11-06-11

Losing Loves

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Losing loves

Losing great loves.

Close to souls who pass away.

Or those who can not come.

Lives that one must partly or almost abandon.

Then recognizing them here and there.

 

Losing loves.

Ignore the feeling, invent reasons why…

It had to be that way.

Sometimes they are right.

Sadness is never the same.

Relieve as well, but from whom and who and when ?

 

Always, ‘after this one’, not again the part of hurt in love.

While there still are sparks of fire in the ashes.

 

Relations.

Always in other dimensions, other heights and tunes.

Different situations from needs of others.

From the own stories as well.

Do experiences have to come and visit us again ?

Does one have to go and search them in situations ?

Unique memories and sensitive connections…

Keep on connecting with the hart.

 

Losing great loves.

Close to souls who pass away.

Sad ,happy or in the middle, never the same meaning with this one or that one.

And passion also has seven tunes and colors.

And lots of songs in seven styles.

The simplicity of the white knight and the princes.

To the land of legends these days.

Pipi Langkous and Peter Pan don’t exist in adult world.

Those who can stay that way, enjoy and hold it.

Chose for each other.

More complex situations…often more hard to handle.

 

Losing great loves.

Close to souls who pass away.

The older one get, the higher the account.

And in the end…

Being light, always trying to be light.

We were it, are it and stay it…

Literally and philosophically at least.

Between each other, depending from meeting how and when.

After all those different kind of periods.

 

Great loves that try to be friendship again.

Relief and difficult test sometimes as well.

Like everything one is not used too.

Ignoring the bio, one can learn, integrate or not.

One isn’t the same any more as who one was before letting go.

One does not know always what to keep or let go.

The games ancestors played and play with lives.

That what one knitted oneself.

Knitting in life, you don’t do it on your own.

Some are not made in life…for patterns to tight.

Whatever the degrees of comprehension.

How little the degree of jealousy …

Funny with who a lot sometimes and with who not and when.

Good friends and become like children and wise men.

 

Losing great loves.

Art is born from it, as much as from joy.

To bring people closer to the soul.

And often it looks like getting closer to the spirit.

Of one who nobody can derange any more.

And only loves happy things.

Knowing that life hold more in store with people…

Then only romance and all kinds of passion.

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14:59 Gepost door octo in quotes, English Poems | Permalink | Commentaren (0) |  Facebook |

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