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The Hope Of All These Things Which Would Never Come In a Box

Home, Ghuey, Sweet Home

All Beings Considered

I Long For Stars

The Best Revenge (For All Your Critic's Critiques)

Your Next New Dying Black Swan

The Dreaming Life ( A Series Of Dream Vignettes)

Nothing's Sadder Than A Rose

Not For The Bloom of Tears Cultivated These Last 100 Years

All Too Clearly Now

If This Is Any Art For Which You Care

Informed Through Pain

Sometimes In Losing I Have Gained A Lot

A Man Of The Clouds

The Birds Are Such Un-numbering Creatures of Distant Hitchcockian Past



Didn't You Learn That First Lesson In Kindergarten?

They Grew (A Poem From The Imaginarium)

Cuba Libre


Max on the max

The Little Bird Said

The Factory of Resentments

When My Blues Are Gone

Expect Yourself



Silver-Tongued Devil

Within The Green Wind Becomes The Fall

Think On This--IF YOU WOULD

Open Lines

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Not The Soured Milk of Human Kindness.

It happened
the day you nearly died.
I went out looking for some society
to soothe me.
I had to obscure the wooshing of the machines
I heard when I walked into your room.
Couldn't tell you that it disturbed me.
Kept showing you only the silvery hope shining in my eyes,
not the blackness of the dejection I felt.
I went to a place we usually went together.
Hoping that it would make me feel, perhaps, believe
that you were along.
Drank two drinks to calm my nerves, then even less calmly
I picked out this song: True Colors.
After singing it in my strongest, bravest voice,
I made a dedication to you.
A sincere gesture made by someone usually so shy...
when a drunken young man quipped...
" well, aw, gee, isn't that special?"
Smarminess, like the alcohol, came oozing from his pores.
I ran out the door.
And then all the way home up the hill.
Sitting in the apartment in complete darkness,
I held Lucky closely to me as I covered her in tears.
I prayed and plead out loud in a voice approximating a dull roar.
"God, do you consider everyone? Well, won't you?"
"No one should have to be in so much pain."
At that moment, I don't know who I was referring to, you or myself.
Then it seemed to me, a soft light filtered in through the window.
Never mind if it was just the street light.
It did the trick.
I took it as my sign.
Blissfully I fell asleep in my clothes.
How we get through in life, sometimes no body quite knows
or understands...
but it is often by sheer force of free will
and not the soured milk of human kindness.

Copyright July 18, 2012 All Rights Reserved By This Author
a "free write"  Melissa A Howells   Meloo from her Tilt-a-World

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Not The Soured Milk of Human Kindness.



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