Best Aubade Poems | Poetry

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Aubade by Haigh, Robert
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Greeting the Sun - Aubade by Hoffman, Terry
Aubade Poem by Negron, Nayda Ivette
Aubade: Your Eyes by Federle, Steven
Aubade by Irving, Devin
Aubade on the Morning After by Midkiff, James

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The Best Aubade Poems

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something new

Am doing a new thing 
A thing that sings a new song 
A song that dongs a new hit 
Am hitting a high note 
Freezes your muscle throat
Whilst behooving to a new quote
Stepping up to mend the broken walks 

A walk into miles of eternity
A word outspoken can never be softspoken 
I wish to say a word that would inspire
It's a new thing to acquire  
A new style to admire 
An admiration that leaves your sensation without contemplation
Doing a new thing 

Swimming along with the waves 
Flying arms wide open with the doves 
Stunning like the cloves 
    And fufilling a life like the full moon 
       on the winter solstice 
    A smile in the sky!!!

Copyright © Memory Melania Mutanuka | Year Posted 2016

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His High Road Is A Tunnel

The silence that's before us is a patent lie
For when you see behind the mask
There is darkness is those eyes

He says come take the high road
With his gracious and his meek
But down into a tunnel
His image has to sneak

I don't paint a picture
I don't wish him well
I don't tell his women
That he can rot in hell

If he tells a story
Check the words real fine
I heard them once or twice before
And I'm pretty sure they're mine

Copyright © raw thinker | Year Posted 2017

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Always Something Left To Say - Collaboration with Space Cadet

Always Something (Left) To Say We riddle with change in pocket corners, sit alone and sing an afternoon away, nothing but the violin strings and ukulele play. Middle of this median, stuck on this border, with you, sit and sing an afternoon away. Everything but the engine moves and I'm sure, had I not met you, I'd never have something to say. You throw coins in the starlit air, Tuck your strings under your arm. The sage sings for us in solitude: His voice fades in the spruce Together with his laughter. And had I not met you. Had I not been here this day, Had I not sang the day away, I'd miss the muse that's you, And a sage in solitude. *** February 18, 2017

Copyright © Darren White | Year Posted 2017

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Let's Take The Long Way Back

let’s take the long way back
beneath shaded oak and aromatic pine
athwart the weathered split-rail fence
bent into the warp and woof of nature’s wiles

past the old place
with its long front porch
and massive beams holding memories
of laughter and dancing feet
in moonlit rooms resonating with sounds of
family and friends fading now
as we roll past the giant willow
bending shade into the shape of long afternoons
drawing water from the well
with the fresh coppery taste
so light and cool on a summer afternoon

we glide into the blue-amber glow
of the western penumbra spread long and wide
with faint lights glimmering in the valley below
melding light and shadow into night
as we drift on wheels crunching gravel
like popcorn between our teeth

the hour is right in its time
and all that might have been
trailed behind and lost the way
back to what we remember
of days that are no more

Copyright © David Sermersheim | Year Posted 2017

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See your dream
Yet know what you’re dreaming for
Achieving takes movement 
Courage takes assurance
Encouragement is a fuel for influence
Take action for what you want to strive for
Get to the bottom of it being the core
However be confident for sure
It’s you the individual to explore
Nothing more than having a strong effort to pursue
It’s doesn’t matter if it involves moving heavy weights
But take your mind over matter and see how it relates
A dream is a destiny preparing you for the journey

Heavy weights was only an example
The method was helping you see being ample
Self-alliance at every cost
But you set the standard in what will be the course
Act like a Band Leader and carry the orchestra on
But to reach that, you must put perfection to the test
However, only you will be the one that will confess
Take control of any career you always wanted to do
But think carefully through

See you in the career of choice, and feel the career being at your grasp
Ability, commodity coming together in excellence
The sunshine shows your path
Destiny having a reason
Opportunity being the purpose
Awake now from your dream
The time is now in your reality
Let your footsteps going forward be like a cool stream
Yes it is going to be tough
But let your courage be solid like a rock in rough
Achieving won’t be easy
Excuses will often come
But say no that you will never be out done
Dreams only lead the way
But it is those excuses that will have you going astray
However that is not ok
You are victorious and have been chosen
The knock at the door says open, and your determination calls for you to fulfill
You have been given the thought and the will
But you are holding on to still
Only you can see your true thoughts
You are your own mover and shaker
Your tomorrow has risen with entities being numerous opportunities
Expect nothing less, but be at your best
Dignity and honor have been rewarded
Your true heart has applied.

