Simultaneity


When stress begins to take control.

Begin to think of time as whole.

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Streams keep flowing as you think,

And death takes men with every blink.

One foot in fire; One in ice.

Arms outstretched in depth and height.

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A child dies within the womb,

A flower dances in it’s bloom.

Love’s first kiss on nervous lips.

Flying birds and sinking ships.

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Midnight, midday, they are the now,

Awake, Asleep, a death, a vow.

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What are we but selfish beings?

Emotions flow immediately.

Perspective points of different seeing,

Stuck not in time, in sensory.

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If I were time I’d laugh and cry.

In every second I pass by.

With focus on each lone event,

A flapping wing, a final breath.

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Stress all you want and waste the day.

The trees don’t stress, they only sway.

A butterfly lands on a child’s nose,

And time holds more than what you know.

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Written by Randall Evans.

Tea

I find great pleasure

In a tea

It’s warm and sweet and

Good to me.

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I watch steam rising

In the cold.

A warmly warmth that

Warms my soul.

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I hold the tea cup

In my hands,

Like it’s a tiny bird from

Fairy land.

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Mystical beverage of

Beautiful taste.

Like a grandmother’s hug

We all embrace.

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The taste of tea is

To the eye;

Morning dew and a

Golden sky.

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If I fail

Quite Miserably,

I’ll still find joy

With my tea.

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Written by Randall Evans.

Hearts Don’t Beat

Is it ok to be happy ?

To feel a joy inside my heart?

Feeling soft and sappy,

Looking to a brand new start.

All my rhymes have rhythm,

That hardly change at all.

But crafting with precision,

Reflex not how in love we fall.

Messy, bright and typical,

My breathing tastes so sweet.

Inside I feel that I am full

Winter pierced with summer heat.

Hearts don’t beat when they’re in love,

They pump out warmth and light.

Endless streams of boundless dreams

Kiss a soul goodnight.

Written by Randall Evans.

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Gateway

Unexpected memory of a corridor
Voices roaring down the hall
A birthday held when I was four

Not for me, for the jolly good fellow.
An old man’s song if ever bellowed.
On a night that feels both mad and mellow.

I mused a moment, child’s mind,
Who were his friends there by his side?
They loved him then and so did I.

Lucky were the men back then,
To know my grandad as a friend,
Someone on which they could depend.

I wonder if he would be proud
If he had lived to see me now.
The singing voices growing loud…

He blew the candles on the cake
One day he lay and would not wake
Now floating down a gentle lake.

Nothing in this world will last
Our candles burn into the past
And shadow we no longer cast.

Unexpected memory of a corridor
Voices roaring down the hall
A birthday held at heaven’s door.

Written by Randall Evans

It’s The End of the Day, Shoes Off!

It’s the end of the day, shoes off!
But, in the bed you lie,
When an itch, starts itching, on your foot.
Something hurts and can’t be good
On your feet all day you stood,
But the itch was feeling shy.

It’s the end of the day, shoes off!
It starts to hurt a bit.
Friction through your sock so tight,
See that this is man’s delight.
That when his pain is brought to light,
He hasn’t got the wit.

It’s the end of the day, shoes off!
A little bit of blood.
The foot stings a little more,
It’s a pain now standing on the floor.
More than what it was before,
Stinging welling like a flood.

It’s the end of the day, shoes off!
Why’d the pain start then?
Buried in a confined space.
A pain that start’s late in the race,
Waits ‘till dusk to show it’s face,
But on the base of men.

It’s the end of the day, shoes off!
I want to shout at you!
Don’t scratch me when it’s late.
See to me when I don’t ache
Hidden pain controls your fate,
Fix me well before I’m due.

Written By Randall Evans

This was a new rhythm for me inspired by “Ah, Are You Digging on My Grave?” By Thomas Hardy 1913

Puppy Dog Eyes

I’m a spot in a puppy dog’s eye,

I, in eye, insignificant am I?

The tiny speck in the cutest face,

You notice not my rightful place.

I’m a nothing, if not the key,

A detail smaller than a flee.

But details add to masterpiece,

Piece by piece and none the least.

Have you seen what draws the spots?

The mystic pen that draws in dots?

The ink that hides reality,

Designed by divine majesty

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I’m a detail, nothing more.

To show creations biggest flaw.

That normal isn’t that at all,

It’s overwhelming art and awe.

Written by Randall Evans.

Sour Drop Dream

A line of youth are seeking,
A child’s gaze a peeking.
As tingling lips are leaking,
On a face that’s far from speaking.

Sour drops shoved in his mouth,
More than that which I can count.
An aching jaw that can not close,
But this is fun and that he knows.

Aspire to be like this boy,
Treat the world like it’s a toy.
It doesn’t hurt to have a dream,
That no one else has ever seen.

Some things don’t make sense to us,
Who don’t like dirt or mud or fuss.
But, remember children’s eyes that beam,
And dare to have a sour drop dream.

Written by Randall Evans

Trying out some writing prompts I found here: Prompt
I’m going to try and post every day, so if the quality goes down… Read an old post.