meloostraightfromhertilt-a-world

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Home, Ghuey, Sweet Home

All Beings Considered

This Snake

All Of Who I Was

Where The Dead Don't Mind...



Your Next New Dying Black Swan

If This Is Any Art For Which You Care

Peace Where There Is No Opportunity

What Could a Death Meet-Up Have To Offer?

Dragons

Someone Send Out A Search Party

I Wish God Had Better Magic

Canis Latrans

What's With The Lead Overshoes?

How Does It, How Do You Matter

THE POCKET DOOR

Like The Wind In The Middle Of The Night

The Hoping

Cuba Libre

This Is It

The Inner String

Max on the max

For Another Mean New Sun.

Some Children Have Nightmares (tentative title)

Night Train

Nameless

wandering the rolling hills ...(written for his model)

All The Changing....

HOME

Lonesome Love

two out of three people

A Start Again...(I Green-Dreamed Again Last Night)

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It Is In The Rain


Sometimes
the rain doesn't sound
like rain at all.
Sometimes
the rain sounds more like
a waterfall,
and its tears speak
of sorrows
your own voice cannot tell.
And the lark sings a song
your heart knows all too well.
One of pain.
One of longing.
One of being tucked in far away within
yourself.
You have no words for it
but you've found it--
its the sound
of the rain.

(I woke up with these simple words in my head.)

legal copyright for this poem March 20 2019/12:57PM
time/date stamped
and also for this writer/poet/author
Melissa A. Howells and also for this
legally copyrighted site title
Meloo Straight From Her Tilt-a-World.






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