I cant think, my minds blank

This moment.

I got something...

What's the hold up is the question,

Born of Memory

In the physical she's astonishing, A beauty undefined designed by the most high, Gifting the world with her smile, Her shine blinds every eye, Trying to find what's real inside, Dying holding on to a heart alongside mines, A wandering romance taken to heaven heights, Fading far from reality afraid to fall out of love, To find love and not feel anything Vulnerable enough to become part of her So we both can feel whole again Finding peace and unity in a troubled world, As we grow you became my tranquility, My Novocaine.

Water bombing aircraft Assisting fire fighters below. Seemingly have little impact As the fires continue to grow

I am usually attracted to the cover, the synopsis, or even the author's name, when I choose a book to read. Then there are other times, when I choose a book by reading the first three sentences on the first page. However, Amanda Lovelace's poetry collection's title was the one that did it this time. the princess saves herself in this one.

I can storm the streets in anger,

The things,

She was a borderline fanatic searching for the smallest of details, that seemed to but warm her heart.

I am a poet.

Photo by Angela Cavina from Pexels

Photo by Engin Akyurt from Pexels

Your absence is the loudest sound I’ve ever heard

What's the hold up is the question,

Did you not know my power?

In the physical she's astonishing, A beauty undefined designed by the most high, Gifting the world with her smile, Her shine blinds every eye, Trying to find what's real inside, Dying holding on to a heart alongside mines, A wandering romance taken to heaven heights, Fading far from reality afraid to fall out of love, To find love and not feel anything Vulnerable enough to become part of her So we both can feel whole again Finding peace and unity in a troubled world, As we grow you became my tranquility, My Novocaine.

Time slowed down to a freeze frame

Hey baby your voice just does something to me.

Born of Memory

"Where's my rain? The sun is comforting, yes! But... When the wind sings, I'm famished. Even the tears on each peddle runs dry... May I please please die tonight? ." "why must I fight every night? Why must I fight when I've no strength... When I've no might? Ooh such a plight!" All of a sudden a droplet hits a peddle. It then remembers what we all must remember. "Remember to endure the pain... Endure because you'll live to see another day. Endure because you're also great... Endure because nature made you this way."

Her eyes were closed, but they didn't need to be open for her to see. Her body, from her stomach and up, swayed side to side with the motion of which she had no control. The breeze that muffled her hearing smelled of mowed grass, but it gradually changed to the smell of sulfur. This had been the road she'd been driven on for over a year, nearly every day; sometimes she would actually be awake as she reclined in the passenger seat. She could tell, though, by the winding of the car and the smell of the old valley's swamp, where they have arrived.

I got something...

Smoke Does Rise

Street Lights

Abused, alone, adopted

"While Sitting in Traffic on a Tuesday Evening”

I guess I'm supposed to give a fuck.

This moment.

People say that somewhere in the sky

You sit there looking at your phone

I cant think, my minds blank

Born of Memory

Here’s something

Creeping through the crevices one-by-one The light of dusk won’t be stopped by aged wood Seeping into her eyes, woke by the sun She shudders, shaken by dreams of childhood. To work she is put, for Father taught well Lighting coals, preparing the flames to lick The iron ore glows, casts shadows of hell Gripped with her tongs, she grabs the iron quick. Over and over tap the metal beat His voice rings her ears she quickens her pace Sweat drips off her brow, sizzling on the heat Sight blurs, coals shift to eyes blazed on his face. She forges the shield, pond ’ring the days When Father forged her, in parallel ways.

Against the fallen snow, an incarnation of beauty stands tall. The hissing of death, and the muted rounds of music make to ascend, like a risen ghost, the trembling, the cherished form. Wounds of scarlet and black erupt across the surface of the superb skin. All the proper colors of life darken and deepen, clear and break free, circling about as the vision is constructed.

Fairy