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Edwin C

of

Leeds, England, UK

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le_future_is_resiliente@hotmail.co.uk (Edwin C)


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Empathy is mine

by

Edwin C

First off. If you've already read this somewhere else, please accept my apology as it will probably feel uneasy to you reading this.

Secondly, I think my poem is underrated and I've received inappropriate criticism. However, I am not here to argue.

Rapid movements are too easy,
they're just rapid movements,
like blinking lights and cat fights.
Meow, scratch, hiss!
Feelings.. swell up.. in my brain,
like sponge cake for dessert--
the sweetness makes us feel anew,
I abidingly sound an appealling mew.

Terrible nightmares in conscious time,
thoughts that should go away,
an empathy cycle, so cared for like the day.
And here I am, wondering to myself,
when will I reach a point that I'm happy?
I am sad when all is made too easy,
as though air would make me queasy.

Do you see, this gift that I was given?
It is just a gift, a non-mechanical lift.
Nothing barren or wrought,
sharing with happiness, the way it is fought.
So when I'm in my coffin,
will my body look back as though I am dead,
or will my body smell the perfume of corpses,
every day, every night, cold bones, tears of joy and fright?

I like whistling in the long grass... Time will never pass.
every blade is made, by the second, an idea trade.
the way the grass blows gently in the wind,
the way my whistling knows to counteract the void,
and substance, is not something to avoid.
Every note by rote, is the antidote,
to a life of sheer hope,
because we all feed off the dote.