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    Al Ashcott
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    Al Ashcott and Profile picture of WillowWillow are now friends

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    Al Ashcott
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    In the Unused Room, A Spirit Came

    The sitting room was sealed in quiet grace—A shrine of plastic, glossy, airless chill;The doilies kept their lace as if in placeBy vows his grandmother had willed to will.He knew the dream; he knew the dream knew him—A lucid...

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    • Powerfully penned, ST. Excellent storytelling along with top notch imagery my friend. Amazing write. Appreciate you.

      Damian

    • As I appreciate you, so much! And this one was one of those written because I just HAD to find a place to put the emotion. My sister and I were lifelong best friends, but we had a falling out over money owed about a year and a half ago. I was shot in the leg, and pretty messed up, bed-ridden for all of September with a lot of time to think.

      I resolved it in myself to make things right with her no matter what, but then Oct. 6th she suddenly passed away. I had such grief, regret, guilt, if only I’d have called her from the ICU even. But I had this wonderful dream (though the parts with my father were more disturbing), and this just flowed so quickly out of me, one of those ultra-rare occasions where is landed on the page as fast as I could jot it down (I suppose ones like this maybe are pre-written in our subconscious?)

      I doubted myself in sharing it, that the religious/spiritual aspects might be off-putting, so almost didn’t post it, plus there are some “inside details” that make parts of it opaque, but I suppose it still works regardless. SO glad you engaged with it, and it read as story to you, it really is just a description of this vivid dream that undid any guilt and made me feel like it was all okay, my sister is still out there, and has forgiven anything of me… a real cathartic write for me, but I guess not so overly personal that others can’t still get something out of it.

      Thank you, thank you, you have me writing again without it being such a wrestling with the pen.

  • Profile picture of Sisyphean Tasks
    Castles of Sand

    Awake from dreamsOf loving you,And hate the morning sun,For you wait in the twilight,And still whisper, "Lover, come ...Back to the place we started,And to where our love began;A place within our dreamsMade of the Sandman's sand."ღ ღ ღResting...

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    • Beautifully penned, ST. Excellent write my friend. Appreciate you.

      Damian

      • You have no idea, and I know that is a clichéd phrase, but you really don’t how much some very kind feedback means to me. I’m writing again, and I have a lot to get out. I will return the favour soon, trust.

        • I look forward to reading more. We’ve all been there my friend, I too know what kind feedback did for me when I needed to hear it from a fellow writer, I just continue to pay that kindness forward. It’s become a part of who I am. Appreciate you.

          Damian

          • I wrote to another commenter, and I’ve told many people about it over the years, that I had a poetry home way back in 1996 that wasn’t too big, super-cool people, but it shut down and I moved to a bigger site in 2007 (which I just deleted my account, along with 8,000 some poems a few weeks ago, tired of the drama).

            I NEVER thought I’d post one more poem again online in my life. But my good m8 M.E. posted a link to a poem of his here, and I poked around a bit, and thought, YES, this is the kind of place I have missed.

            I really appreciate you, too, man. This is the kind of site, perfect size user-base, where I can read and give feedback without feeling overwhelmed or sucked into cliques, or any of that awful, AWFUL drama.

            Thank you again. You’ve really, well, I feel like the night has stolen any more of my words, but just thank you.

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    The Long Walk Home

    Let me walk with you and tell you what I see,His story much more beautiful than me...They will not cry, it's trained out of them.SAS ghosts and Paras grim, and withCSOR retirees reborn to lead them...“last“ photo snapped, “last“...

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