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Conversation with a loved oneIt's a welling in my heart that I don't know how to deal with. A mixture of pain, love and fear. Fear that I might lose you through an act of thoughtlessness on my part. Sorrow mixed with this unquenchable fear. I want to cry for want of relief. A release from these emotions. I want to hold you, a ward against my fear. I want to feel your mouth against mine, telling me that you won't leave me. It's a fear of rejection and I don't want to ever feel it again. I kiss you and all I feel is love for you. A sense of oneness that can't be faked. Or explained. This is one of those nights that is all about tenderness. Softness. I need to be held tonight.
Then I'll hold you. You just need to say something.
I just feel like a little boy who needs to be told that the monster under the bed isn't there anymore. That I'll be safe.
You are safe. I promise you're safe.
When I'm with you, I do feel safe. I feel home. You just smile at me and I feel so safe. I feel so...alone here. When I'm not with you,
After Walt WhitmanAfter Walt Whitman
There was a child who went forth everyday
And the first object he looked upon, that object he became,
And that object became a part of him for the day or a certain part of the day
Or for many years or stretching cycles of years.
The Boy watched as the toys dangled
His crib bright and warm and soft as the spring breeze outside
The blue of his blanket matched the blue of his eyes and the color of the skies.
Filled with love and kindness from parents, he was sent on his way like the children before him,
Sent to the small world of his peers to endure their jeers.
Back to the warm, safe arms of father and mother, to kiss away the pain and shame.
These memories became a part of him, and he lost the openness of a child,
His smile and laugh were few and far between, a guarded expression replaced the boyhood charm on his tender face.
Gone to him were the summers of baseball, hunting frogs and playing cops and robbers.
Now he played the games of men, their serious expressions
MercyOh sweet God how the grassland
ignites in moonlight tonight
I must thank you for creating
her tangled fingers' slow pace
through the handsome rain Her
trochaic kinesthesia to rhythms
in Stravinsky's The Rite of
Spring Is this how you meant
for us to love you Yahweh
Tumbling clumsily down hills
of sheets into perpetually
immutable silence I could love
you like that I think I've been
practicing on this Savanna
for days and months Lost in
her crystal canvas Rolling crests
and troughs And when she touches
me Oh fair Lord I'm dragged into
your city past Gethsemane's
pulsing green and gold
Please hold us together
under this luminous stretch
Oh Father We are live
unclothed Our reflections awash
with the skin of your sun
Keep in Touch!
A two-time Community Volunteer for the deviantART Related category, Anne is well-known as a positive, helpful force. She is the community's resident expert when it comes to CSS (Cascading Style Sheets), and her personal gallery offers a wide variety of tutorials for new and experienced coders alike. In addition, each winter she hosts a calendar project encouraging members to create Journal designs for all to use, bringing more creativity to the community.
It is with immense gratitude that we acknowledge Anne as the recipient of the Deviousness Award for October 2014. Read More