Stella,the car,waited hours and hours to be towed,
as it drowned in water , for the god watered the city,
like the overflown affection is endangered,
water flowed everywhere, but nothing can be drunk.

Bella, the mobile phone, waited days to be charged,
as it died in water, for the god watered the city,
like the overflown electricity is dangerous,
electronics had their places everywhere, but nothing can be used.

Chola,the apartment, waited weeks to be cleaned,
as it had been dipped in water, for the god watered the city,
like the overflown population is dangerous,
Flats and complexes built everywhere, but nowhere happy people lived.

Chella, the girl, waited years to play in rain,
as she have seen no cry of cloud but dry mud,
like the overflown scarcity is dangerous,
water flows everywhere,but nowhere she can play.

My heart had fallen empty
to a point where it was dead
It wouldn't beat for me
and the blood filled me instead

My head had overflown
with the crimson paint inside
An ugliness had grown
from my ****** water slide

The blood just kept on raining
from my tear ducts and slit throat
I used my blood for painting
as I scribbled you this note

Four leaf clovers birthing books
Your old horses came and took
Your father back into your life

Leading sobriety through letting go
A year with no sips has come to show
The truth to these words we step

I think grass is next on the list
Back and forth we're in the mist
It's hard to give up this smokey bliss

Talk of future business I know I'm yours
Our past should show the similarities
Your treatment should show our differences

We dabble and dart and laugh away
Overflown with tears we laugh today
**** our faults we'll be okay

Trying to write words, but thinking of nothing exciting
I hear the sound outside of two animals fighting
But I get upset because it distracts me from my writing
And the poetry that I am always so often reciting

But what's the point of speaking without a voice?
When no one is there to hear your pointless noise?
Feeling like there's poison in my spirit
as I shout about my life, but you simply can't hear it

And all I can feel is waste
as I think about the way you taste
But I love you, you ******* ****
I give up, but I can't quit

I'm just too ******* tired, my head's overflown
I'm petty and mean, and meant to be alone

Echo, cricket,
Thump, stump.
The very loud things
Galloping through the silence.
The creaking of stairs like the breaking of bones
That snapped tin cap,
Clinging onto the prophesied labor of your last breath,
Oscillating through your liquefied ontology.
Ethanol overflown and embodied.

Cricket cricket,
The underlying intrinsic.
The empty tone of a distant voice.
The spaces of letters and words so magnified
So wide,
Expanding like an unstoppable void.
Oh my,
Here it comes,
Shadowed by your hissing tongue.
You are glittered,
Pinnacle bitter.
Cloaked in pure white.
Not a thread of disguise.
Twinkle, twinkle,
Buggy, rugged eye.
Those razor touched lines,
Translucent and caressed,
Reminiscent and enmeshed,
Like faded pale stripes,
Hugging the armor of canvas flesh.
Walking among these thin lines,
Head down, musky powdered stench,
Awaiting the inevitable rise and fall.
Of the intangible crux of a hollow memory,
Woven inside the synthetic fabric of the undelivered.
Oceanic cold shiver,
Piercing through our empty, untethered souls.

Zara, love of life,
Spake in curtled call
Allfather, lover of light,
To bestow those "ants of the earth"

And arch-bound as the sinew of bowstrings
Howling as the volley hertz roped
Along the celestial violin
Pluck souls from their bodies
In symphonic prediction

Ascende! On the wings of love's Valkyrie-- in her shining eyes will you greet the stars of the Otherworld!

________


Cleaning hide chunks from Buffalo tusks
There is a stranger, who knocks upon my door
The fire is wide and welcoming,
Borea chides the earthenwork
Outside, the stranger calls
distant through the door.

___________

A last heartsong,
The cup overflown with honey
A facsimile of symmetry
And not distinctly human
There was something to love in that,
Just the simple inclusion
Of all the other animus
Being formed in their conclusions

And following the arrowpoint
Floating by the bolt
What losses there to seek
Beyond a veiled humanity

We strike the fire one last time,
She to travel the mountain passes
Ashen eyes, holding viscous memories solidified

I to gather my quills
My thoughts and brush quickly the embers of love.
Into flame, carried deep into the hearts of the world and explored in violent disassociate
Particles red and hot

Then would Zara Spake again,

"with his eyes on the earth, will he never see but the stars."

Little conversation as we start,
In a freezy  night in a moon full of stars.
Time fast ticking seems slow we don't mind,
As changing thoughts crossing through our minds.

