2nd poem)


My Uncle's Lost Chords

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11. M.J. Lemon (Canada; Male; 49) (1st poem)


For Her

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12. M.J. Lemon (Canada; Male; 49) (2nd poem)


The Artless Freudian

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13. KIM BARNEY (Brazil, via U.S.; Male; 100(?)) (1st poem)


You're In!

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14. KIM BARNEY (Brazil, via U.S.; Male: 100(?)) (2nd poem)


Butterfly Of Death

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15. BEACH GIRL (United States; Female; 45)


I Fell Into The Sky

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16. GING TAPING (Philippines; Female; 44) (1st poem)


Whom You Trust? Who?

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17. GING TAPING (Philippines; Female; 44) (2nd poem)


Boracay.......A Dream Paradise


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18. JOHN WESTLAKE (United Kingdom; Male; 31)


221. Garden Of Love


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19. DANNY DRAPER (Australia; Male; 52)


I heard your call from sleep to wake alone


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20. ?



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The Poems (and their authors) :


1. by Valsa George:


Prenatal Pangs


Writing of a poem
Oh! How it can be likened
To having a baby!

With the copulation of fancy and thought,
Comes the moment of conception

It can happen any day
Unanticipated or planned erstwhile
On a star studded night
Or a rain drenched morn
It swims into you as a seed
So tiny… so inconspicuous
Once the pregnancy, confirmed
Comes irritation, nausea
Lethargy and loss of appetite
Your stomach rarely growls for food
Clouds of words hang heavy and low,
Refusing to break into showers
They don’t gush or rush.
Ideas dry up leaving the nib parched
Lines crack n’ break
Depression follows
Discouraged, you feel fatigued

But all the while you begin to realize
That a new life
Independent of you
Has begun growing inside you
Then all the care taken
To foster the young life

You read…
You refer the lexicon
You withdraw from other works
Take rest, relax in solitude

Slowly the foetus moves
The first stirring of life!
With fond fingers, as you pat your belly
Your pen pats the paper
The first line…..
The first faint beating of the heart!
Then words….
Like little harness bells tingling
Fall in line, line after line!

Drawing nourishment from you,
The embryo grows limb by limb
The miniscule of insight
Grown after months of waiting
Into a mature body of illumination!
A stretch of your dreams!
A suffusion of light!

After the labour pains
Of scribbling and scrawling,
Writing and rewriting,
Deleting, adding and editing,
With time stretching and contracting,
A baby, no, a poem is born.

Whether cute or ugly
No mother can dislike it
She marvels at its birth
Wraps it in her warmth
She must have had in mind a name
Or seeks to find a name;
An apt name
Thus a poem with a title is born!
She wonders if her baby would lit a smile,
On others lips too
Or from them would flow,
Words of endearment as from a trickle!

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2. by Bri Edwards:


Prejudiced? Who? Me? ? .....[personal; Human Nature; Racial Prejudice]


I'm a white guy, aged 64, raised in a small town way up north.
Do some thoughts I have about blacks signal prejudice coming forth?
First I'd say NO, but then again I'd say YES.
But such thoughts, by both whites and blacks, are normal I would guess.

What thoughts am I now referring to you will probably ask.
To answer that sensible question will put my mind to task.
My interactions with blacks, I think, no prejudice does reveal.
And the rare times I have 'prejudice' thoughts, I think they're 'no big deal'.

Do you wish to know of what my 'pre-judged' thoughts consist?
I'd almost rather not tell you..........., but, if you INSIST!
I sometimes think 'nigger'; when and where I grew up that was a 'bad' name.
I also think of them as different, though people are the 'same'.

And here is where I say 'I don't like generalization'.
By 'same' I mean neither all blacks nor all whites are 'the same' in this nation.
So whites and blacks can both be smart or stupid, mean or kind;
within each 'race' criminals and 'saints' you'll find.

I wasn't raised to either love or hate blacks. My parents seemed not to judge.
And I've changed my mind again; I'm NOT prejudiced. From THAT opinion I shall not budge!

Then why you ask do I sometimes think 'nigger' when I think of a black?
I think it's due to both a primeval urge to break society's rules, and to the 'thought-control' I lack.
Luckily I don't act out my 'bad' thoughts. I might be in jail now if I had.
When in grade school, a boy said I called him 'nigger'. The accusation made me sad.


[The ' 'bad' thoughts ' refer to non-racial thoughts; see my poet's notes on my poem's page.]

