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    Mikiesboy
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The content presented here is for informational or educational purposes only. These are just the authors' personal opinions and knowledge.
Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are based on the authors' lives and experiences and may be changed to protect personal information. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 

tim's Bits and Pieces - 35. What I Leave

No, i'm not depressed. There a things from my past i've been dealing with and my mortality. Which has been on my mind. I thought i'd post them but do not think i am unhappy, because i'm not. These are just slices of life, of things we all think about now and again.

And for those who have asked why I chose not to write for NaPoWriMo, it is because i've found rather than it being a good thing for prose (possibly), for poetry it is not. Poetry should not be a job, it should not be forced from the poet like so much squeezey cheese from a tube. What comes out is usually not worth tasting or reading, as the case may be. Poetry is like fine wine, it should be written with love, and not because 'I need to write one for today'.

~~

 

Into life we are thrust, not at our choosing

The voices of others shape us and teach

But inside there we are; alone and growing

So much turmoil … who do we believe?

 

How do we become who we are meant to be?

How do we learn to trust our own voices?

 

Often, we take the wrong road, losing ourselves

And lives we thought would last forever, do not

They do not, and we pass from this place alone

What will be left of me, when I’m gone?

 

~~~

 

And around me the walls that protected me, crumble

The evil seeps out of the failing mortar

And I stand watching as it happens

Unable to feel or breathe; monsters claw at me

And I am tired of fighting them and the world

Never has my soul been at peace, never is it quiet

The ones the wall held back have found me now

Spectors all, looking for their pound of flesh

Payments that are owed

Only one currency is accepted here

—a beating heart

 

~~~~

 

And as I await my end own end of days

There you are, always; with open arms and sweet kisses

My tears you wipe away and my fear you take from me

Then there is hope

For a day

Or a week

Before I again falter; teetering on the abyss of my life

Waiting always, waiting for the end

But light filters through, and I do know what happiness is

And I feel joy

For a day

Or a week

These are the patterns of my existence, of my time here

One day I will be gone from this place and from you

And all that will be left of me is this

 

~~~~~

Thanks for reading ...
Copyright © 2018 Mikiesboy; All Rights Reserved.
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The content presented here is for informational or educational purposes only. These are just the authors' personal opinions and knowledge.
Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are based on the authors' lives and experiences and may be changed to protect personal information. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 

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6 hours ago, AC Benus said:

Moving poems. Sad to know you feel these ways, but your ability to connect with those around you via your poetry is a true gift. Use it. Keep talking to you, to yourself, to those shadows who whisper angry things to you -- f-them. Your words are better than anything any doubt can ever utter. Hugs  

Thank you, AC. Sometimes life is just hard ... i am coping better than i used to, i just try one day at a time.

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