MONSTER vs. SHEEPLE

By Charles Robert Lindholm

The
Monster Exists
Because Foolish Sheeple
Believe Lies And Deny
Facts

Copyright © 2020 Charles Robert Lindholm – The Reluctant Poet
All Rights Reserved – 12-04-2020 – 10:00 a.m.

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UNDER THE SPELL OF A LOVER’S MOON

By Keza/Spiritedsoul And Charles Robert Lindholm

Under The Spell
Of A Lover’s Moon
Her Heart Was
Once Broken

With The Foolish
Dreams And Lies
Of Youth
And Young Love

She No Longer Cries
For What Was Lost
And Could Have Been
So Long Ago,
Except In The Midnight Light
Of A Lover’s Moon

When Forgotten
Memories Escape
Her Heart And
Invade Her Dreams

She Found
The Strength
Inside Her
Heart And Soul

To Stand Up 

To Forgive
To Forget
To Let Go
And To Move On

She Looked Around
And Found
A Different Path
For Her Life
That Is Her Own

The One She Shares
With Her Daughter


Copyright © 2020 Keza/SpiritedSoul And Charles Robert Lindholm – The Reluctant Poet
All Rights Reserved – 12-02-2020 – 05:00 p.m.

Thanks, Keza For The Honor And Privilege Of Writing With You!!  It’s Always A Thrill Writing With Keza/SpiritedSoul.

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Poem #330

LUNA

I do not need you.
I have been through hell and back,
got out by myself.
I shower in burning hot water
to make my skin remember of how
much I am capable of.

I do not need you.
I learned the hard way to stand
on my own two feet.
My knees still bleed, the bruises
pulsate but it doesn’t stop
me from getting up every day.

I do not need you. I want you.
I want you to kiss every wound,
touch every weakness.
You look like you are smart
enough to know what type of
blessing that is.

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sworn to keep ~

tornadoday

westandhome

were seasons
undecided
by a measure made
of days
tis loss we bear –
a lifetime
shorter still

time has melted
here
and I don’t feel
the same as then
no matter
what I should
or what I will

petals lie awake
beside promise
sworn to keep –
an early spring
and one more
letting go

green betrays
the last goodbye
November
spoke about –
pastures buried deep
beneath the
snow

. . .

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seed ~

tornadoday

onceuponame

busy me
with breathing
broken vine
of write me down
strain
to tell (again)

these stories I’m become
(the memory)
of tears
shed to seed the
only morning after

where thunder –
silent strumming
tho none (but one) can hear
wings against this waking
remind my soul
(commit my heart)
to dream

night birds
just beyond the reach
of reaching (into day)
secrets
sworn to flannel
rest beneath my
willing

words
(where none
are needed)
beyond what love
can say

. . .

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