Copyright © ANTHONY BLAKE | Year Posted 2016

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A Portrait

The restless night had ended abruptly. Caught between dreams and consciousness, the town was arching towards the sprinkled light of dawn. A perpetual regularity reigned over the dusty path that led wayfarers and commuters alike in and out of this forgotten cluster of humanity. Somewhere out there, a man cursed, and, as if to answer, a woman laughed. A repetitive metallic clang—the whines of an iron plate being hammered upon an anvil— twisted with a dog's tedious, short barking to form a discordant ladder of dread, telling
how the day might turn out. Punctuating that were the weary shouts of the night guard. An advice. A message. “Awake! Morning is here.” “Awake! Morning is here.” A woman walked beside countless others in a long, silent procession. Steps measured and heavy, hardly disturbing the dirt, eyes ever forward, locked at the sunrise. Life hadn't been kind to her. At forty-five she looked sixty. It was just her luck that age had been frivolous enough to come early, and sketch a crude lesson at cubism across the pages of her skin. The grey streams on her hair had become a roaring river of high monsoon. The frozen, dark pools of her eyes had given way to the smokestack dullness. On that day, like the day prior, she had woken up with honks of a garbage truck out on the street and drunk the cheap, inky tea that she had made for herself and her son. Bathing under a valveless tap, she had put on her helmet, and set out. The siren from the jute mill had blared with an obscene loudness and promise. She had to answer. She squared her shoulders and trudged on, reeling back into the open maw of her her slow, almost languid death, like a cassette on rewind. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Date: 31 / 12 / 2016

Copyright © Tamal Kundu | Year Posted 2016

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first ray of sunshine
dreams broken yet they linger
new day has begun

Date: 26 / 01 / 2017

Copyright © Tamal Kundu | Year Posted 2017

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Stargazing Metamorphosis

Stargazing Metamorphosis 
As eyes gaze up- 
evoked  the azure of what was... 
ambient and longing for 
sips of golden felicity,
Came that from the emanation, 
gilded upon a sun blessed cheek.
From the riverside’s 
wholly reflection, the moon can be glimpsed.
The pool of milkiness 
that the moon settles in.. be ever so 
ethereal in what be the 
Zealous dawn. 
As eyes gaze up- 
from plucking apples from 
Eve’s tree, 
There be the moon stepping in so 
Leaves of orange brush, adorn the canopies 
of everlasting autumn.
When a child's eyes gaze from
the window pane… frosty and traced with verses..
from the soul itself.. a snowy ballad. 
The ballad itself recedes.. Melting into the sound of 
crystalline droplets, pittering- pattering 
Upon umbrellas. 
As eyes willingly look up..
to see what looms above. 
Two stars..
Molten one be, glowering a rose 
for fictitious, dreamy eyed children to touch.
A cerulean star.. Serenely floats in
The milkiness of the constellations. 
As we look up- our eyes fixate
upon the moon in its crisp...
wholesome apparition.
We notice something, 
closely held, in the moon's ivory palms;
Possibilities flitter, 
from letters aged, brewed by star crossed love. 
To forgotten banters that now fluttered from her heart.    
But what the moon held, clasped
within her cradled palms-
Was a newborn star, fondled by the moon's

Copyright © Madison Demetros | Year Posted 2016

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bus shelter

Bus Shelter 
Driving past a crudely made bus shelter, it looks like concrete box
I took a picture because a mystery story was told about it.
A stormy winter night a man found the shelter it had a bench 
glad the he was dry and he waited and waited only the bus didn`t 
drive on this road any longer.
Years later passers-by found a skeleton the police was called but
the bones had no papers to tell his name and a mystery was born.

