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Cold
It's harsh,
Evil.
It kills,
Freezes.
You sit
in it,
Unable
to think
About
anything
But it.
When it's
cold
You can
see
Everything,
Even the
air.
But you
don't want
To see
You just
want
To be
out
Of the
Cold.
Melissa
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Yellow Fever
The enchanting eloquence
Of petals and leaves,
Demsing one.
And all who conceives,
Of how a sweet ingenue
Could hurt me so much,
With one guilded provocation's
Only and first touch.
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I Have Painted the Sky
I have seen the souls of thousands
I have lived the life of all
I have talked into the village of ancients
etched with scars
left by time
I have rode the back of the wolf: silver and
gray
with the history of many years racing
against
his shadow
I have flown on a buttfly's shining
glistening hands
dacing, singing
I have swam with
little
minnows
fighting to survive
I have walked
the clouds
of sadness
been burned by
the sparks
of hatred
I have tasted
the cutting edge
of the soil
been ripped
to shreds
and put back together
I have tread
the shadows
of death
lit
the torches;
sorrow, pain, despair.
I have sharpened
the waters
cold,
sleek and silver
flowing so sweetly
like a spirit
free
of pain
I have walked
on the
wind
have heard the
mournful, sweet
song
of the
setting sun
I have painted
the sky
all the colors of life
have had
tears
from the moon
kiss my cheek
I have
soared high
above all others
slept on clouds
reached out my hand
and touched
the
face of God.
Peter T.
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