Posted in life, Poems, thoughts

Reflections on poetry and a friend from a foreign land on a rainy day.

Some things I can not know

like the scent of rain upon feather

or the sound of heartbeat enthroned;

you,

or shall I say,

I

am

merely atoms and mutiny,

traitor to all–

myself

in dingy corners

and

dissonant words,

all pungent,

saturated with the lacy odour of decay,

the fragrance of death and earth,

mushrooms and smouldering roses.

Stillness.

Thought paid to assassinate thought,

anilihate idea,

eliminate invention.

This,

I am,

or should I say,

you are

the echo of glorfied heartbeat

comme le parfum des plumes qui glissent sur la pluie,

                                                                  know somethings,

not I…

Not I.

-Eva M.M

Thank you for reading and staying with me though I have been very distant lately. I have been both very busy and suffering from a severe depletion of energy even open my laptop even when I do have the time. So thank you for still reading and waiting patiently.

” Me and the pen, we are one. If its ink would cease to flow, my ink would cease to flow.”

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Author:

I am a young and enthusiastic writer, fresh out of highschool and into college at IUSB. I babysit and work and live life to it's fullest. I write. I read. I do yoga. And plan to become. Yoga intructers as well. I grew up on a farm and can't,t wait to move back to the country in my tiny house I have already planned out. Sometimes I'm a little melodramatic but rarely. I'm a spiritual healer, a hopeless romantic, a book worm, and very nostalgic. Thanks for stopping by.

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