My dog disappeared when she found her way home she was
tired and petrified and like the skeleton could tell me nothing.
I think she was lured into the van of a hunter, tied up in his backyard to 
be trained as a hunting dog. She got loose and ran and
ran perhaps for days and too scared to approach people.
She overcame this trauma lived a long life and now is a skeleton in 
a black bin bag in the outhouse.

Copyright © jan oskar hansen | Year Posted 2016

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I Miss You

I wake up wanting to chat to you,
I go to sleep thinking about you,
and I dream about you holding me
the way only you do.
You have no idea how hard it is
to force myself to stop thinking about you.
All I can do every time I miss you is
to stare at your portraits and smile.
Even my tears can’t convey
that I miss you and how.
I miss you when I’m breathing.

You’re so easy to be with
and so hard to be without.
I cry when you not here and fear the worst
when you haven’t heard from you.
Without you here, the sun forgets to shine.
I miss you more than the sun misses the sky at night.
Absence from you is worse than death,
and frustrates hope severer than despair.
Always missing you…

The distance between us doesn’t matter,
because in the end,
i know we’ll both be happy in each other’s arms.
You make me feel whole.
When you’re not around,
I feel like a part of me is missing.
There is a hole in my heart 
and the only plumber who can plug it is you.
How vulnerable a turtle feel without its shell,
is how I feel without your hugs.
I miss you like hell.

The distance between us has stolen my happiness,
everything in life seems dull and useless.
I need you to come back and lift me in your arms,
baby I am desperate to succumb to your charms.
A night sky without the moon or the stars, 
is how I blank feel when you are afar.
Every single detail of our relationship 
has been etched in my heart… 
and now every single etching is poking in like a thorn
because I am missing you.

Copyright © Yuhi Musinga | Year Posted 2016

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Surely you must see, one line would never be enough to describe!

Copyright © JEAN MURRAY | Year Posted 2016

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To not two nor too

A semi baked semi colon is neither a seminar nor a seminary session. It is in fact the whirr of wheels from the large overweight apostrophe on a bike. Uphill downhill and all around the picturesque towns, villages and hamlets but not cities for cityscapes' are carnivorous and carnivores can charm even a chalice from a wagon if and when sealed with the juice of a steak. Well oiled grease test then. All in line. Good. Garages grab greenery giving great galloping geraniums. On the phone now are we? Oh good afternoon. Good morning. Good evening. But never a good night in a customer query box ticked. Tickle a ticket to induce laughter. In many many rides on a bus or a train a mandatory mane maneuvers managing mere mobile movements. And always remember that the globetrotting goldfish in the wicker hat can sing mist loudly to a cone. Hahaha Kyu k pass hai saja hai mekhana and a fried onion belches to a melted cheese. Xxx geomorphologic Z

Copyright © Taoi Chanan | Year Posted 2017

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The Slovenly Slovene

In an attempt to establish an uncertain linkage between 2 parables,
Ivo Torena resorted to impress his colleagues all night long; hence,
awkward as a cow on a crutch, he was cowed into pilfering bananas,
and when he was caught red-handed by the deputy, his eyes showed
no response even though his arteries were friendly. Thus, a series of
tribulations took place inside his troubled mind for outlandish
reasons, and his whereabouts were commended by one of the top
enemies of the state: The twerp from Antwerp. On a serious note,
a cabal of notorious hotshots devised an agenda to unnerve Ivo
until the cow comes home. Still and all, Torena has a truly unique
composure, unlike the belligerent Belgian, and his mannerisms
can't be reciprocated with ease. Furthermore, the notoriety with
which he prattled and sprattled was momentous! His uneventful
birth can't hold a candle to any cinematographic invention although
his water bottle company is a candle in the wind and the pieces
begin to assemble duly without second thoughts whatsoever.

Copyright © Ivo Cosentino | Year Posted 2016

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The Golden Syrup

The Golden Syrup

Oh the sunny day’s,
the sunbeam's trickling 
down into golden syrup.

The backyard.. 
dripping off the cedar,

the picnic table, 
swathed in a yellow 
table cloth, laced
with white stitching.

blueberries stirred
within the sweet 
pancake batter; 
lemon zest dusted atop
the fluffy cake,

powdered-sugar sifted 
atop the golden

The crisp rim of 
the pancake..
tenderly cut.

morsels of blueberry
and lemon… 
relished upon the pancake.

