meloostraightfromhertilt-a-world

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What Is This Death? ( As I Near It And Grow Older)

Mrs. Stine, Isn't It Time?

Come On Now

So Much Beauty

And Even Stars Die



Certain Succulent Pieces Of Time

Wiki-The-Tricky-Trap-Tapped-Us

I Speak for Those Whose Voice Would Be Taken Out Of Social Circulation

I Talk To A Machine In My Darkness

Home, Ghuey, Sweet Home

un-Completion (I Prefer It)

Hope You Like It, Not

A Tesseract OrTwo

Woman Of A Certain Age

Deportation

Here They Are Triumphant, The Crows

Lost Before You Began

And You May Be The Reaper

Confetti Universe

Limitless

What If

I Wish You Well (a prayer)

Covering Up Vs Uncovering

What'll I Do, Without You

So You Do

For the Years of Dancing (Dance Hall Days Gone)

whern night becomes day

Not For The Bloom of Tears Cultivated These Last 100 Years

If This Is Any Art For Which You Care

A Man Called Tsuris

Now I Am The One Who Chooses To Chose

why not ask the cat?

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Not For The Bloom of Tears Cultivated These Last 100 Years



On
a certain day
in May
I might remember you.
I'll be drenched
in the sentimentality of it.
A flower will sprout from each
blue grey tear
I leak.
Then promptly withering to
brown,
will die
at my small gnarled feet.
Unlike the century plant
which lives and thrives but blooms
but once a hundred years.
None of my blooms, so precious,
made of tears, in torrents.





Legal Copyright January 17 2013/ 10:11am PST
 All Legal Copyrights Reserved By This Author
Melissa A Howells //Meloo Straight from her Tilt-a-World

COPYRIGHT FOR THIS WORK, FOR THIS SITE TITLE BY THIS AUTHOR





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