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One-Shot: Thomarie nuestro primer besoThomas Pov
Nunca imagine que el momento que tanto esperé fuera así, tan inusual, sin planear nada, solo así sin nada; no salió como me lo esperaba; todo fue único y especial. Me sorprendió que aunque fuera un accidente lo valoro tanto; no sé si tú lo valores tanto como yo este momento; aunque fue accidental para mí fue muy especial.
Aún recuerdo ese caluroso día de verano el cual el calor rebasaba los límites, estar con gabardina no era una opción, el calor me obligaba a usar ropa ligera la cual jamás pensé usar aun siendo verano, todo culpa de la pelirroja solo por querer rebasar los límites de la física por intentar hacer un arcoíris, pero en vez de eso la máquina exploto lanzando un rayo al sol haciendo que este se acerque un poco más a la Tierra y el calor aumentara, nuestros padres trataron de arreglarlo, pero el rayo fue demasiado fuerte por eso no lo revertieron claro
Dawn of the AngelI watched him descend from the sky
wings, pale as ivory.
The beauty in his form
a sight to behold.
I felt, not meant to see.
Yet, he stood there
in all of his glory;
a definite, masculine, form.
With a soft expression
he met my soul
his eyes, Heavely warm.
I could only look back
that such a creature, was here with me;
on this dawning day
I watched as the rays
touched his wings.
It was almost blinding.
When he spread his wings
it filled me with awe, and grace.
For what had happened this morn
was a miracle.
I'd looked an Angel
in the face!
What s in a name.What´s in a name?
It´s just a word that we call,
Everything and everyone
has a name,
does it make us a better person?
No... what a shame
Does it define our characters?
No... it´s not to blame
Does it have any financial status?
No .... but maybe fame
So if you´re a rockafella, a Gates,
a Trump or even the Queen
It doesn´t matter
shout your name
I am who I am
and I have a name
cos deep down inside
we´re all just the same.
by Suzanne Karbach August 2014
This Day Is...
A day to love,
Someone up above.
A day to commemorate;
A day to appreciate.
A day to reminisce;
A day when someone special is missed.
A day that’s too good to be true,
A day filled with many memories of you.
A day just to say,
I wish you a happy birthday.
TypingTurtleShe types the words slow.
Holding them close in her head,
She lets them all go.
The words just won't flow,
No matter how hard she tries.
Yet they echo in her head.
Like the broken up whispers,
That lie in her bed.
A past full of feelings, That bleed so strong.
A word from her head
could undo the wrongs.
..she opens her mouth
The earth starts to slow.
All light dims out,
Her eyes start to glow.
Everything is nothing
Just a glimpse, of future past.
But she can't keep up
Her dreams are just to vast.
A keystroke interrupts
So she types the words slow.
Guarding them in her head,
She lets them flow.
They just won't go
The Tardis Flew Over Amelia's Room"Allonsy, Alonzo"
Or should I say, "Geronimo"
The Tardis flew over Amelia's room
The weeping angel froze
So stay on your toes
And Pond ran away without her groom
ShorelineBetrothed to flaw
To the choice before choice
Where there is only emotion
And a half-remembered voice
Telling what one saw
First line of foamy wake
Loud and churned from behind
There sent upon a seething land
What comes before the blind
As action without mistake
Parts of the watch
A spring or gear or hand
Drowning in responsive steps
Their time is harried by swirling sand
Its face imperfect lie staunch
As islands shape the water
It sends providence unchecked
The first passage of philosophy
Contained of following specks
That grow until all is overturned
Conjoined by the timepiece
Fixed into a broken state
They suffer in each other
First blows harsh to take
Fueled from accosted belief
I stared at her, as she stared at me,
She wasn't quite what I expected her to be.
I imagined she would be pretty,
I dreamt that she was smart,
I thought she would be popular
And have a golden heart.
I thought she would be tall
And that she would be cool,
I hoped that she would be talkative
And that she'd fit in at school.
Instead she is clumsy
And really quite plain,
She's a little on the short side
And much prefers the rain.
She only has a few close friends
And is otherwise quite shy.
Her golden heart is more like brass
And it's easy to make her cry.
But despite my expectations, I really have to say
That I really wouldn't have myself be any other way.
An Ode to Writer's BlockColors flow, a constant stream
Consciousness gives way to dream.
My awareness ebbs and flows,
As my inspiration grows.
That which others did create
Inscribes itself upon my slate
And ripples in my open mind,
My weariness left far behind.
A medium is fast procured,
Painting, drawing, spoken word.
But now I find my mind is fickle;
The river now is but a trickle.
TemporalAcross the fluid lanes of time
From all creation to the end,
We yearn to move, advance and climb,
Accepting where our fate will send.
We cannot change the paths we take;
Decision comes but only once;
We use our knowledge from mistake
For answers sought in endless hunts.
But if we had control of time and space,
And we could then return ourselves to any place,
And go redo the things we've done with actions to replace,
We'd never learn of consequence; we'd never have mistakes to face.
If time and space we could apprise,
The future we'd revise,
With no surprise,
But time is not our master here,
And rather, we walk side by side,
Into the vast unknown frontier;
It's not our rival, but our guide.
You Were Not An Aquarium BoySea-glass became your bones,
brine your blood, and seashells
melded into your skin.
You were not quite an ocean
when you said "This is your sign to love me."
My body was like a building;
tall, cold, almost unbreakable.
I was metallic and sharp,
towering over your waters.
I remember taking your hand in mine,
conch and coral shells scrubbing
my skyscraper wrists, and laughing
about how one day you would
submerge every last bit of me.
Your lips, riddled with argonauts,
found my cheek and I cringed
at the coarseness.
You asked if they bothered me
and I finally told you "I
think I love you."
Red Riding HoodI want to believe people so badly when they say they won’t bite
that I contemplate climbing into their smiling jaws
thinking that it might be better to be split in two than left hanging.
But always, I draw my red hood and flit back into the forest
running in the shadows of pathways, never stepping into clearings
because I’ve spent my whole life in the wilderness
and I still can’t tell the wolves from the woodsmen.
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