Still midnight, the human drone stalks its prey, mind tuned to destruction as he is destructed, seeking the thrill of his part in this play tragedy, dissipating, projecting his hatred on others, innocents, non-threatening, a witless gun his only true form of power. Emily C. Poésie © 2018 InPoems 601


Feather pillows, blissful sleep, dreams where words never cease, seen in the skies within her mind, limitless, flowing truth. Emily C. Poésie © 2018 inpoems 567 guide phrases: the feather became a pen we knew the sky in a word Photo Credit


memory of heaven, skies above, seem abstract pieces of my being, I look to you, the one I love, to quiet ancient suffering, break through my chains, enter my heart, eternal, there you will remain, be still my soul, within your arms, manifest, please come to me. Emily C. Poésie © 2018 #JiltedVerse 32 guide…


Dripping slowly, depths unhealed Cracks opened and closed, renewed again, She’s almost immune to hoping for peace, leaves a space in her heart to welcome it. Emily C. Poésie © 2018 #whooshwrite23 crack, drip, space


Mirrors with voices society built, in the past now. She sees through her curves and bends the battle of wounds that still haven’t fully healed knowing they will with time, love, patience, given herself and by others; undressing slowly, she loves herself. Emily C. Poésie © 2018 JiltedVerse 31 guide words: curved flesh, defined essence,…


My youth was passed daydreaming when I was already in a dream broken fires in the mist where happy children used to scream, it wasn’t perfect, but time keeps creeping up on me, and aged wisdom is not wanted with its ailments and themes. Emily ©


He was tired after making love, aware enough to see the oceans roaring deep enough, just underneath her skin, she would invite him in, she had before, but felt the words too vulnerable, so kissed his cheeks, and stroked his hair, while she was clothed and he lay bare. Emily © inpoems 541


She nurtures her soil with each tear, drop of sweat and blood, the vines grow, as she longs to love, thorns grow with pain and fear, break the skin of those not delicate, once dulled by tender care, her forbidden fruit may be claimed. Emily ©


I’m not over what only gradually erases from my view, only to lie underneath, where it simmers and stews. Emily © prompt: over


We don’t need time machines, our souls tell ancient, buried things, they ripple to the surface when lessons there remain. Emily© inpoems 534