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Editing - rough draft

The Worst Part

The worst part
Is not lying awake at night
Too tired to cry

The worst part
Is not seeing other people
Do so much better than me
With just a stroke of luck

The worst part
Is not sacrificing
Things I love
To impress you
To no avail

The worst part
Is not
Wanting something I’ll never get

You see, I’m used to all this
The worst part
Is worrying about you

I’m crazy

The stroke of midnight

Sitting here
The stroke of midnight
Calls upon my deepest fear
One minute of silence
I give homage
To every wasted tear

Because

I am the compost
Of age and years
My waste of time is my life revered

At midnight
Is a new year
Out of this compost
A chance for happiness
Will appear

Eye Contact

She looked into
my eye

held it longer
for a while
more than three seconds
not done
unless for nightly fun
but none was done

so keep away from strangers' eye
many em vie
why feel shy

hold on for a while
in lovedly's style

In the cool night air

The bistred day has fallen still,
A darkened mead hangs overhead;
The hush within the evening chill,
Chant's now the yore is gone to bed.
A gently breeze steals from the west,
Cool along the shadowed lanes;
The sunburned broil, now at rest,
Its warmth has gone, but still remains.

What Is Happiness

I don’t want to feel this way
Anymore

I yearn
For
Happiness

But
What is happiness
Is it
What I think it is

Or is it
A lie
Made up to give me false hope
Is it romanticized

Is it waking up
And knowing your purpose
Or is it
Waking up
And finding
Your purpose

It doesn’t matter
I’ll never know

Hope in it's glory (jan contest)

The old year ended
so glad to see it leave
the new year extended
this was too much to believe

Looking ahead
my only relief
scattered and dead
like an old fall leaf

nothing there but a tunnel of light
how to get through
this was my plight
hope will surely ring loud and true

If War was Tommorow

The skies' would turn black and darken the sky
Mad rushes of people will scream and cry
Time would stop, Im not going to lie,
We'd see the depression return.
How would we get by?
No sunlight, no one in sight
No one knowing how to make things right
Starring out the window into the frightening night
Gazing at the planes' as they start to take flight.
Hundreds of heavy boots stomping down the road
ordering civillians to hide and stay low
Terrified children gathering around slow

The Others May Go

The paths all maunder
In herds of the crowds and in flocks such as these
Some aimlessly saunter
For long! So far! As far’s the eye sees

One notices certainly, though I’m not one to say
The vestiges left by the passerby
They stretch ‘fore the eye all the way, all the way
The hooves in the sand- they’re remembered by

Afore them’s the trace of some elder- for sure
Had traipsed down this trail- a century ago
The people; their path is depicted before
And all that is left is for them to just -go!

A father of a son

A father of a son
Wonderful to see
A person that look just like me
On the day he was born
Where promises
I vowed to keep

Truth and honor
Are the only drugs
He will see

I am the father of a son
His teacher of a life complete
Sometimes I take for granted
The quiet conversations in things that he needs

Questions about life
Questions about dreams
I reply you are my son be all that you can be
When you become a father
Truth and honor
Will always give you peace

I remember You

Perchance have we met
perhaps on another ethereal plain

your voice I remember
but the face is not the same

Per chance have we met
in another world afar
I remember the voice
but know not who you are

in soft vibrations humming
I hear your voice whisper in the
overhead wires
the sound is the same
but the image will not remain

who then are you and where are you now
I remember the voice
yet images escape somehow

Voices I knew,seem to ring true
images blur to what we once were

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