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a womaN with a BouQuet of wild floweRs foR a head oN my left thiGh”. (Credit: Alona Cohen)

a womaN with a BouQuet of wild floweRs foR a head oN my left thiGh. (Credit: Alona Cohen)

I thiNk of love More than aNythiNg else.

My skin always Bruised very Easily

It is the oNly Physical RepReseNtatioN of How My MiNd experieNces life.

My soul TurNs Black aNd Blue as easily as My skin Does.

From the smallest Bumps, EvEn a Good thinG

If pRessed too lonG, too strongly.

The iNk emBedded iN my skin is the other side of life, the hiGh.

WheN I Got my last tattoo, a womaN with a BouQuet of wild floweRs foR a head oN my left thiGh, the skiN Bruised.

She was Blue, theN Yellow.

It took heR as lonG to Get heR coloR RiGht

As it does me to Get used to life EveRy time.      

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Serenity

I yield,

To the morning haze that engulfs my spirits;

 

I yield.

 

For Mother Nature calls,

My body withdraws;

I am within and without.

 

Serenity.

 

I know not why

My slumbers break with the sunrise.

My inner and outer worlds meddle and wed,

 

And I am one.

 

The birds sing me a tune of old,

As though they hold the secret of my soul.

 

My soul—in flight with the birds of old—

Says ‘I shall not rest

‘till my flight is turned into song!’

 

And so I traverse between

Heart and Reason,

‘till my entire being gives way to sunrise, and

Tranquility is my one and only

 

Monarch.