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Thoughts set afloat like a gypsy moth over 10,000 streetlights.

Updated on November 28, 2009

we write with

the edges of our souls
sharpened by emotional grinding day to day
and what flows is the innermost gleanings
of our deepest hopes and dreams..

when the mesh of flesh is finally fresh
and not electronic blips and quips
that slip rapidly over the many miles
then the faces will hold more then traces
of smiles that will replace all the hunger
that was once palpable and left wanting...
until then it is poems that are the fingers
that etch memories onto the skin of
each others membranes of the mind...

I have seen the night walkers
in the streets of New York's canyons
and on the dusty back roads of Montana
and in the graveyards of the military dead at 3:00 a.m.
I have been a night walker and strolled the darkness
following a slice of sorrow thinly cut

like a sliver of moonlight.. .

there are always puddles when

there are night walkers..

puddles of blood...tears...sweat and rain.....
there are night walkers who still stagger in
the tunnels of  former guerrillas in Vietnam though
the reason for their three mile stare is long gone
there are Night walkers all over the world
and they converge at some point

and become a shadow that blots out the day...

this is the darkest hour before dawn...

when dreams leave
open wounds in ones soul
and the only thing to bind it
is the one who is bound

for somewhere else..
then there is little one can do
but be alone and nurse the
slashes of solitude back to a
reasonable facsimile

of what they once were...

in the cocoon of night's embrace
we fold our wings and float on
the dreamy cushions of thought...
that let us fly beyond all that
life could ever offer..and the
translucent and rainbow hues
of our wings in this never never place
are of such sheer beauty that we awaken
with tear dust in both of our eyes

God's ear is always

attuned to the voice of a child....
and he cherishes them as

the highest amidst all of his creations...
he grants them a period similar to Adam and Eve's..
a few blissful years of pure innocence to play and frolic
in the big wonderful world without the burdens
of sin or guilt or responsibilities

The moon pulls souls together
just as it folds the waves

one over the other.....
it has viewed the passion

of thousands of years

in the wilds below it....
it is always just outside the window
with a fingernail smile

or a bright beaming ray
that illuminates two sets

of lips entwined
times ten billion

all over the planet.
The moon is a voyeur

who helps stir the scenes
like a director who

orchestrates the moods
and the settings and

we are but actors
under his tides of impulse.
We have walked on his dusty face
but he has gleamed in the eyes of countless
coming together by two's for centuries
and he is the love light...the night light
that illuminates passions trysts

(H.) an ivy clinging
to the walls of ones soul
blotting out the light that
normally glows warmly through
the membranes of ones inner self...
it is a poison ivy that irritates and disturbs....
and lingers long after contact with the offense
that caused it is gone.....
salt can kill the root of the sadness..
the ivy..though poison... cannot tolerate salt..
and let the salty tears flow freely
over the ivy walls of your souls
and wither the root and  then let
the light and warmth of ones smiles
enter in and set you in a clear place of entanglement..

(I.) am done for now....

Here is the best comment i have recieved on this gathering of thoughts:

By-Fairie Princess- a fellow poetess


Wonderfully thought provoking


(A)We are the space between pen and paper.

(B.)Blips, quips and static duplex lines will fade into a lost echo when once we dare to come face to face and feel the give under skin that will etch our beings in the nook anc crannies of our souls. If....we dare and take that chance.

(C)I am grateful for night walkers, it lets me know that I am not alone. For they understand and respect my three mile stare. It is their hand that reaches out and grabs mine when like quick sand I can feel the abyss of that darkest hour, for they know how easily one can be swallowed by it.

(D)the somewhere else had been right where we are. but sometimes can't see through the mind numbing pain we were left with. giving us the space to lick our wounds they come to us in our dreams. reaching out to us tossing the "reasonable facismile away, as they grabbed hold of the original" which makes waking up all the more difficult. because damn it felt real! and when we do, finding ourselves on our knees or knee to chest in our beds.

(E)Many is the time I've woken with my arms wrapped around me tight... tears washing the dust from my eyes but keeping that feeling with me for that is what gets me through my day... that and the hopes and dreams that I will know that at least once before I go HOME.

(F)Hopefully they have been pure and blissful and unmarred. Hopefully we keep at least the essence of childhood with us and not forget how to play and frolic.

(G)and is also the nightlight that helps us find our way in the dark. Setting the world aglow.
(H) and emerge reborn.. unafraid to let the traces of tears be seen by the one who cares for you and instead marvel at the kalidescope of colors they created.

(I)...we are never done. Not while we have breath.

(J) For there was thought that followed this ~~And I love that you provoked mine. That with over 10,000 street lights, I was attracted to yours, for surely yours burns the brightest.



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