A whole night spent,
As likes, dislikes, opinions have been shared.
Never clear what it has meant,
Of a feeling that's destiny had been lit.

A day or two had flown,
As second meeting had been drawn.
Reddish cheeks had been worn,
Which smiles last and heart freed from thorns.

Never it has longed where love was born,
Laughter's overflown and sprinkled to a new morn.
That sparkling eyes mirrored the happiness that blown.
Hearts were bind which loneliness nowhere to find.

A new story starts,
Where two people cannot be apart.
May the sweetness last as love runs to thy happy hearts,
As the story goes on where journey has many to tell.
Come and see, as Siquijor take you free.
Where love I see is extraordinary.

Love is the root of missions
and sacrifice the fruit of missions
Glory to the anointed King
the creator of a chosen offspring.
Ever so delighted to be enlightened
by the ignited spirit that is heightened
from the light rays of a new dawn
til the warrior within is born
The essence of being radical
is the will of good
the conceptual of a root
rooted and built in God’s image
a fully-fledged seed of Abraham
As Apostle Paul’s spirit
overflown with thanksgiving
his objective was to implement change
strengthen our faith and live in peace
Pieces of greenpeace
misunderstood by malicious-minded creatures
I recall hollowness
dearly engraved in the
hearts of many
superficial increment in
today’s youth
often inferiorated from the truth
they’re spiritually pretendin’
to be naturally defendin’
Oh, lily of the valley
make their minds pure.
Do you ever wonder how God sees you?
A radical Christian who’s simply a quality
of a New Testament normality
it is in your core to be pure,
to be called by the Lion’s roar,
to not live but to live who’s in you.
Apostle Paul’s awakening
was radical
thought-provoking sensation
as being biblical
the words he spoke were profound
his temple so refined
yet his view on earthly living
was actively passive to godliness;
to live is Christ
and to die is gain, he said.
The ideology of being radical
is to live in the sense God created you to be
politically and socially,
its force is to make you philanthropic
boldly empathic to the notion of being rhapsodic.
I am artistic
poetic instincts in the fullness
of embodying metamorphoristic mystic.
Theology unfolds a mystery that
we should be the change we want to see
a generation that profiteth free
a ministry holistic as can be.
Be vigilant.
Be diligent.
Be practical.
Be radical.

it appears as though
there was a coup,
in kookaburra land,
this morning.

much fuss,
and cacophony.
as the brown and blue kingfisher clan, reassembled,
their royal court.

the big old king,
uncurled his talons,
unfurled his wings,
gave one last,
manical chuckle....
and fell from his perch.

to lie still,
upon the dusty,
brown earth.

shocked, silence for some seconds, and then...
the eucalypts erupted into, (what would appear to the outsider);
cold calculating mirth.

as the young jacko princes, all began the joking joust
for the top place berth.

in a melee of swooping, chuckling grace,
a contest no less,
set to test....
mettle, worth and cackle call.
each young bird,
takes to the wing and flies into the maddening...and how close,
         how loud,
                  how startling,
         they can be.
            is made known,      
by those,
whose years,    
            have flown.

when all, is said and done. tourney overflown,
feathers are preened.
then the winner
is presented,
with opportunity, bold....
to nest the queen.
as to the rest,
they take their place,
in the chaotic, cackling, cacophonous,
kookabuurra clan nests.
to bide their time,
until, the next coup,
                        comes calling...

Please don't say it,
those three little words
that form a lump in my throat
and a tremor in my nerves.

Please don't say it,
I know you mean well
but my heart can't handle
another splinter or crack.

Please don't say it,
I won't think of you less
if you let this pleasantry pass
Carry on and ignore these tears overflown.

Please don't say it,
We both are aware I'll say I'm fine
as I stumble through a lie
to fulfill the expectations of this social interaction.

I sat at the patio
seeing that portrait of a women facing ocean
discovering unsoundness of my imagination
as a saccadic thunder blazed
opening the eye of sky
as the clouds liberated first rain drops
which kissed inglorious mud
filling the air with intoxication
of romantic vapors.
Chained by the lust of intolerable fragrance
i crept along with those winds
near to the parapet as lazily as a drugged snail!
Tantalizing my dreams
a heavy wind with some dew
blew on to my face
as my lips raised in a sarcastic passion
conveying its reason to live.
Humanity overflown from my heart
as the innovative part of my brain
continued to search for the irrational logic of my smile.

