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a smile can change the hour

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  • UtzoztU
    replied
    The darker time was always there! Thanks for the welcome. I've been here before!

    Leave a comment:


  • RhymeLovingWriter
    replied
    This piece rambles into some interesting spaces UtzoztU...a sort of reverential dip into a darker time?

    Welcome to the Rhymezone!

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  • UtzoztU
    started a topic a smile can change the hour

    a smile can change the hour


    if you were sick -- stranded
    in the walls of a sterile hospital
    walls lined with beds
    and artificial meds --
    if you could live without something
    that was inside your head,
    and the flames weren't so bad.
    if you weren't so sick of life, just life,
    and you could sing, maybe,
    just to feel something through the window,--
    and laugh! where sunlight dawns,
    shining all into all and reflecting us,--
    if this was not a sickbed but your playground,
    lined with pillows if you fall,
    and hands that grace your little soul
    gripping with just the strength, to feel
    once more, a story you could tell
    of all the different people, were any good?
    the different states we all had found.
    crises and seconds slowly passing.
    sleepwalking and almost dropping.
    stigma attached to freedom,
    zombie that keeps talking, little patience.
    or so patient you're sedated.
    sometimes you miss the sunlight from outside
    living there for a short time.
    sometimes you're so afraid to go back
    and afraid to be in the same place.
    there's sometimes when you get the worst,
    and find yourself left without a word,
    dismissed and relegated; what could we do?--
    you looked up into our faces,
    we nearly died and we never once forgot
    the pain it takes to truly love,--
    and how do you prove that when you're so far?
    the whiteness made me sick of being cold,
    vulnerable, it was my fault I was so down.
    i thought it would be a change of a scene,
    when I got there I realized what I'd lost
    not being able to leave.
    which reminds me of maturity,
    making decisions once and for all --
    almost a different language for me.
    which reminds me, this love isn't ordinary.
    the very words were all recorded and
    I kept watch and noted all the peculiar things
    which make for good living, even in "misery."
    the blackness made me sick of being lost,
    and whatever was wrong was too much.
    now it's best to get poetry-lost, and suffice.
    now it's enough to write the experiences
    shifting into my healing heart and hands.
    best to remember, the people were all there
    yet barely any of it made any sense. [ ... ]‚Äč
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