Ending the day: 
with a glaze of
syrup to the 
sweet tongue.

Copyright © Madison Demetros | Year Posted 2016

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The young man and the sea

The rushing waters speak of
Intricate and intense depth.
It whispers his love - both
Consummated and unrequited,
Cries his crackling hatred
For everyone and no one.
Has he become indifferent -
Perhaps, drowned himself
Into the vastness of the sea -
Or maybe still,  when his feet
Slip into the warm sandy bed
As the waves hit his thoughts,
He comes home.

- maria corado

Copyright © hija de la luna | Year Posted 2016

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In The Morning

I hate waking up.
My eyes are always heavy.
This Morning I lost my coffee cup,
And this weather is making me sweaty.

Copyright © Bridget CArnival Pizza | Year Posted 2016

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Death Of A Town

A town wheezes the last rites over 
its people through phlegm-ridden
lungs and turgid cankers.

Its blistered wounds are coated 
in the mud that lines its harbour 
and creeks.

The loss of the dockyards was its lowest tide.

Now, existing work taunts the town from
the other side of the harbour, 
separated by low tides and disused ferries.

As the town slides closer to its knees,
the landlords willingly house 
the subsidised washouts.

And gang fights marry into husband 
and wife fights, twisted around petty 
pride and sectarian bigotry. 

Leaving kids to run about half-stoned 
and roaring with cider, where the 
unpredictable waits around the corner.

And rape happens behind the church, 
under God's careful watch, where worship
of the needle leaves only emptied lives.

And lost souls sleep under cardboard palaces.

This is a town that wants them out, so that 
it can shut the doors, draw the blinds
and start again.

Copyright © Terry Robinson | Year Posted 2016

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A pancake dash

A view from a teaspoon selection is very spellbinding indeed. Half a cup of multicolumns and a pint of milk singing and swaying together. It takes much effort to pick up a seed. Much kilograms queuing for weight is to wait and to wait is to wave five hundred times at a doorway. Putting pet fish in a cistern whilst flushing is stupid, and cruel, and rather unnecessary for cleaning the tank. But bringing a bull into the house will promote heating. Specialized agencies of horn fur and raged eyeball in a coat. OBE in a tree. Sittingbourne sitting down. A pile of curtain cloth should be ample material to wipe away smears and residue of acidic peelings, nine metre forts of brain, televised episodes of epics, and balls of glowing colourful spinning radishes. Enter then leave. Mesmerizing merrymaking men make monsters. Mainly in a red reflection. Hum the twenty song loudly. All together. Detract no horror but horror is often hidden in even the most sparkling paper tissue. But the calling from the bead of time, that bell in the breeze. Will ensure a cake gives news that is sufficiently correct. Justification then. Good. At last the commas play with the full stops peacefully. Fantastic isn't it? Ha ha ha ho ho ho and a flow from a cactus in a nice crown. Ha ha ha but no ho ho whistling waters with wanton soup. Xxxxx anthropologist z z z z z z z z z Z!.¥~¥~¥~_^>

Copyright © Taoi Chanan | Year Posted 2017

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Mirror Image-a body of works contest

has always been a bone of contention 
the way your eye lashes skim your face
are they your own or an acquired invention 
no sign of an embarrassed blush can I trace

your teeth are like pearls
very old ones that have yellowed with age 
a crimson red gash across your face
not suitable for a number one page

noticed a few more things that aren't right
your knees seem to knock as you walk
you might think I am being trite....yet
I also noticed that you stutter when you talk

are there assets I have missed
maybe you drool when you're kissed?

words used.....

