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Naomi Scheyerle Poem
Do you?
Do you ever feel lost?
Lost in a sea of faces,
All floating in the tranquility of the blue mass.
Lost in a swarm of bodies,
Deserted, as they pass.
Do you ever feel alone?
Alone, even though you are surrounded by many monotonous souls.
Alone.
In that these strangers are in fact strangers to your experience,
Never having felt this numbing cloud of alienation.
Do you ever feel unloved?
Unloved by those who you exposed your inner light to,
Leaving you wandering in the darkness,
Your light no longer shining like the diamond that it is
And wondering how this came to,
Become what it is.
Do you ever feel unappreciated?
Unappreciated by those who you gave your all to,
The brilliance of your mind made meaningless,
Randomly left on cloud 8,
Your beauty taken for granted.
Do you?
Do you ever feel these things?
Copyright © Naomi Scheyerle | Year Posted 2016
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Naomi Scheyerle Poem
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I admire those who have the gift,
The ability to rivet one's mind by way of words
Word play in fact.
Although, there are many ways to describe it
It is a gift in every sense;
It was given, by a higher power
It is unwrapped, a talent which grows and develops over time
However, the occasion to which this gift is obtained is not quite clear
It is a truly beautiful thing,
This gift.
Copyright © Naomi Scheyerle | Year Posted 2016
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Naomi Scheyerle Poem
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She was my muse,
A Goddess,
One might even say one of nine.
She was beautiful in every way,
Still is, in fact - but beautiful in a sad, yet historic way
But it pains my heart,
The way hers is being polluted,
Loaded with harmful toxins of bitter words, violent actions and
Worst of all, destructive thoughts.
I never knew it would come to this, but surely it was inevitable
With all the hate, all the spite that has slowly but surely seeped into existence
Her once beautiful..mountainous..Verdant terrains are no longer blooming
Cyan skies no longer pure
Indigo seas no longer inviting
Mother Nature,
What has become of you?
You have been ruined
Yet you inspire me evermore.
My muse.
Copyright © Naomi Scheyerle | Year Posted 2016
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Naomi Scheyerle Poem
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He was mine.
Unbeknownst to the man, he was mine
He had found me,
And I go by the ironic phrase "finders keepers, losers weepers"
So he was mine
A glistening drop escapes my eye,
Shocked,
I quickly blink..and the moment is gone.
I wasn't quite sure,
Was this lonely tear a result of joy, relief, sadness?
Or was it just my imagination running wild.
Copyright © Naomi Scheyerle | Year Posted 2016
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