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3. by Bri Edwards:


A Sailboat's Last Thoughts.......[human/Sailboat Nature; Drama; Weather]


The storm clouds covered the sun,
bringing to an end the day-of-fun.
I knew my owner was not too bright;
I resisted his casting off with all my might.
But though I'm bigger and stronger than him,
I was at the mercy of his every whim.

But this day my fate had a second master.
Both the human and weather brought me disaster.

First the wind picked up for an hour,
bringing with it a late afternoon shower.
He sailed me on while showing no fear
but just opened himself another beer.
I had enough anger and fear for us both;
if I could speak I'd swear an oath
that, if once more we did reach shore,
with that jerk I'd sail no more.

He'd probably not checked forecast or a chart.
What a foolish, misguided, drunken fart!

I tried to come up with a positive thought.
Try as I might I came up with naught, and
he made no effort to motor me in.
In nautical circles that is a sin.
When beer was gone he went down below.
With more rain came an increased easterly blow.
Wind that is, a fearsome blast,
which tore my sails and snapped my mast.

I've never been a boat much to pray,
but I beseeched Neptune on this, my last day.
My only hope was to stay afloat!
If I could wield a pen I'd have written a note,
damning my owner and his beer as well,
and wishing them both bad luck in Sailors' Hell.

The wind increased even more for an hour.
Freezing rain developed from what was a shower.
The sea filled the cabin below;
what became of him I don't care and don't know.

My last thoughts were of the owner I never did thank.
He was my first owner before I was lost to the bank.
He kept my sails in order and fuel in my tank.
And HE checked weather and charts, and HE never drank.


(Nov.15,2012)

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4. by Stephen Katona:


The Zonkey And The Grolar Bear


'Please don't eat me, '
Said the Zonkey,
To the Grolar Bear,
'I'm far too rare.
Just like you,
I'm an unusual brew.
Even a donkey,
Looks at me,
A little queerly.
We could be best chums,
And play bongo drums.'

'I'll not disagree, '
Said the Bear to the Zonkey,
'It's just that I'm so hungry! '
'You can't catch me, '
Cried the Zonkey,
'You never will, '
As he sped down the hill.
The Grolar Bear gave pursuit,
Choosing the most direct route,
Hoping for a casserole,
But fell into a muddy hole.
Stuck fast in the sludge,
He couldn't budge.
It sure did stink,
Worse, he began to sink.
'Please help, ' said the Grolar Bear,
To the Zonkey, 'Have a care.'

'You're a little overweight,
You shouldn't put so much on your plate, '
Said the Zonkey, whose heart was kind,
As he threw branches at the bear's behind.
A twig brought tears to a Grolar eye,
'What are you doing? ' he said with a sigh,
'You'll see....'
Said the Zonkey.

When sticks were far and wide,
'Lie down, ' the Zonkey cried.
On a raft, our Grolar crawled,
Until at the edge he sprawled.
'You rescued me from this silt,
Oh, how my heart is full of guilt, '
Said the Grolar Bear, 'Please become,
My lifelong best chum.'
Our Zonkey taught a Grolar to fish,
To never be short of a dish,
While a Grolar kept a Zonkey safe from harm,
With solid muscles on each arm.

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5. by Kelly Kurt:


When I Die, Remember This Alone


I lived my life with honor, loyalty and openness
I made good friends and shared my smile
I accomplished much and had failures
I worked hard and goofed off
I reveled in my youth and enjoyed the wisdom of age
I lost
I won
But when I die, remember this alone
I loved you

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6. by Darlene Walsh:


The Monster Beneath The Bed

What is that you're seeing
in the corner of your eye
Stealthful foot steps following
never passing by

In the corner of the mirror
watching when you blink
It is patient and silent
and deadlier than you think

It's biding time for years
until the time is ripe
Until you've grown enough
and are just the right type

When you have grown enough
to be a tasty morsel
From beneath the bed it comes
through a secret portal

In silence it is waiting
needing to be fed
Out in darkness slithering
from beneath your bed

In your sleep it comes
needing to be fed
Nibbling a tasty morsel
until you are dead

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7. by Andy Brookes:


Barefoot in the Park

Oh it's so lovely to be free
It really makes me feel carefree.
It really is a pleasant lark
To go barefoot in the park.

I know some think it rather crass,
To walk barefoot in the grass.
For like a child I gives such mirth,
For I love to feel my feet on earth.

