Dew of Dawn

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Mildewed starry mornings

of ashen laden dirt.

Glistening silver pavements,

in the ever-crusting rust.

Moistened tips of gloominess,

in the pleasant slumber sung.

A sleepless soul in solitude,

seeking refuge from the sun.

Empty Beds

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I miss the human warmth,

in all of these connections.

A soul laying weight besides,

un-tethered in its cryptic glory.

the feel of a gentle cheek,

on the hurting trembling chin.

A wave of flowing hair,

caressing the fingertips of sin.

When exactly did I stumble this far beyond?

Seeking warmth in an ocean of glacial spawn.

Where exactly does my rest belong?

Searching aethers for the ever-gone.

Guiltless

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Guiltless

The painted tips,

the scented flow,

of the river banks

with infinite links.

The sweet burn of cold.

A supper made for silk.

A journey that has no end,

in a forest rid of guilt.

Wondering Thought

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What defines humanity ?

the lust of creation,

the question of damnation,

or the curiosity of the seeking mind?

What aches Humanity ?

the desecration of ideals,

the moral compass of illumination,

or the helpless wonders of the lonely kind ?

Our innocence is merely tremor-ed,

defiled by the numbness of the aching mind.

The curiosity destroyed

in the eyes of the sulking child.

Moral ideals shattered,

only to find forgiveness

through non-existent divine.

What destroyed humanity?

The barren walls of the dying mind.

Labels

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We call upon them,

in times of need.

Desolate creatures,

filled with hectic sleaze.

We define their worth,

in worthy estates.

With loves ablaze

and cares to our dismay.

Friends to lovers to-

heroic blood sucking monsters.

We name them all.

When its only the heart

that may truly be displayed.

So Write

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Overwhelmed Mind,

what agonies do lead to thy sorrow.

Entrenched deep withing your neural cortex,

Lie the secrets, with which hormonal hearts collide.

Sorrowful anxious mind,

these pasts they burrow,

deepened through time,

filled with the sinus of the morose mind.

Oh optimistic thinking style,

Why is thy anger so futile?

Yet short lived in the heavy hearts of the fine.

You lay in ditches aswell,

seeping through poison,

of the positive kind.

O minds when you shall each collide,

creating personalities,

bringing tears to their eyes.

In the writers mind,

the philosophical fallacies combine.

characters rummaging in a fumigated brine.

so write.

Flow out with the treasuries,

of thy own ruined mind.

Need

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From Hunger,

to lust,

to the unforgivable envy,

that drives our thirst.

It is merely survival,

that heathens take to snow.

Burning flames of the living,

burning flesh of the gore.

This is in response to the Miniature Writing Challenge