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    dots Submission Name: Taken For Granteddots

    Author: Soul-Hugger
    ASL Info:    33/F/Canada
    Elite Ratio:    8 - 409/221/65
    Words: 131
    Class/Type: Poetry/Nostalgia
    Total Views: 811
    Average Vote:    4.0000
    Bytes: 835


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    dotsTaken For Granteddots

    A small house
    with a white picket-fence
    I envision in my mind.
    An ancient tree
    with leaves of gold
    that brush the sky
    when the wind blows,
    is all I see when I close my eyes.

    And the days along the river
    will come to an end
    when the water runs cold
    like the blood in my veins
    and I remain.

    I long for the days
    when I could run through the fields
    of pocket-sized, scented flowers,
    and watch from among them
    the tall grass rippling
    like waves on the sea.

    Those simple days of sunshine
    remain as sketches in my memory,
    untouched yet not forgotten.

    I ask myself why the intricacy of life
    must take away from the pleasure
    of simple days.

    Submitted on 2006-11-19 10:45:19     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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    ||| Comments |||
      Sorry could not help myself

    I envision in my mind.
    A small house
    a white picket-fence
    An ancient tree
    with leaves of gold that brush the sky.
    A place where when the wind blows
    and the river flows,
    my ears are my eyes.

    Those days along the river
    will not come to an end
    until the blood in my veins
    ruins as cold as the river runs deep

    I remain.

    A part of those days
    I will always run through fields
    of pocket-sized, flowers
    revel in scented breezes
    be one with the waves
    of rippling grass

    simple days of sunshine
    etched in memory,
    Never taken for granted.
    | Posted on 2011-01-02 00:00:00 | by DaleP | [ Reply to This ]
      I'm sorry if this is offensive in any way, but are you a housewife or a stay at home mom? I don't know why I get the idea here. I feel like you're limited to your house and your only vortex to the outside world is a window with the same view 7 days a week until someone comes home and you can live through their life. I'm not saying you're unimaginative or boring. Not at all. Seriously. I promise. I just get that vibe from this poem. Maybe it's depression.

    Emily Dickinson was an agoraphobe. I think that's what they were called. She never left her house. But she wrote of the outside world like she was a traveler. In one way, it's amazing what an untainted, unexperienced mind can do. Unexperienced in the sense that you haven't been there yourself to do it. But she was able to be so intuitive about places and their beauty. It's admirable. I feel like you did that here.

    when the water runs cold
    like the blood in my veins
    and I remain.

    I'm not sure what to say about this here. I feel like there could have been a better way to say this, just a little less subjective and personified. Maybe not your veins, but belonging to something else, like the world's veins (the rivers) going cold. Just an idea.

    | Posted on 2010-07-11 00:00:00 | by JenFlynn | [ Reply to This ]
      this is gorgeous. your descriptions are truly amazing.

    I long for the days
    when I could run through the fields
    of pocket-sized, scented flowers,
    and watch from among them
    the tall grass rippling
    like waves on the sea.

    especially here, absolutely love this stanza.
    it creates a beautiful image in my mind.
    it's true what they say, you don't know what you have til it's gone.
    great job!!
    | Posted on 2006-11-21 00:00:00 | by whirl | [ Reply to This ]

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