My feet are free of shoe or sock
As from their jail I do unlock,
I love my little toes to wriggle,
Its seem to me they laugh and giggle.

But just one little bit of caution
And listen well to my exhortation
Mind your step whatever you do
And don't step into no dog poo

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8. by Is It Poetry:


Grandpa Pa Dad And Uncle D' El Roy

Grandpa pa
Dad and Uncle D' el Roy
......
sometimes....
with Mother
................
keep
................
all the
...............
.......


Bushes and trees over grown here, like a park
very dark
and the mighty pale moon and groomed left Unlandscaped
through the old rusted gate to here delivered
thus I saw
through a crack and going in, it sawing it coming out:
The grandpa pa assisted to his preferred chair,
Referenced remarks and grand-daughters dread
she is and
he starts to look at her fixedly.
Drooling his;
Foul breath, hanging outside his old shriveled finger.
Her face and fear, full apparent to me, I see.
Such beginnings with our race, thinking me.
Long ago that Egyptian, should have stayed
away from such a tree, she'd flee.
She/his grand-daughter' he wants to push,
and pull at her inside out the treats.
Calling, calling for more and 'said', come
come “you never want enough. ” Come here.
Come on sweet,
come and relive to see it more.
My grand-daughter,
obtains it there on the knees,
Buckled open it pops.
It makes my stomach turn, I wish to die thinks she.
All because of 'dad' and him, ; D'el Roy '
He\they 'said' and forced it open each dark banana,
with the peel off and it knows, grampa pa knows it.
Incest is the best, grampa pa he says.
Through thick; fat, full - insidious blue lips.
Uncle D'el Roy; decides to give him\my brother those
gyratory movements, puckered in/out and clingy.
It is unlike what grampa pa does,
it's like to forward leaning, upwards.
Uses, used equipment like/his nephew as a girl.
Uses from us both,
to see it Unwrapped from silk and the distance it.
Lipstick and make-up on his face,
uncle 'D'el Roy ' imagining him\my brother with heels
on his feet, deeply forcing.
Because it assized up there
and starts to rub around his 'familiales'.
D'el Roy; would like to put it to the test, he said at rest it knows
incest is just the best as well.
Whispers; from The mother to decide to enter
on the act, Its and its son have a special pact, understanding.
While his/her husbands with 'D'el Roy '; and works she
obtains in her flowerbed, blooms on his and starts to give
it's principal, the son loves her mom and is equipped and
instructed, upwards through her face,
Like it draws his milk everywhere her cotton yellow face.
He knows that its mom and is nicer than the rest,
Granpa pa or uncle'D'el Roy.
He knows incest is not the best, inside his head,
but does, instead of being whupped.
The sister and the brother are a knowing pair,
It is more of a family name and thus divide and conquer.
Bill\ brother cannot believe this chance,
Having a sister who knows to lean, their away.
After he located it -it's grubby paws advanced there.
He folds it open and molds it more around it' and takes her back,
Why of putting itself, love like the animals they became
the sad truth and dirty catfish muddiest, ' they both/know that '
incest is not the best and both they know it.
The father cannot believe that his/her daughter must be
forced thus, not the their kind, 'Randy' thus like he.
Because uncle 'D'el Roy ' draws aside its moist breeches
at the side on its knees as his\her takes it hates it from behind,
She/He groans and shouts and starts to cry, it bleeds.
'Dita', “He dad, you are not my type, not a kind; man, 'Dita'.
The” dad says his incest is the better way, it hurts much less
And it is a game in which the entire family has played,
since the early eighteen hundreds.
The dad treats his\her daughter like the honoured guest,
'they both know, hugging that'
deep inside, that incest is not the best and start to cry.
And they both plan to runaway when both learn too understand it.

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9. by Brian Johnston:



Why Fireflies Dance 2


Pausing on a late trip to South Dakota
I pulled off of the highway
Somewhere in Kansas
And shut off the lights
Reflecting that it might be good
To clear the windshield of bug carcasses
That were only being smeared
Into a thin, barely transparent paste
By my windshield wipers at this stage.

As my eyes became used to the moonlit hollow
Where my vehicle purred quietly
I began to realize something was strange.
There were stars dancing that night
Whose light had never been
Gathered by a telescope,
A job, better left perhaps,
To a wide-eyed child with a ‘Ball Jar’ & lid,
Than to a scientist living behind thick lenses.

