#poetsonfacebook

We enter,

childlike angels timid footsteps

washed away without malice.

Tis only to make room for the others that come after us.

The current is soft, playfully pushing us further into the current.

The time of childhood, some waters more darker then others

with the memories.

We age, form into the adults we never dreamed we would be.

The water is faster now, deeper.

We float along , forgetting how to get back to the shores.

Sometimes, we can look back,

See ourselves trying to catch up.

On we float, grasping at items to keep us afloat.

BODY LANGAUGE

BLAZE PASCAL

TERRY LEE HAWKINS JR.

·THURSDAY, MARCH 2, 2017

Langauges are spoken for the same reason words are written and sentences are structured to be used as a form of communication the problem here words many are simular in sound and spelling in some cases meaning as well not a test but the written text read but misinterpreted because of the one who has read incorrectly due to the way on may understand for the writter knows that which has wrote as a speak should know what they have spoke body language is much different you read one’s words as you do one’s eye’s         you read one’s face as you do a painting                                          you read one’s heart as you do one’s soul and know the difference and likeness between the two                                                   you read one’s movement as you do a theatrical performance  literature to be acted rather than just reading such as that a of play one could say                     tone speach voice listening as one would a sonata silently like focusing on eye movement not rem rapid eye movement but eye tendencies according to how the brain works or hemispheres as to when one think’s or is about to speak or when speaking as to say one may see  and know which hempisphere of your brain you are using and how that can determine truth from dishonesty  or as the crossing of legs and how they me be crossed indeed even to the facing of one’s knee pointed in one direction for this and what this can mean body flirting  do a little mind flirting she finds you interesting noticable to me because body language is a languange i speak                          one who is open to communicating will show that with body language position of arm closed or crossed like those of stars that have crossed or arms open with open arms these things mean something to people such as me if it is anyone one earth such as me other then me or should i say as uniquely skilled as i happen to for the eye can read a person same as the can read word from paper          the way one read vibes or one’s vibrations trust your body for it speaks what doesnt or just wont say maybe a language of love body langauge yes a nother language to speak

signed True

Terry Lee Hawkins Jr.

penname

Blaze Pascal

You cover my hopes

with your coat.

Made of a pattern of snowflakes,

each one different.

Yet they all blend into one fabric.

One of pure white,

a false peace.

It encourages to hide,

stay off the roads.

I try to venture forth,

you turn me back.

It appears calm, placid

flowing past on its way to an ocean 

you will never see.

They gaze up, 

Hazel, green, blue

lids heavy with the morning foam.

Judging us as they float along the way,

No mouths, only the eyes.

Staring, up into my eyes.

Narrowing their discontent

She sleeps, alone with fading memories.

He husbands hat sleeps on the nightstand besides her.

She often dwells in the land of nod.

I see little silver of her mind peel off.

Accusing of theft.

Hurling insults that she would deny later.

I am content that she can sleep

while I can not.

I worry about the day that she will not waken.

And a part of me, knows that I will be able to sleep

The winds start small and soft.

Where is this?

We search, 

The winds become stronger.

You do this!

But I have not even been in this house for the past two days!

Doesn’t matter. Is my fault. Always my fault.

The full force comes with pellets of guilt

The calm then, sometime words asking for forgiveness.

I live in the eye of the hurricane 

When lying still upon tumbled sheets,

do you hear them?

Sounds of the past, creeping up to jog memories.

A dog’s nails on wooden floor.

A tumbled mess of fluff gone for years.

A cane tapping gently so not to wake you.

Not needed where they are now.

A smell, 

of coffee or hot chocolate,

sneaking under the bedroom door.

It  begins with words

all do all wars.

The worst is one of the heart.

She, the mother, mind drifting back to simpler times.

Forgets, accuses

You can do no right.

If trying to help, you make her look bad.

If not fast enough, well, you just don’t care.

Today, we sit at the peace table.

Enjoying dinner, 

trying to discuss the day 

even if she can not truly hear you.

Today, we made progress.

No accusing or muttering.