Epiphany!

Here I lie on a perfectly colourful swing,

Children running by the beach,

A friend cracks a joke,

We all laugh till we break into tears.

Such a beautiful sunset.

And quite suddenly I realise,

No matter how bright I shine throughout the day..

Ever since you left, every night I drown too…

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Blind!

After 38 years of life,

Falling in love,

Having two children,

A boy and a girl..

When the nurse finally unfolds her bandage,

She sees for the first time and says:

“Life is beautiful”…

Warrior!

I;

a warrior evading the darkest nights..

Her;

a healer making the universe glow…

He listens!

Knelt to the floor…

Messed hair..

A silent prayer and a rolling tear…

She knows, He listens!

Run!

“In my dreams; I run, I run far away… From all those thoughts, that leave me astray..

From all those I love, for whom I cry and pray…

In my dreams; I stop, I stop and reflect back… At all the broken pieces piercing through a sack..

At all the fallen leaves that wince and crack…

In my dreams; I run, I run to a mountain.. Nevertheless in vain..

There’s no running away, for it resides inside me,,

I tear apart my chest, and find a spark and pain…”


A Ballad…

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SCARBOROUGH FAIR…

Male part:

“Are you going to Scarborough Fair?
Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme;
Remember me to the one who lives there,
For once she was a true love of mine.
Tell her to make me a cambric shirt,
Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme;
Without any seam or needlework,
Then she shall be a true love of mine.
Tell her to wash it in yonder well,
Where never sprung water nor rain ever fell,
Tell her to dry it on yonder thorn,
Which never bore blossom since Adam was born,
Then she shall be a true lover of mine.”

Female part:

“Now he has asked me questions three,
Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme;
I hope he’ll answer as many for me,
Before he shall be a true lover of mine.
Tell him to buy me an acre of land,
Between the salt water and the sea sand
Tell him to plough it with a ram’s horn,
And sow it all over with one peppercorn
Tell him to sheer’t with a sickle of leather,
And bind it up with a peacock’s feather
Tell him to thrash it on yonder wall,
And never let one corn of it fall
When he has done and finished his work.
Oh, tell him to come and he’ll have his shirt,
And he shall be a true lover of mine.”

A traditional English Ballad…

-Author: Unknown