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Bianca Free Poems
つ ぼ み Buds
I search in people of varying status for a seed of humanity. In some I suspect there to be a bud
A Request from Me of You
Please watch after me as a caring mother would her child even after I have long passed on. Set calla lilies on my grave,
Honesty is But Fiction
These days the world is a place so cold I wear a genuine smile as a lie's being told That I assume is the truth, very deeply in my heart but then there's a doubt that starts.
this sadness, i do away; to fear i say 'adieu'.
I m p a c t//
Swaying in the wind there was a small leaf of golden brown. It landed in a pond and rippled the water.
Night Skies, Night Skies
I like to talk to the night skies, because they listen to me. They read my emotions as I pour out my heart,
I find meaning in the air that I breathe; It is food for the flowers. And meaning in my footsteps that bring death to spiders.
Heart & Mind
The sensing mind and heavy heart; how life has distanced them apart.
Songs that our hearts, break, that always make my father want to cry. Songs I use to chide
Running is Not a Solution
Running away isn't as easy as it seems. There's no deserted mountain waiting when you come, no peaceful fountain to drink from. The stars won't be convenient at night,
grape vine eyes, strawberry hair. cigarette smoke streaming through the air. fishnets and silver lined gloves. a place for men to forget lost loves.
What is it you want from me, what have I to boast? Forgive me if I don't have what it is you want the most.
in the mirror I see what worry's done to me; tears stain my face until its beauty's abased.
when the clouds fade and night awakes we wait by the muddy stream where the reeds grew and the graceful crane flew. away from the congestion of the city
Comments about Bianca Free
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
つ ぼ み Buds
I search in people of varying status
for a seed of humanity.
In some I suspect there to be a bud
and a sun be shining down upon it,
Water be poured out on it,
feeding and nourishing it to greater life.
Others I assume will have matured growth,
singing of the blisses spring has swept along,
reaching to others, spreading its song,
and strengthening those that have yet to bloom.
But then there are those
that I do not understand,
no matter how strong my wish is to know.
Their dirt holds a seed, but the dark overshadows it
and the rain is ...