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177.
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Love
Moonbeams trickle from the sky
and shelter in my lover's eyes
that spark around like fireflies
igniting what I see
Passages of thought
that crackle in my brain electrically
are supercharged by everything
and what she does to me
She does what she does
it's what she does to me that matters
for my life before I met her
lay around in titter tatter
She says what she means
and what she means to me is everything
Love
Love
Stay a while and wander
through the dreams of mystic innocence
enrapturing and capturing
the air I try to breathe
Darkness floats away through time and space
into a neverland
beyond the realms of realism
fading without trace
Words that flutter from her lips
like hummingbirds in paradise
are laid upon my open heart
and nest eternally
Sunrays stream across the sky
and filter gently in my eyes
that spark around like fireflies
that's what she does to me.
Charles M. Moore
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178.
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Loves rapture.
Take me to ecstasys river of dreams
wish me the pleasures of thoughts symphonys
kiss me in twilights kaleidoscope skies
sprinkle the morning with soft lullabys
scent my emotions with feathers of cloud
touch my existence with flowers of sound
bring me hopes rainbow in coulourful fires
give me loves rapture in spangled desires.
Charles M. Moore
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179.
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Lumbered with the flu
My temperature is rising
I feel my body ache
cold sweat is forming on my brow
my body starts to shake
my mind seems in a muddle
I wonder what to do
I hate these winter seasons
when I'm lumbered with the flu
Pills rattle round my tonsils
and hot drinks scorch my throat
I'm housebound in my bedroom
which ain't good if you're a poet
I like to see the sun and stars
and trees with lovely views
I hate these winter seasons
when I'm lumbered with the flu
I'm sure the sky's still out there
although my shades are drawn
I'm sure the grass is green
and birds still sing the same old songs
I'll try to be more positive
I'm sure that I'll pull through
but I hate these winter seasons
when I'm lumbered with the flu.
Charles M. Moore
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180.
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Maybe this time
She was so happy
she met someone kind
for cruelty was something
that played on her mind
of course there were others
who made her feel cheap
who abused her affections
and cut her quite deep
He felt so proud
when she called out his name
for names were a torture
that played on his brain
he lived with a few girls
who made him feel small
who took plain advantage
and cut off his balls
They stepped up together
a meeting of minds
with love for each other
as two of a kind
they somehow felt bonded
eyes hiding the pain
maybe this time
and never again.
Charles M. Moore
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