A tired girl starts her day with a sigh like the moan of a violin
Her groggy mind is overflown with empty thoughts that have yet to be tamed by sleeping in
Her mornings consist of the same boring routine,
Get up, get dressed, but first make sure you’re clean,
In her sleep drunken state, she stays in the shower until it’s too late,
I guess making it to school on time was not to be her fate.
When she finally stumbles into class, tardy slip on hand
She sinks to an empty desk, unable to stand.
The classroom discussion gets her more and more lost,
Although I suppose missing half of it would have its cost…
She seemed to be quite vacuous at times,
But she held a lot of smarts, just hidden in her mind.
She would scrutinize her work until she had an idyllic idea
But sometimes it was too big of one for her mind to appeal
But even though she tends to assail to her work,
Her perfectionist tendencies don’t let her finish any work,
A tired girl ends her day with a sigh like the moan of a violin
But tomorrow she will just have to stop and try again.

you slip into my mind once again
as i slip into unconsciousness
guilt plagues my insides black
and all i can see from you now is red
why did i not leave you a note?
no, i was much too prideful then
it got in the way
but you must know i had to get out
and you can't blame me for not wanting to stay,
but don't blame yourself either
it was a haste decision,
dear, you must know i took your old cassette tapes and cinnamon scented perfume
i was with you for a year
but i felt closer to you when i was holding those objects in my hands
than i was holding you in my arms
i had to drive out of the state
get away
because i knew as soon as you came to find me gone
i was not going to want to see your doe eyes fill to the brim with your crocodile tears
and even thinking about it now makes me pity your cherub face even more
it's not that you are unattractive
(quite the opposite in fact)
you were always intellectual,
you were generous
but yet there was something off putting
and without reason, i will leave you now
sitting at home, trash overflown
with tissues and stained dreams of finding someone who loved you

My last night at the Moulin Rouge
Was spent coated in heartbreak,
Regret, and tears
Which would have overflown the Seine.

I can never return…
The dead have no need
For cabarets, alcohol,
And the world’s amount of exotic women.

But most of all,
The dead do not pine for
Lost chances
And a fate written in error.

The dead do not have to forgive
And make amends.
The lights will go out…the conflict…
Resolved.

My last night in the Moulin Rouge
Was spend covered in absinthe,
And the other poisons I needed
To remain alive…

If even temporarily.

6 lights have suggested
A birdcall as my will
To dig a tunnel under the stillest night
To echo the autumn, read the book and surrender
I guess the reason has overflown
6 lights show me the naked myths as linear as the thread of the town
I could not question that I wish to be held down before laughing in the rain
Press my love/ a huff for courage/ cleansed up in the trees /I drown until the sense is blurry
6 lights haven’t told the seventh a word
It has left its cordless phone in the room with the view too rough for memory
I can still see the doctor leaping from the bleachers
And the light has found a place to gleam maybe in that idea

I miss my Deliahla
The happiness she bore
She greeted me every morning
Every night when I'd come home
I'd miss her even more

A beauty bore in hues of blue
Here eyes were white as snow
But one day she had to go
She was smoothing the way
a decision overflown with woe

I had to chop her down
I cut in frowns that day
no more would i see her
no more morning grace
Delilah beauty gone away

My morning glory is no more

feeling burdened—it tends to happen
particularly when meddling impressions run rampant
swarm circles in my hefty head, ignore the next exit ramp, and
let devils' advocates covet the cove i donned my dome once upon never

although i know this may be chalked up to intelligence
and subsequent ignorant claims that swear it's heaven sent
i swear it’s not for me. so tell all the hell-bent docents to leave
and let live my cognizance dim—to do what i can’t. to let it be.

it is what it is
and what it is
is it’s
excessive

i don’t need no informants
playing mentee won’t mend me
i’m torn sufficiently
far as i can see, it seems

don’t mentor she who beseeches
by way of screams and screeches
me and my strings are beat
by ****** and needless needles’
stitches and ventures heedless

i’m piecing my torn fabric
it’s grown so thick
it’s a feat, recognition
when simple addition alters
fact into fabrication

like my elation
in inebriation
guards sorrow
from knocking at my door
knocks my guard down
and has me floored

it hits my inhibition too
and i’m home-free
no guilt signaling
and i pull singles
i switch with tickets
i use to ticket my skin

no appointment
nor disappointment
walking in walk-in clinics
and sketchy shops
flickering the light
it sheds on both
my faces. i can face them
only with this double vision

