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Array ( [sid] => 166478 [catid] => 1 [aid] => mick [title] => Let It Be [time] => 2011-06-05 20:15:23 [hometext] => Practicing the art of not worrying about life and things [bodytext] => Sitting, lying around
Sweating, sweating
Worrying, worrying to death
Feeling blood pressure rising
Higher, higher
Nervous twitching
Trying to figure problems out in your mind
Conjuring up images to create a way to solve them.
Pacing, pacing
Back and forth, back and forth
Repeating several times
Exhausted, sleep all day.
Bloodshot eyes against the sunlit lamp of your room.
Shade of gray, depression hits your nerves
Forcing answers, not achieving them.
Sit, relax, let yourself go!
Listen to soft, swaying music
Taking you into a zone of peace.
Stop trying to make things happen,
Take life as it comes
Day to night to morn, one day at a time. [comments] => 1 [counter] => 150 [topic] => 19 [informant] => Tomboy [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 5 [ratings] => 1 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => InspirationalPoems )
Let It Be

Contributed by Tomboy on Sunday, 5th June 2011 @ 08:15:23 PM in AEST
Topic: InspirationalPoems



Sitting, lying around
Sweating, sweating
Worrying, worrying to death
Feeling blood pressure rising
Higher, higher
Nervous twitching
Trying to figure problems out in your mind
Conjuring up images to create a way to solve them.
Pacing, pacing
Back and forth, back and forth
Repeating several times
Exhausted, sleep all day.
Bloodshot eyes against the sunlit lamp of your room.
Shade of gray, depression hits your nerves
Forcing answers, not achieving them.
Sit, relax, let yourself go!
Listen to soft, swaying music
Taking you into a zone of peace.
Stop trying to make things happen,
Take life as it comes
Day to night to morn, one day at a time.




Copyright © Tomboy ... [ 2011-06-05 20:15:23]
(Date/Time posted on site)





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Re: Let It Be (User Rating: 1 )
by iodinelove on Sunday, 5th June 2011 @ 08:19:22 PM AEST
(User Info | Send a Message)
Boy, Skirts and Jeans. They the fine arts of life.

Spoken not from the lips of a prophet, but an old, long dead, black man named George.

keep writing.

Always, Abraham




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