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On a single empty page,
A Warlock or a Flower,
A Crystal or a Sage.
Imagination isn't measured,
It's an impossible task.
But anyone can unlock it,
From its cold and musty cask.
Open your mind, and just don't think,
Just express what you feel,
Just let the emotions leak from your hand,
In a long uninteruppted eel.
Anyone can do it,
It's really not that hard,
Don't let anyone cansor you,
It's worth the prison ward.
Mine, So back off, Buddy.Love is Greedy and Suspicious,
It is "Slightly" jelous, too.
The ones you love must be yours alone,
Or you've got some work to do.
You'll hunt them down with an M-16
And blast off their freaking head
Because your spouse is yours alone,
And anyone else is dead.
EmotionsWhat is the definition of love?
How do you define Joy?
Can you bring Sadness into words?
It is a rather interesting Ploy.
It'd take a thousand words to tell
Someone how it feels,
To love someone completely,
(Not 'cause they cook you meals.)
Pure Joy is indescribable,
Like a strong narcotic Drug,
Though sometimes you can feel it,
In a Long Awaited Hug.
The crushing weight of Sadness
Is hard to put to phrase.
It's heavy and depressing,
It's a dark, slow-moving haze.
Emotions aren't easily
Described in words we use.
From total Bliss to Anger,
And Guiltiness and Blues.
Lonely HeartsSome people might complain,
If they have a lonely heart,
But in reality,
It's a brand-new shining start.
You're open to the world,
To go anywhere you please,
Whether lying on your bed,
Or walking through the trees.
But when you feel the love
Of someone by your side,
And it disapears,
You cannot help but cry.
And if you see some lady
Really happy with her man,
You run and go and sulk alone
(In the room to which you ran.)
You're jelous of all the friends
That have people that they date,
You want some of the "Action",
You just don't want to wait.
Missing PieceWhen you're really sad,
Something inside you dies.
You're no longer full of life,
As you release your soaking cries.
But when you can start to heal,
That something grows right back,
Stronger than before,
To get you back on track.
You'll never be the same,
Because that little piece is new,
It's easier to cope,
Because you really grew.
The Best of NatureThe mist in the forest,
The foam on the sea,
The buzzing harmony of a working bee,
The songs of the mountains in perfect melody,
And the happy swaying leaves of a willow tree.
The colors are bright,
The sounds are pure,
In the night, it has even more lure.
The Coffee GodThe Coffee God behind the counter shuffles foot to foot, a dance of steam and espresso. Black painted fingernails, inch gauged ears and a gray striped sweatshirt, hood crooked on his back. There's a cigarette tucked behind one ear; it bobs and twitches with each step.
“Non-fat caramel latte,” he calls, just as he always does, part of a spell, part of a mantra, toneless (just a tuck at the end). I reach. He looks up.
The espresso maker hisses.
There's something like a grin, something like a spark, something like a shared secret linked eye to eye. When he passes over the drink (rough cardboard sleeve hot to the touch), he lingers. Our fingers brush, a shiver, a jolt, a ten-watt shock.
The Coffee God tilts his chin, shouts, “Hey, mind if I take my break now?”
and ducks around the counter without waiting for a reply.
He slips his cigarette between his lips without taking his eyes from mine. I follow him out the door.
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