Opening the car door, revelation struck,
Though alone in the dark, God was with me.
The valley in which I’d parked
Was teeming with more fireflies
Than I had ever seen
In the entirety of my uneventful life.
Even in the stupor of mechanical driving
I realized that by chance I had discovered
What might just be the ‘eighth wonder of the world.’
The air was full of ecstasy
And my impoverish heart simply enchanted.

The fireflies in their mating frenzy
Made the full moon seem
The victim of an incredible meteor shower,
Flashes of light exploding on lunar surface
As each projectile ended its journey,
This illusion blurred only slightly
By less ambitious brothers and sisters
Whose ardor blotted out the Milky Way,
Stretching horizon to horizon,
As they flashed the opposite sex.

Still, all in all, it was quite a show.
These moon striking invertebrates,
Faux-astronauts though they were,
(Unlike us, leaving no debris behind to litter)
Giving up their tiny ghosts over and over,
Adding a buggy visual pun to the night
Clearly suggesting, that in romance at least,
All of us experience multiple crash landings.


(February 14,2014)

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10. by Brian Johnston:



My Uncle’s Lost Chords

There’s a story I heard of a famous lost chord,
although why it was lost and just who did the losing,
true or not, perhaps no one can tell,
but piano pursuit served me well as a child
as I followed my dream of harmonic reward.

Missing notes by themselves could bring fame to my door,
no real talent required, just let luck do the choosing.
Crystal tones could my future foretell,
and might somehow bring fortune with demons beguiled,
find this chord and I’m famous like world troubadour.

What I learned from this I must now share from the heart:
I was three when I found Ardean’s stash in mom’s closet,
older classical records, and more.
There was Love For Three Oranges, Suite Scheherazade,
and the Firebird Ballet blew my whole world apart.

Through his gift I discovered that music is dance,
an emotional language that lives as composite,
an intelligence melting your core
with a soul that can play your heart’s strings like a God!
How I tremble to think this could be happenstance!
 
Still a chord unremembered might be anything,
I think I see now where my poem is going:
A lost chord’s like a glass without wine,
precious stone that has yet to be set in a band.
Well, a chord in a symphony really can sing.

It is only in context the best chords ring true
with their blessings of harmony wisely bestowing
both a peace and a rapture divine,
as a gem is at home on a receptive hand.
Ardean fell in the forest, God heard, I did too!


(May 2,2015)

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11. by M.J. Lemon:



For Her

That laugh revives a warm memory.
Shoulders rolling hair swinging
That year a familiar territory
as near as last Saturday

I'll fill the carafe
You can keep troubles at bay
just bring that laugh

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12. by M.J. Lemon



The Artless Freudian

Save time or save
your mind or whatever
gives you purpose and defines you
beyond flesh that eats sleeps
finds relief and renews itself

Remake nothing
or everything. Depends
on the vitality infused
into that which you most
esteem: ignominious Self.

Perhaps redeem
that most ethereal
seam that kisses like morning mist
the frost baked slate that is
woman, man so ephemeral.

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13. by Kim Barney:



You're In!

I encountered one day
in a little café
a chum from days gone by,
and oh, what a treat
when he started to greet
me with a joyful cry!

From the restroom he came
as he called me by name
and shook me by the hand;
but his hand was all wet,
which I'll never forget
and could not understand.

Said I, 'Dear friend Josh,
don't you know, when you wash,
you should dry, understand? '
Said he to me,
'But don't you see,
I didn't WASH my hands! '


[p.s. in Kim's poet's notes, he suggests you read the title aloud 3 or four times as fast as you can]
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14. Kim Barney:



Butterfly Of Death

I was sitting in my garden
Just relaxing in my garden
Doing nothing in my garden
When I saw a butterfly

Butterfly there in my garden
Appearing there of a sudden
Not surprising in my garden
To appear a butterfly

There was something very different
In this creature from my garden
Beautiful he was but fright'ning
Butterfly in my garden

Something he was saying to me
Something softly whispered to me
Something audible just barely
This butterfly in my garden

His words came softly to my ear
Those words were soft but they were clear
My blood ran cold when I did hear
Yo soy la Marisposa de la Muerte!

I understood those words, all right
And my whole soul was filled with fright
To die just now did not seem right
So I feigned ignorance

Spanish, I do not speak, I said
Please try some other tongue instead
Or go away and leave me be,
Strange creature from my garden

Closer he came, my fright increased
My heart beat faster, almost ceased
And once more spoke the little beast:
Ich bin der Schmetterling des Todes!

