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Caitlin Balm Poems
Birth Of Spring
There's a story I'm certain Of a beautiful spring, Wide-eyed and open to the wonders And the warmth of the sun.
The Men in Suits
There’s something I don’t quite get, As to why this world tastes so bland. Unsupervised, planned misguidances; Have put this quiet super-race in high command.
Rattle Me This
To shout or to keep it inside, Of me, for what reason? Rattle me this. To reach for guidance or sit with quiet susurrations.
Enter: The Machine
This is a world That was not chosen. A series of consequences and Generations of misfortunes,
Where do I go, If I am not here. To flee, to fight, to hide; Which way is best
Musing with Balm
I wish I could heal you, To bring you into my arms and soothe you, restore you, Tell you everything kindly, gently.
Fantastic! To what do we owe this place? This buzzing metropolis state, This murderous engorged life.
Comments about Caitlin Balm
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
Birth Of Spring
There's a story I'm certain
Of a beautiful spring,
Wide-eyed and open to the wonders
And the warmth of the sun.
The life flows and grows out;
Morphing, glowing, turning away
From cold the clutches of winter.
Only to be decieved into thinking they're admired.