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Let me be

by Vanessa Anderson (Age: 41)
copyright 01-26-2009

Age Rating: 18 +

Let me be fresh like winters first snow.
Let me be new,
Let me float in the safe arms of the breezes like a feather
Waiting to alight on earths finger tips…
Let me be care free like a child’s giggle
Let me be trusting and unafraid..
Let me be healed.

I could start fresh like winters first snow…
Soul escapes on every breath
There has to be more than just death.
Flesh like wax.
No life,
No roses anymore.
No sparkle,
No joy.
No laughter.

Hands clenched into fists over unhearing ears
Blind eyes sewn shut to keep out the pain
I can’t do this anymore
Severed hands of time on faceless clocks running by…
I could start fresh…
I could be new…
I could be healed.

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Total Reads: 641

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        11-11-2009     Eric Siedzikowski        

This piece reinforces a belief that we as infants are a blank piece of paper and what we are,what we become is what people write on us and what we allow to be written on us;obviously when we are of age to deny the forms of imposing that come from other people.We all long to be the unadulterated child that we were conceived as.I know that I do.With respect to this piece,I thought it to be magnificent in its internal beseechment for what was in the writer's life.The fact that you have the boldness to write about issues that most people sweep under their carpet deserves human laurels of the highest degree.Your intrinsic thought and emotions are written in a ready-witted and clever manner which exudes your creative writing side.Sincerely,Eric

        03-29-2009     Frank Fields        

There's nothing wrong with using one's creative talents to heal. As well as to share their visions with understanding and at least empathetic souls. I am proud that PnP has both of those in abundance, and that it also has writers/poets like you who, with some humility, offer their cups.

Thank you and may the healing continue. ^_^

Frank :)

        03-25-2009     Walter Jones        

As time measures heart and soul left open for review, a glimpse past time kept, words that build and draw, authors choice, images pass, voices call, you accomplish, well done well.. Walt

        03-20-2009     Jai Garg        

You open the poem with real strength and fade out in the end wishing to be reborn.

Life is not a bed of roses nor does it show the quickest way out in death.
You flounder in the last verse seeking out refuge in rebirth.

Forgetting the last stanza you have a lovely poem.

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