Antxnia

Wake

Every day, it wakes

It feels, it waits, it expects

Every day, it wakes

Forced from sweet slumber

Seize the day! Make it yours! Make it count!

Yet every day, it wakes

It knows that it too, must survive today

Blinding sun, or its reflection on grey clouds

Movement, sound, sensation

And flickers of hope

It must survive it all

So every. single. day. it wakes.

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Antxnia

Again

I want to explore the human condition

Our flaws, our habits and the inane repetition

The attempt to find meaning in what we do

Thinking you’re better, one of the few

Tight smiles and bonus points for tight arses

Half full and half empty glasses

Couldn’t I just exist with the people I love?

No worries, no drama and no one above?

I want to explore but it’s disappointing and dirty

Career paths, bonds and having it all by thirty

So many attempts to do the same thing differently 

(“I’m worth it, I swear!”) Innovation, the greatest mystery

Each day explores the human condition

For I am a human and this is my condition. 

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And so it went...

Soul Mate

As I sit and wait for my love to return,

I feel my heart softly burn,

And it stings a bitter sweet sorrow,

I hope for winter, but I’ll take tomorrow,

I know you’re on a wild path,

But that doesn’t mean I don’t miss your laugh,

Nor the way you smile,

When I describe our walk on the Royal Mile,

Soon is the time until we have our own,

And it will be mighty, as previous times have shown,

I know good things come to those who wait,

But it’s different when you miss your soul mate.

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Collection of memories and creativity

China Tea Pot.

The moon has fallen –
The sun is dead.
My mother’s tea pot
Broken like bread.
            *
Disheveled fragments
seldom held;
Lay on the alter –
Needing a mend.
             *
Her body Hollow
With pursed lip.
Her arm no longer
Glued to her hip
             *
Losing her head
Was often the norm;
Hell hath no fury
Like a tea pot scorned.
             *
She’d sigh and sigh
And moan some more
About the table cloth,
Window and door.
             *
Perplexed little thing
Molded in China
She hadn’t a clue
She was in South Carolina.
             *
She’d whistle and hoot
Every Autumn and Winter.
Crying and crying
For the Milkman and sprinter.
             *
On the twenty-seventh of July
She fell from the table.
That round impervious bottom
Meant she was rather unstable.
             *
The moon never fell
The sun never died
But that stout little tea pot
No longer cried.
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Collection of memories and creativity

Beaten Into Adulthood.

Whip down as the nail pierced my sole
Ripping into my shoe, flesh and coal
Vultures perch on edge behind me;
Hoping to break me for better control.

Whip down, as the high hat seared my head
Tightening imagination, now I am dead.
Prod after prod the pritt stick probed;
Lobotomizing Helen into deepest red.

Whip down, as the rope takes a twist.
Smothering my breath, no more lisp.
Stifled noose, Ich, Ich, Ich.
What can one do, but persist?

MF
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