penned  9 Sept 2016

Copyright © Seren Roberts | Year Posted 2016

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A walnut is waltzing with a willow tree today

a walnut waltzing with a willow tree
A molecule is neither a destitute mop without a bucket house. Nor is it a seven acre field that is very cold due to having no grass. Even the most prepared of ground is a haven for a gloved concrete whose acidic greedy greyness freezes the earth allowing for no breath from the ground. It is located between the purple mountain and hawks head valley. Where the hypotenuse causes a massive erosion and lesion in the wild vibrant landscape. Birds sigh at the chaos. Trees cry for their home. And the dark eyed mystics shaking rattles speak of prophesy that was spoken and handed through time through pictorial evidence, speech, story and song. Moving a large display of teapots in a shop is imperative to create a nice display for consumers. They might buy one so always make sure spouts are facing an easterly direction for this will ensure sales and sales are salivating selfish sea lions with suits. When placing the money. When digging for liquid gold. When leaning on graves. When balancing on a breadstick over a precipice. Exert no power. Exert no pollen. Exert no excretion. And always move to the sounds omitting from a nine mile moon in a cereal packet. Harnessed by wire but untamed. Pockets picketing players. And a nice big soup causing chaos at a roadside. Yachtsman yawning yay. And the gang members are swimming in tutus. Up the mountain down the mountain. Peeling the spoken steely grey suits. Lucid suits. Sinkhole weapons of underworld. Chat chat chat. And an operatic gold star warbling on a shelf or a door. Put into a cake tin then and bake at 800 degrees. Thus ensuring leverage is even. Events equalling extraction. Then boom boom boom. All gone fishing. Xxxxx formulations Z Z Z Z

Copyright © Taoi Chanan | Year Posted 2017

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catch in a net

A semi shriek of an atom bite should never be viewed as the submission of a rug. For rugs wear earplugs, and belts with chains. Very heavy locks can also be located in that type of wirey loops. Fabrics can change and alter through time correction. Using battling beans and chips to dip and slurp can simply not be the answer. It is too generalistic you see. And sweeping crumbs can often uncover missing gems that sparkle. Lewd is the miscommunication and misjudgement of the shrapnel falling from miscellaneous guns. And weary not. And wear not. And weave not. A giant battling bee bomb. Buzz buzz buzz. Extract fuzz. Great. Or not so great. It is deemed less necessary to eat a bacon slice that is not fully cooked. For too much slob is no good for the handle on a door. Gated guarded grating girths. And a fortification of a fibre. Giant slopes where pods are arranged. Oh how wonderful. Wow. And a fornicating hedgerow is neither a fish fork nor a ladle when painted in oils. Italics itemised innermost inherited inhabitants. And of course the passing of nineteen cuttlefish in a sky burst is a scented form of communication through lines of fins. Good. Harmonisation z

Copyright © Taoi Chanan | Year Posted 2016

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moonlight romance

Moonlight Romance 

It was in Peru
And the moon was full
Working long hours, I went early 
To bed and didn`t see the moon that often
I had gone ashore where I met Maria in a bar
We walked down to the beach 
Sat on an upturned rowing boat looking at Luna
Naturally, we made love on satin sand
Slept entwined 

She walked back to the bar I walked onboard
Happy and thinking how wonderful life was
Five days later I needed an injection of penicillin. 

Copyright © jan oskar hansen | Year Posted 2016

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Separation difficult in love

Why is separation apart from my match?
For what we have been so far from beloved.

Come near me now,you should be embrace me,
Not meeting me far away,bigger than you.

Do not think that whatever you can now tell me,
Do you want me now?

Is trust, then punishment, do not give it now,
Consider it love, now you importunity.

Copyright © Kishan sharma | Year Posted 2017

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1000707 and 1006006 are having a chat

