Wednesday, June 1, 2016




I feel how black appears
When I look in the mirror,
I see the embodiment of broken dreams and portentous fearsBroken honor, grief, and sorrow
Love, a serial murderer, in my face, brandishing a knife stained with my heart's blood, laughing maniacally, screeching victory and screaming
Still, I live and....
I am feeling

Phantoms of past choices haunt me, taunting me,
Their echoed howls claim to define me
Rides on pastel rainbows, elegantly brutal whispers from my soul,
Live languidly in perfect time with me
Wanderlust the restorer of faith, hope, love, and trust
Ink the blood to a heart, broken, poetry found in the cracks, hemorrhaging, yet seeping
I am alive, and....
I am feeling

My hands tremble, insanity veiled in every thought
My love offered, returned, derisive laughter garnished with disdain by bringers of pain filling my brain with resounding echoes of their scoffs
Tis direction, not, a hopeless wanderer, forever lost
The poet chooses to look up,
Reminded of the divine restoration
Of faith, love,
Life found in the bleeding
In the Poet's Ink
There is profound healing....
Wounds fester, puss filled, infectious
I am alive, and....
I am feeling



Till our souls are indistinguishable,
And all the time of forever,
Cannot pull us apart,
I want you to pick the flowers that grow in a dark, tortured, whispering, soul,
And place them in long locks of dark brown, cascading hair
And tickle my ears with delightful girly giggles,,
They make me lose my footing and fall, I n unending rivers of love I want you to see in my eyes,
The passion and fire,
The intensity and complexity,
Of the feelings you inspire,
In an uneducated poet,
A man painfully simple

I want to see the glimmer that twinkles in the shimmering lagoons that lead to your soul,
I want to be the conquistador,
The first and last man to explore,
Those untold depths,
Uneducated and simple, for you, Mine,
I would study the theories of Albert Einstein,
So I could travel reverse in time,
To dry the tears you have wept
Brash, uneducated, a man captivated by poetry,
The art I create is done clumsily and hurriedly,,
Desperate for the catharsis,
You make my pen more than it could ever be,
Mere words of men fail to give life to what you inspire,
You have become my art, Mine,
You are the poetry



On a journey that only I could make,
One that could only begin,
When I shed the skin of this world,
I was touched by beauty
Art made manifest,
I fell in love with a magical girl

Her hair was long, locks of so many colors,
Ones not seen by eyes of unenlightened men,
There were shades of love, tenderness and sorrows,
Freedom, pain, dreams of yesterday and tomorrows

Her eyes glimmered; they laid my soul naked,
They hid fantasy, virtue, a heart loved, betrayed,
Embraced and forsaken.

Her scent made me delirious, it was a wine sweet to the tongue,
She scared me, but she captivated me,
Enraptured, I fell hopelessly in love

A love like hurricane winds, a storm, fierce and eyeless,
She caressed me, made love to me,
Pure, unadulterated ecstasy,
She made me,
Utterly helpless,
She holds my hand as I trek on this journey,
She is my mistress,
I shall never be the same, her name..
Is Poetry


No comments :

Post a Comment