From: goldarachel@gmail.com   
      
   i call it working on carving varying sculptures out of my poems   
      
   my mom said she liked that (i never get approval or validation from her,   
   almost NEVER EVER EVER EVER EVER EVER EVER EVERRRRRRR!!!!!!!!), then said   
   proust called the volumes of his canon a cathedral. wild cathedral evening?   
   dylan downing proust on dope?   
      
   On Tuesday, May 4, 2021 at 7:25:48 PM UTC-7, Rachel wrote:   
   > On Monday, May 3, 2021 at 4:11:09 PM UTC-7, Zod wrote:    
   > > On Thursday, April 29, 2021 at 6:10:26 PM UTC-3, jdcha...@gmail.com wrote:    
   > > > On Saturday, April 24, 2021 at 2:41:45 PM UTC-4, Rachel wrote:    
   > > > > maybe i was set up for it, all the last words rhymed with sleep...    
   > > > > On Saturday, April 24, 2021 at 10:41:05 AM UTC-7, Rachel wrote:    
   > > > > > omg, that's so funny.....as i read this, before reaching the end, i   
   thought, this seems like a good bedtime prayer....    
   > > > > > On Friday, April 23, 2021 at 7:04:41 PM UTC-7, Just Walkin' wrote:    
   > > > > > > Hope you get there kid!    
   > > > > > >    
   > > > > > > Tortured Heart    
   > > > > > >    
   > > > > > > Tortured heart    
   > > > > > > Thwarted dreams    
   > > > > > > Scar the soul    
   > > > > > > So deep.    
   > > > > > > Fragile heart    
   > > > > > > Precious dreams    
   > > > > > > Bless the soul    
   > > > > > > That weeps.    
   > > > > > > Hungry heart    
   > > > > > > Unfinished dreams    
   > > > > > > Help the soul    
   > > > > > > To leap.    
   > > > > > > Loving heart    
   > > > > > > Living dreams    
   > > > > > > Heals the soul    
   > > > > > > To keep.    
   > > > > > > Settled heart    
   > > > > > > Realized dreams    
   > > > > > > Rest the soul    
   > > > > > > To sleep.    
   > > > > > >    
   > > > > > > - K    
   > > > So glad that Rachel is posting again! 😎â�¤ï¸�ðŸ™�🠠 
   ¸    
   > > Agreed and seconded...   
   > here's another version:   
   > one-winged dove    
   >    
   > like being nailed to a dying tree    
   > trapped in my life    
   > of nothingness   
   > painful and insufferable, as a   
   > maddening    
   > deafening silence    
   >    
   > sirens scream, the ambulances    
   > and motorcycles roar,   
   > neighbors endlessly stomp, and drag   
   > furniture    
   > across a wooden floor    
   >    
   > the empty chambers    
   > of my mind   
   > draped with cobwebs, hanging    
   > on the rotted vine    
   > the trees are barren, the soil is cold   
   > could it be    
   > that i am growing old?    
   >    
   > no lover did come, no man come   
   > to save -    
   > i’ll wither away, unremarkably   
   > to my anonymous    
   > unmarked grave.    
   > no sons did i bear, no daughters    
   > to raise;    
   > no love to pass on, the end   
   > of my name.   
   > i don’t even want    
   > to rest    
   > in the earth    
   > i never found peace here,    
   > no refuge,   
   > no hearth.   
   > so burn me to ashes,    
   > and throw me away    
   > while gaia keeps churning,    
   > and turning    
   > each day    
   >    
   > a life truly wasted, a sorrowful soul    
   > no one would dare join me,    
   > come make me   
   > whole.   
   > did i dare cry too hard,   
   > did I suffer    
   > too much fright?   
   > did i bear the unbearable   
   > kingdom of the night?   
   > so laugh on, young children    
   > laugh lightly    
   > like the flowers    
   > and count not the heavy    
   > weight    
   > of the hours    
   > some can never forget    
   > some will never let go    
   > the promise was broken    
   > this womb will never glow    
   >    
   > we stand up strong, and say never again    
   > but to this fight most defeating,    
   > i’ll never lend my hand.    
   > just leave me alone,   
   > and please let me be,   
   > this is the judgment, the fated decree    
   >    
   > the heart has been shattered,    
   > a broken disease    
   > all romance is dead, their fires    
   > did freeze.    
   > no passion, no dreams,    
   > no hopes will    
   > i sing,    
   > they shot this bird down,   
   > this bird on the wing.    
   >    
   >    
   > j.   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)