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Rio's Attic: Celebrating the Life and Times of a Dearly Missed River Phoenix


By Suzanne Robertson,
Alabama, USA

Twilight descends on the ever-lonesome night,
The ebony night cries out for you -
She covers your body with a blanket of stars, so bright,
Thanking the spirits for your love, so true.

The Thing Called Love

The web-like horizon twinkles with delight,
As if it were winking with much joy -
For you have returned to your mother,
Your sanctuary, your respirator of life.

Submerged in a sea of shadows of tempters,
Lost in this Lone Star state of yours -
All by yourself, never understood -
Always pictured as a perfect child.

The sky gazes down, gently, on your melancholy body -
Memorizing the confused Abyss of your soul -
Never to end, never to end,
Complex puzzle of thoughts and feelings, impossible. -

The Thing Called Love

Mesmerized with her mysterious beauty,
You take her by the hand,
Never looking back on this disenchanted land.
And dance, dance among the glistening, fading twilight -

For your troubles have come to an eternal end,
So lay your complicated mind to rest,
For the tempters were glorious,
A force too rigorous to overcome.


This work © Suzanne Robertson

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