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Angel of ProtectionIf I could wrap my angels wings
Around your back
And hold you still
Protect you from those horrid things
And save you from yourself
If I could spend, just one last time, not even just to make you mine
But to ensure
Just for myself
That you'd be fine
Cos I'd take bullets, in this moment, to ensure you'd be happy
All the pain, and everything, that it would meet it's end.
Want nothing more, then for someone, the very next, to come along
And do what I no longer can, to hold you and protect.
Cos baby, you are beautiful, more so than you will ever know
And don't you worry about me, a warrior's what I am
And to the next, wish all the best, so long as you just treat him right!
Please be answer that he needs, protect him in my stead.
Ghosts of Spaces, Hungry FacesI miss the somethings but not the someones
There's spaces to be filled cause all that filled it was wrong
And the vacuums, the places where they stood around me
I feel them tug to absorb as I walk through the streets
Sad? Am I sad? Hm.... well not for somebody
Just a sad kind of echo here cause it is lonely
But it had to be done, cos they didn't quite fit
The spaces won't have less than love that's legit
And the spaces fuzzed faces, in expressions of pain
Beg me, 'Fill us, with with something real!', 'gain and again
And I nod in a promise as I walk through these streets
Till I come across something, people with real heartbeats.
Fire and WaterFire burn in the midst of me
Water swirl around like a storm
Everything inside at peace
Everything inside at war
I send my soul into the fray
But life isn't always about this way
And while it's about the tides rise and fall
And change, the one constant of them all
We'll keep coming back to the peace that breaths
From the settling out of a freshly turned sea
When the fire warms gently and the night chirps away
And the breeze, once a wind, brings a still to it's rage.
© Copyright Stacey Koch 2012
All Here For A ReasonI turned onto a shady, well-manicured driveway that, for all intents and purposes, looked harmless enough. Maple trees lined both sides of the street, and a parade of Canadian geese marched across the road to a wide duck pond with a flamboyant fountain. There were blooming crepe myrtles and rose-of-sharons, and as I grew closer to my destination, neatly trimmed gardens with neatly trimmed bushes.
I stopped to let the geese pass. They looked at me; one hissed. I honked my horn and moved around them.
At the end of the road sat a collection of grayish buildings and a number of signs directing me to the appropriate parking lot. "Welcome to Ten Creeks Hospital," said one of them. "Please enjoy your stay." I parked in the visitor's lot. Surely I wouldn't be staying.
I was shaking when I got out of my car. I had spent the morning getting high. One foot in front of the other, flip-flop noises, hot sidewalk. Mulberry and magnolia trees, freshly shaved grass. A bench and pan for smokers. A set o
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