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Beauty is in the eye of the beholder 
as one grows years and decades older. 
Would you know my secret dream 
that upends the best of schemes? 
Inside my secret garden I await 
the best of secret ingredients, abated. 
Inside my secret passage I walk creeping, 
while I think secretly, causing weeping. 
Flowers bloom enticing nature, 
like petaled folds beckoning, nurtured. 
Becoming messages in zephyrs, 
my soul travels in chilled whispers. 
Inside my secret journal I write 
of secret societies in solemn spite. 
Like secrets I imagine in my mind 
I secretly speak, playing on rewind.  
Families bloom beyond borders 
best kept away from pocket hoarders. 
So keep those secret dreams close, 
since opinions secretly color the most.
T.M. Prada 
Copyright © 2015 

My, My


We slipped into the miles, 
like the years tripping along. 
The stars twinkling brightly, 
like tears glistening in your eyes. 
Traveling through tree-lined roads 
haunted with creepy whistling toads, 
I see myself in glassy, fast modes. 
Would you decipher this vast code? 
My heart aches for adventures untaken, 
if I’m not thoroughly lost or mistaken. 
My soul feels constantly incomplete, 
if I should relate the very least. 
Best blessed for undertakings 
like virgin versions of pictures. 
Find the vantages remembering, 
like searching black and white lures. 
Driving into sunlit beams, 
like slides of movie scenes, 
I find the reason I feel free. 
I know that’s just me being me. 
My heart aches for the loss, 
since the physics has me tossed. 
My soul remembers you still, 
since the drive haunts my will.
T.M. Prada 
Copyright © 2015 
My, My

Patient Pillows



The view seems odd, to say the least, 

a movement in bed, among sheets. 

Stay moments during these hours, 

simply being in the towers. 


Do you know patient pillows, 

who steeps in herb teas and billows? 

Do you see patient pillows, 

beckoning for home and windows? 


Beautiful daydreams or ids, 

piling nightmares under closed lids.

Could you remember reflections, 

awaiting through interaction. 


Patient pillows sees you here, 

wiping away the standing tears. 

Would you know patient pillows 

who’s missing flourescent rainbows? 


T.M. Prada 

Copyright © 2015

Patient Pillows

Please, Please

Terri & Jim Perrault June 1984


Another strike against me now, 
I guess I’m wrong to feel somehow. 
Doing a favor and expected still, 
the pain of loss, a jagged pill. 
Please, please bring it back to me 
the childhood I’ve lost repeatedly. 
Please, please understand me now 
that written words work better somehow. 
Slap my mind another time; 
the abuse of loss stinging signs. 
I made the mistake to assume 
that we’re on the same page continued.
Please, please come back to me 
that simple era of sincerity. 
Please, please heal my wounded pride, 
where my childhood once resided. 
T.M. Prada 
Copyright  2015
Please, Please

Long Gone



Like the tear rolling down my cheek, 
briefly here, and now gone. 
I miss you everyday of the given week, 
and more on your birthday.
Long gone in terms of years and decades; 
love lost in seconds and minutes. 
Long gone styles of your ego’s facades, 
it echoes like punishment in tender hearts. 
Please remember me when I’m lost and silent, 
for the weeping will soon be forgotten. 
Think of those lessons you think as stupid, 
since I’m older and wear my heart on my sleeve. 
Long gone, but still ever-present in my life, 
your words echo in my mind. 
Long gone are the lessons I taught as a wife, 
and mother once kind,
now wounded by design. 
T.M. Prada
Copyright © 2015 
Long Gone

Color My Soul



Dripping dew nearing summer, gentle dusk, 

petals fold in delicate brevity. 

Thinking of lilies, a genuine rush, 

reminds me of gifts and sincerity. 


Starlight dances in sunless, midnight, skies, 

pretending some familiarity. 

Forget those long ago promising lies, 

that depend upon sworn longevity.


Paint my soul in purples and lavender, 

reassuring my mind’s lost memories. 

Color my soul in pale and pastel, manners,

blooming amidst daffodil energies. 


Scout for delinquent, grand, delicacies, 

gourmet in texture, fiber, and timber. 

Limit distance for more intricacies, 

noticing fantastic movements, limber. 


Dawning slowly in informational, 

intellect, the student emerges new. 

Dancing through moments educational, 

she endures more lessons to continue. 


Color my soul with inspiration abound, 

singing songs, painting, and moving around. 


T.M. Prada 

Copyright © 2015 

Color My Soul




The wheels are now attached 

blending motion somehow. 

Driving through those sunsets 

adventure never rests. 


Bring back moments long past 

that I desired to last. 

Celebrate freedom too 

memories continue. 


Could we take that slow ride 

across the world’s round side? 

Are you my love born free 

living our lives happy? 


Balance worlds on two wheels; 

sensations you don’t steal. 

Dare life to extinguish 

between words of English. 


Roll over lands unconquered 

in dreams unsequestered. 

Wheels in circular flow 

built this world; don’t you know? 


Can we climb into wheels 

that deliver what’s real? 

Will love witness this stain 

removing bugs with rain? 


Bring me for drives today 

to futures, far away. 


T.M. Prada 

Copyright © 2015 




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