From: roach4994@gmail.com   
      
   On Saturday, May 15, 2021 at 7:18:56 PM UTC-7, Willie wrote:   
   > On Saturday, May 15, 2021 at 10:09:15 PM UTC-4, Rachel wrote:    
   > > On Saturday, May 15, 2021 at 7:07:57 PM UTC-7, Willie wrote:    
   > > > On Saturday, May 15, 2021 at 10:01:31 PM UTC-4, Rachel wrote:    
   > > > > On Saturday, May 15, 2021 at 7:00:20 PM UTC-7, Rachel wrote:    
   > > > > > On Saturday, May 15, 2021 at 6:50:46 PM UTC-7, Willie wrote:    
   > > > > > >    
   > > > > > > "neighbors endlessly stomp    
   > > > > > > and drag furniture    
   > > > > > > across a wooden floor"    
   > > > > > > It reminds me of the poetry and pain of LeoK.    
   > > > > > >    
   > > > > > > Don't know what you've been going through, dear Rachel, but it's   
   sure nice to have you back, and to see the fine lines you've been writing.    
   > > > > > i'm very sick. i'm not well. it's very hard.    
   > > > > >    
   > > > > > here's the version i tried to sculpt, i fixed it a bit (before you   
   posted, after my first mistaken multi-colored google essay):    
   > > > > > 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.    
   > > > > oh well, i took it from my computer, google is being funny, with the   
   colors. i wanted it to be all in black. :-///    
   > > > We at RMD are deprived of colors. Your line, "like being nailed to a   
   dying tree" reminded me of my wife's mother, Thelma, telling her "Just take me   
   out and tie me to a tree," as if that would be the end of suffering. (Maybe   
   there's some Yiddishism    
   behind that concept.)    
   > > or those that don't come back with stories untold are hanging on a tree   
   :-(((   
   > Yow, now I'm wandering through the forest of those dangling with their   
   stories untold. It's a creepy forest, and vast.   
      
   and i bet they all glow in the dark   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)