There is a sense of forever that's hidden in your eyes.
A sense that no matter how much time will pass.
A promise that no matter how random the thought.
That somehow, you will always be there.
That same funny laugh, that devious smirk that lets me know
that your about to do something silly.
No matter how much time shall pass.
It will always be there to take my mind off of what ever is going on.
fiery crimson slash
on mountain canvas
false beauty above
truth hidden below
how low will they go
to tap the root
sip stolen nectar
to feed their bracted petal lies
protect the precious flower
from pestilence and weather
hummingbirds and hovering bees
take pollen honey-sweet
from the fertile center
spread the stealthy seed
Word of the day:
*bract – a specialized leaf surrounding a flower, sometimes larger than the flower itself. Poinsettia is a common example where the showy, red leaves (bracts) ring the smaller, yellow flower at the center. Paintbrush bracts are reddish green overlapping scales, protecting the yellow-tipped flower within.
The dark sky faded as the light comes bright;
it's the beginning of the dawn.
As the light glimpse on my face,
but still cover with dim.
This anguish of mine,still hide
and i think the last hope is burning
deep inside is filled with
and hidden things
As i worn my veil
on this head of mine.
No one knows,
when will i put this veil down
as they can see my failures
as i could see my frailties.
I still keep moving forward
to reach the light
and let go out of darkness;
pale thoughts to bring me down.
To save the last hope,not to
I see the light and it reflects on me.
i see my reflection.
behind me,i see my savior.
He tried to put back
the veil on me
as what he did before;betrayer.
but i get it and burned down
i left quickly without him.
As i found,my savior was a traitor.
The most precious and rare of jewels
Are found in the darkest of caves
Under the most intense pressure
Beneath the dirt and detritus
Only those equipped with a pickaxe forged of patience,
A gentle hand,
And a discerning eye
Will be lucky enough to find
These raw jewels in the rough
Whose beauty lies well beneath the surface
You may machine cut and polish
Synthetic stones all you like
However, there is no comparison of worth
To jagged jewels which have been ripped from the earth,
Washed, refined, and faceted with the care
Of a kind and gentle hand
Who am I?
I am love
but I am not love.
I wear love’s coat,
like a blanket
and hold its
sweet, sweet smell
a perfume too expensive to touch.
Those who dare,
always pay the price.
I am not as kind as love.
I do not care.
I do not embrace with loving arms.
The heart rules the mind.
your body the master of your heart.
Your soul is tossed aside.
It is no worth to me.
I am a coward.
I flee at the sight
and do not help.
It is not my job,
My job is to leave you enshrouded
intrigued torn upon captivated enthralled clouded
in the mystery that you thought
I am not love.
never will be
I am the jealous best friend.
The one always trying to steal the limelight.
Who sometimes comes before love.
With grimy hands,
Covered in jeweled gloves.
I do not feel with the heart,
I feel with the body.
Sensual. Aroused. Intimate. And stimulated.
Who am I?
I am lust.
My love is an uncertain kind of love.
My love is a hidden kind of love.
It’s the kind of love you’re too afraid to share,
too afraid to act upon because
even today in the 21st century,
war is more holy
than my kind of love.
Flesh pressed against flesh,
lips linger for milliseconds
before my love grows into
a self destructive kind of love,
and sets itself on fire
because when your love is like my love,
the sound of footsteps approaching your doorstep
becomes the sound of fear.
Born within a terrible mess
Nothing lasts in your sleepyhead
Music dashes your thoughts to bits
By some sort of gnawing loneliness
Your composed of broken bones
Dethronement shifting within control
Enclosed are senses so unknown
You are now a means to an end
Though your wonderful view is hidden
The shine lifting you, bent and dimmed
By some sort of gnawing loneliness
You're beautiful across the room
With the skunk next to you
Though you'll never discover
That I could be your lover
Darkness was in the tunes
Which the little bird sang
Ignorance, broken hearts, despair and pain
Was all stories which the little bird
Tried to explain
But the stories stayed unheard
Because of a hunter and his aim
He shot down the little bird
And in it's heart
The stories were hidden away
Who would have thought
your smile would create butterflies in her stomach,
your words would become music to her ears,
the look in your eyes would be her cravings?
And who would have thought
she has this kind feelings for you?
The smiles she get from you,
the prayers she has said,
the silent act of care she tried to give,
and the love she would like to show,
are the things you will never know..
For some things are better kept hidden.
-Steph Dioniso, January 4, 2017