I do not understand, my friend.
That sounds like German (I pretend
I'm unable to comprehend
This creature from my garden)

Closer he came, within three feet
My heart increased its frantic beat
Louder he spoke, almost a bleat:
Eu sou a Borboleta da Morte!

Filled with terror am I by now
Thinking I must escape somehow
Yet I know this he'll not allow,
This specter from my garden

My mouth is dry, I cannot speak
I try to run but I'm too weak
And then he lands upon my cheek,
This phantom from my garden!

I am all numb and paralyzed
All my worst fears are realized
These words I hear with my last breath:
I am the Butterfly of Death!

[p.s. check out Kim's photos on his poems' pages! ]
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15. by Beach Girl:



I Fell Into The Sky


As I awoke this morning, I fell into the sky

The ocean left right after me and gracefully rolled by


The elephants stood on their toes and did a little dance

Pansies grew up ten feet tall and frightened little ants


I hear the mountains packed their bags and moved to Oklahoma

Palm trees put on winter coats and left for Nova Scotia


Birds decided not to fly and ordered Mini Coopers

Clouds became immoveable and fell into a stupor


Rivers ran like two way streets confounding fish and men

Lemons, limes, they all grew sweet, causing kids to grin


Soon I awoke from this strange dream, and sighed a little sigh

Recalled the weird and wondrous as I fell into the sky
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16. by Ging Taping:


Whom You Trust? Who?

Trust is easy to give but hard to keep.
Once the bridge of trust is broken,
it's hard to fix..

They said trust no one but yourself,
coz' you know what's inside the shelf..
But why?
Can't trust your tongue..
Sharper than knife,
Clever than sword,
Louder than huge clanged..

Why trust your heart..
When it can tear you apart..
fickle, loving, meek
sometimes weak..
Heart and Mind collide
But heart move w/out consulting
the 'Master Mind'.
When the result went down,
All suffer what's left undone.

To whom you can trust?
Even your shadow leaves you in the dark.
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17. by Ging Taping:


Boracay.......A Dream Paradise


all over the world
From different race,
across the globe
Travel million miles
to be with you even for just awhile
Longing to feel the sweetness of your caress
warmth of your embrace
And as I step down the aisle
The story lies to be unfold.

True beauty came down from heaven
A hidden paradise beneath the sky
Where birds have freedom to fly.
The calmness of the sea
The waves babbled free
Sea breeze like a symphony
Happiness and joy lies in your body.

In the morning when it's low tide,
you can walk to the heart of the ocean
The shore is long and wide
The sand is pure and white
They call it powder sugar sand..

And when the evening comes
In one stroke of the magic wand
festival colors of the sky turn
into enchanted fun...
The night gently breaking the sun
Oh! Sunset what a perfect view
I don't need a cue.
Peace and serenity lies within you....
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18. by John Westlake:


221. Garden Of Love

My love let us create a garden together
one that will look great in any weather
we both work well together my cutie
as we toil to create this thing of beauty

I'll dig the holes and plant the seeds
and you can clear the ground of weeds
we'll nurture the plants with food and water
and love them like they're a son or daughter

In this place there will be no gloom
there'll always be something in bloom
we will never deal with pests
they'll steer clear of us and bug the rest

We can enjoy this place every day
sit here and watch our children play
see as they themselves grow
until they're old enough to be let go

When we die I want us buried here
in this place of fantastic cheer
and as our souls rise to the up above
our bodies can rest in our garden of love
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19 by Danny Draper:


I heard your call from sleep to wake alone

I heard your call from sleep to wake alone
Could have sworn we were together,
Often we are mistaken on our own.

A home swells its boisterous gaggle grown
Then empty, nudges hope or wind whatever,
I heard your call from sleep to wake alone.

Did we ever have that which is no longer known,
Are vanished days imagined treasure?
Often we are mistaken on our own.

A lived love lost will be forever prone
To a dream like state of pleasure,
I heard your call from sleep to wake alone.

Wishful think, or pray, or loudly raucous moan,
Ecstasy regrets no positions measure,
Often we are mistaken on our own.

We aimless fall to crash within the zone,
Neither true nor real, no matter whether
I heard your call from sleep to wake alone,
Often we are mistaken on our own.

10/6/2015
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20. ?

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