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Wisdom of the Infinite

If Prejudice Were Dumb And Could Not Speak

The Differences

The Springtime Shadows Play Games Upon The Wall

A Little Bit of Harlem in Your Life

The Voice Lost In the Wires

Home, Ghuey, Sweet Home

All Beings Considered

After Wide Sargasso Sea

Great Big Waterproof World

The Storm

I Turn Forward

Patch-Worked Trilogy

And Then It Wasn't Hard To Be Eight Years Old

Prairie Town Progress

Beyond Door Number Three

Great Spirit

Elise, Elise

The Make-Up of Molecules

Someone Send Out A Search Party

Make (of) Me A Snow Angel

Threading Myself Through The River Called Night

Not For The Bloom of Tears Cultivated These Last 100 Years

The Dreaming Life ( A Series Of Dream Vignettes)





At Night I Dream of Vampires Who Have No Bad Intentions

morning thoughts (begin again)

Human History is Pockmarked With Tragedy

Unseen, The Lilacs And The Daffodils

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I Would Be Happy, Yes I Would

I would be happy to be a bird
a sparrow
whenever I see
the brown mottled fellow
I can not help but smile
maybe its way of moving
flitting around
it seems so cheerful
affirming life

I would be happy to be a tree
in a deep forest
in the protected lands
at the beginning of time
a fragrant red giant reaching my arms
towards heaven

I would be happy to be a stream
rushing on to feel
the flowing itch of pebbles and rocks
as I polish and wear their uneven edges down
wind my way to create wider rivers, gorges
rage on forward to meet
the salted spew of the sea

I would be happy to be a hypnotic cloud
a pendulous dream in the wishful blue deep
sacred as hours
calibrating moments as silence speaks
wordless nameless floating
with a sigh

a small dark voice whispers
words of hating:

aren't we all
formed once then dissipated?
then one-time happy,
eventually next-time changed.
soon enough swallowed whole
with the passing of time...
chasing what we once were only
in dreams and nightmares.

Into every happiness, a bit of darkness tries
to enter in.

Copyright 5/13/105 All Rights Are Reserved By This Author
Meloo/Melissa A Howells Straight from her Tilt-a-World
Written straight to the page in the afternoon at The Belmont.

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