A miniscule minotaur is a mini mayhem by the way. In a catacomb place ones feet in a small bowl then look in the mirror and sing to the shaft of light beaming down from the ceiling pin. The pin was placed a long time ago yet still remains. Removable and as yet undiscovered by ones with axes and spades. No digging derives nor divulges data nor date. And inaccuracies spin in sandstorms. Thus compelling all to be as silent and still as a scorpion regarding a kill. It is wise to be patient then. Singing away to the shafts of light. Many eons pass. Many eras dwell and leave. And the multitude of horsemen led by a dome head. Such dramatisation in military sweep. But not a mine. Nor a mink coat. Mainly the crafted gold to symbolise the skies and skirts sway on hips of not only females but males also. Pretty gabled arches can gargle do do not place too close to the riverside. It is within the weeds that can be crafted the boats to reach the junctions. Sped speedily sound. And a toothbrush monitoring progress in a glowing ease of red and green hues. Spot not a tree trail? Or a basket dancing? Performing to the winged hierarchy at a beach. But a stall selling figs and honey melons is an ample quantity of fine fresh produce for the gentry whose lineage whispers of far flung specimens. Wide angled lenses are far better than binoculars when regarding the display from the inner rocks. Cameras in general do not enjoy flashing as they get quite shy really so pose not and play not and always keep to a serious full stop in an engine death. Oh and now 10000707 is kept in a bunker. Not a throne. Typing codes for vortex and cortices for worldwide elitist programming circles. No bath. No grapes. And no baboons bringing wine. And no masses of gold either. Forgotten is the initial aim of the ones who are grown like amoebas on thus earth. No dwelling. Just input. Daily. Duty. Derisive of life. And corrosive of soul. Smaller since born of earthly climates. Underground stems. No light to absorb. No light to grow. Stunted shunted and put in vast laboratories full of computers in a golden glaze of atomic prowess. Number of golden tanks equals zero. Good. Place no earwig in a jar. It cannot escape. And escape is vital to terminate the injustices brought by some of mankind to what they do not plainly understand. And the colours spoke. In shapes. In faces. Above. Appearing. Then disappearing. A nations glance. A nations demise. And still the spin and spin. No amount of money, fakeries, forgeries, mistruths can deny the existences of a true historical fact. Now leaning learning leaving leaves. And leavened bread brings birth. Birthdays are often a fantastic opportunity for a light and sound display. And who would argue with a beaked helmet? Triangular prism point of view says that the current global element of xi7 is weakening. And also added was the spotted potted power worldwide will whirl around the time like a globally positioned aerial whirlpool. Now we all need to listen carefully to what the little duck in a paper cup is saying.....takes a while to learn but quack quack quack is such an ancient and diverse vocabulary that can link many races in glowing colourful linguistically performed fashion. Thus unifying humans. Thus composing truths together. No bartering bomb. And no bang bang bang either. That will go under the wave. Xxxxx and now a large camel line with feather boas doing a can can dance. Hahahaha scorpions singing saline salon song. Hahahaha Egyptologist educational evening event. Xxxxx colourfully cleaning creating calmly xxxxx vertiginous vaporisation version xxxxx repudiation z d t r t z z Z

Copyright © Taoi Chanan | Year Posted 2016

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From Creation to Old Age

What until today humans do HAVE,
That the First Couple on EARTH
Passed on down through CAVES,
To this day of comfortable HEARTHS?

God's DNA in his Image and Likeness.

Breath first inhaled by lungs perfectly CLEAR,
Without any diaphragmatic complaints of PAIN.
Normal sounds heard as we deeply INHALE,
While doing daily tasks complicated or PLAIN.

Adam made a woman thwart God's DNA.

Blood that circulates throughout the BODY,
Purfusing bone, muscles, organs, vessels and TISSUES,
But not making us no how SOGGY!
How did we obtain so many health ISSUES?

The Creator made us in his Image and Likeness.

Babies born so perfectly HEALTHY,
Colic and teething pains they all go THROUGH.
No matter they be poor or very WEALTHY
Milestones in growth and development Pooh!

Being trusted to parents like Mary and Joseph.

But alas! The teenagers like EVE,
Before we know it they become so GROWN,
Do become tempted, oft times DECEIVED,
College-bound and ready to go off on their OWN.

Somatostatin, a growth hormone embedded with the Creator's DNA.

Then train up the boy in ways he could REMEMBER,
And make fathers proudly SAY,
He did not go ASUNDER,
And mothers hearts gladly PRAY.

We as adults became able-bodied men.

Now once a man and twice a CHILD,
Have respect for grey hairs, the Good Book would SAY.
Silver spoons are broken (dribbling) MILD,
And eyes are now cobwebbed (poor sight), 
Old folks still do earnestly PRAY.

Created in his Image and Likeness, inherited his DNA!

Copyright © Rainbow Promise | Year Posted 2017