The Aura Can't Be Hidden



Whether it shows red with anger,

olive green with envy,

yellow with mentation

gray with depression

purple with compassion,

gold with purity

blue with serenity

pink with happiness

bright green with healing

or infinite unique

combinations of these,

an individual's aura

cannot be hidden

and never lies.


saiom shriver



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*Red,White,And Blue*

Trisha M. Barrek-Hopkins

Red,White, and Blue
Who would of thought
Who would of knew
That these colors are a symbol of freedom
People decide to let it in their hearts
It wasn't bought

To bring this nation together
To bring peace to our home
This symbol is here to stay forever
No hate can tare our faith apart
We will never fight alone
Together we stand strong from the start


Each morning we sing
That brings joy to each of our souls
To many... these colors
They are more then a material thing
To many of us ...For the beginning of the day
It is a great goal
A song of peace to our minds it will bring
That our flag will always sway


Red is for the warriors who bled
To keep the family and friends free
White is for those who got lost in the clouds
Blue is for the proof we have clean air to breathe
The stripes are for the ships that blow their horns so loud


We are strong
Our world is built as one
We try to understand
Those who did wrong
From all these deaths our minds are still in amazement
We must for our heros remain strong
And pray with one knee to the pavement


With the Red,White,and Blue by our side
We stand tough and tall
The power to fight good we will not hide
From any evil that can try to make us fall
Because our heros will put up a hell of a fight before they died



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Cherries in the Snow

Breezes of ice- chilled wind -
Clenched enamel; Contrasted-
Boiling blood.
Steam oozes through pores-

A mild debate.
bond-less, loveless.
Mentally detached.
Spiritually disconnected.

Soul-less stares.
Hardened glances-
Hatred brews-upon the dew.
Danger looms-this ends soon.

Darken pupils-
Complemented the ominous platinum surroundings.
Blackened oak branches mirror their veins-
filled with burgundy DNA.

Snow- pure.
Crunches with foot steps-
led with corrupt minds.
Waiting to unleash.
Angelic crystals spread over the ground.
Cold and bare.
Cradles two feens. 
Heathens in nature-
disobeying their spiritual agenda. 

Cheek to cheek-
Consuming each others breath-
Glands function--profusely.

chords sing to the heavens.
Kinship useless-
undesired and nonexistent.

Remain unresolved.
They exhaust every solution. 
Screams transform into the physical.
Threats transform into promises
Shoves and stumbles-
disrupt the gentle blessings the Earth bear.
Radiant- geometric icicles become witnesses to the main event-

Harden blows-harder than thunder blows.
His face.
Their likely features-
sharp jawlines.
dimpled chins.
eyes of a storm wrecked sea-
becomes merely a coincidence.
The mouths that once shared mother's milk-
Warm. Salty.

flies from his pocket.
Black; deadly.
Cold revolver-
Speckled in the sea of this white heaven.
A frigid barrel- cocked.

A stare of disbelief-
A C R O S S-
A stare of emotionless- and sinister enjoyment.
What to do now?
The ending of life is...unavoidable-swift and non negotiable.
Neglected and wasted.
deadly pellets impale his soft flesh.
by the skin of a brother.
Five shots fired.
No echo- No rescue.

Numb as the bullets sprout
Kin-less blood 
Red- Burgundy
Deep droplets.
The smell of iron-
Parades the air. 
Death looms over-
A bearer- bounded and locked.
A reminder of hell.

A dispute. 
Resolved. Ended.
Muted by an instrument so loud.
Nothing left but- a story.
A beautiful setting.
Pearl-white snow.
Pitied upon.
permanently by the cherries...
in the snow. 

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My ode to the Red or dead Designer label

greetings Red or Dead, Hows things?
this is an ode about optical suffering
I bought a pair of your half rims
cheap and nasty; clever marketing
Red or Dead a designer label
shouldn't cause your customers hell
been wearing your glasses two months
during that time out of luck
they are like memory metal
without the memory; bendy metal
won't even stay on my face
and that's with the price i payed
what a spectacle on the box
for me one spectacular loss
cos i don't have any income
and only ever so often
thanks to my amazing family
I can visit opticians when i need
so i thought i'd write you a poem
to sincerely let you know
i dont have any more cash
for yet another pair of glasses
I went back to the opticians
looked at me, held up their hands
I need a sturdier pair real soon
If they break, i will just loose
I have a spare old pair
but they have yellow lenses
only good in the dark: driving
no good when the sun is shining
come on Red or Dead PLAY FAIR
Come on Red or Dead DO YOU CARE?
My brothers an artist too
put Captain Organic into Google
he does his thing, i do mine                   
these glasses of yours a crime
can i have your help please?
or do you require more poetry?
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Molten lava face
With the shine of a red rose
Sweet and silent grace.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

? Due to the fact that I cant really decide what it is describing. Comment ideas if you would like.

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Today let me be your guide
I will guide you to a place I call my own
It is not too far or not too close
So let me take you to the place I call my own

From afar a scarlet blush and red rage
An inviting call of love and hate
Love that can burn you to bliss
Hate that can burn you to grief

A step closer can you see
The presence of blue peace
Another call but not love or hate
But a call of harmony

Another step closer the green growth wave
An evidence of change
The happy yellow cheers upon us
A joyful yellow welcomes us

Now, can you see?
The place I call my own

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Creepy, Lovely, Cliche.

Blood Is Red.
Bruises Are Blue.
Our Love is Dead
And You'll be Soon

Author's Notes/Comments: 

This is a creepy and cliche, love poem, that just came to me.

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The Rose.

Even a rose has such a kiss,
Petals heavy with moisture and scent's bliss.
The colour could stand for the anticipation.
One's taste for the flower's precipitation.
The softness of the petal for the gentle touch.
So steady and intense for little as much.
The thorns could stand for a little bite,
A cute nip, the softness forgotten in spite.
The thick of the stem would represent the bond.
Of course; the bond, such a likeness, made so fond.
The lust held in each moisturized, thick rose,
Would be the love one is filled from their head to their toes.
The story behind each of these historic flowers,
Is the life that one creates for the rose's power.
Almost every love story has a rose.
What is your fairytale, where Prince Charming may propose?

Author's Notes/Comments: 


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Blood heats, then begins to boil.
Electric flows with the clock's ever toil.
Chocking back screams,
Liquid pouring at the seams.
Lying in crimson this time,
And still see the shine.
Wrists are bloody and gory,
The dripping itself telling a story.
Bubbles of red dot the lips,
Not matching the blue of the fingertips.
A smile curved at the mouth,
The twisted visage oh-so foul.
Never looked so at peace before,
So the knife twists for even more.
The grating of the knife against bone,
Didn't even seem to be known.
Every second collecting dust,
Doesn't seem to diminish death's lust.
Then flesh begins to burn,
Insides slowly rot and turn.
You've set me up to fail this time,
And now, death's embrace is mine.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

No, I'm not suicidal.

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