i watch mark
as his sketches mark me
like stretch marks,
remarkably

in hopes of realizing on the double
the vision i envision into reality
he lets me let him put his hands on me
seemingly steadily
and we feel as our arms stretch

he draws me in
fills me ink
and vibrant me pends
his vibrating steel
and sharp pens
as they liven
my limp existence
reincarnating me instantly  

after sweet sleep
i wake bitter for some reason
feel dull but also sharp-ied
peeping the nonsense i let seep steeply
into my skin last night when i was peaking

now i can reminisce
on the pain of squirming
wallow over it instead, and
not the overflown gore of streams

and catastrophic waterfalls
that break through my largest *****'s walls
they leave what makes me, me,
with breakthroughs of which it can only dream

if only i can fall like the tears asleep
that crash and wave and overshadow my role
in turn leaving without desire
to turn over no stone
nor use any for stepping on
like the ones more close to normal
do coax

i do it all wrong
like they did me
i walk on coal
though from here
it appears
as though i'm an anomaly
only my sole seethes

when on the rocks
my walker, he makes me so strong
he lets me drink him from dusk to dawn  
he says he’d **** for me from here on
i love how foreign i am to him like heron

not the bird though it’s true
us three often see hues blue
we soar blue skies when our hearts fume blue
and they feel too sore like brews do
when they're too soft to heal each bruise or
make room for pain to grow and strength to bloom
so i walk on water as walker

kills me
he’s to die for
imploring in notes low
that i not stop, so i hop on
and once it’s well thought over
he can tell
overthinking’s my problem

i stand alone in the corner,
my core knows
all my o’s and woes
can be all gone
once one o centerfolds corner
and in comes the
coroner

who walks and rear-ends me
and e-r lose hope and leave me
when he cores me from his soul
and i let my breath roam

but he sends me
soaring over the moon
soon as he shows how he listens
and soon we both know
blinding luminescence

my eyes when they glisten
make all my mourning go missing
like the overthinking overkill
i hit when morning rays missile

and he curtails them at curtains
blacker than the blacklist
my man drenched
my nemesis in
deep sleep
with the fishes  

eventually, however
again and against my will, i endeavor
on reading the biography i penned
block my own writing
and let writers block lock me in
i get stuck on the same page
thought no force impedes
the power i home in my palms
nor my thumb's ability to thumb
through the page
yet i somehow flip it
and become my own victim

i did it.
it tells the history of tears
now extinct due to me overbearing
leading to drainage that came as
the very last bead beat me
for forbidding fibs
and calling dibs on *******

still, ringing in my ears
leaks empathy
for crocodile tears
trickling
as they salivate
over their next meal,
me

i swallow my tongue
not realizing fully
i’d just had my last meal
because they consumed me
quietly
with quibbles
and plots of consuming me
openly

ignorance is less so whats lacks
and with no inkling of doubt
worse in terms of that
which the mind keeps
then refuses to release
when need be
hence: me

after i head over
obvious traps
i let flash
atop my head

like clouds overcast
i’m convinced i tripped
on my own heels
like thunder that strikes
one man down twice
out of spite

but in spite
of everything, now that i know,
my eyes and i are drained no more
see, we’ve ever since grown more so
and metamorphosed
beyond words morbid

like those i anticipate
my gravestone
will go on
to hold

this is the reality of being kept cold-cut as meat
that heads *******, idiots, dunces, cons, and so on
those who bring forth obstacles that spurt in growth
inch by inch quicker than their thickening skulls

each time
the sage i pick thinks
my life needs spicing up, either
my screams of agony are mistaken
and my inseams nipped at the bud

or my spirits appear uplifted
and mistaken are my sorrow-filled tears
with joy-plagued wails,
each time
deep-seated sage seeds **** my green

lord knows that while i understand—to some degree
the world can’t come close or know what brews
in the disorganized chaos that is me intrinsically
i don’t fib when i allege that my angle isn’t deceit

nor right, necessarily
just dense as these
basins, wrinkles and dents
my tense cortex insists on heaving  

it would be obtuse of me
to anticipate that anybody
would watch my back
if not mine and me

it's all only a tactic
and i may feign obliviousness
to support this spinelessness
and keep it all in tact

insects fester
i feel each tentacle
extend incessantly
like these rants

they all ax my lumbar
no one's barred from my club
lumberjacks and jack’s slumber
i only lust after the latter

and jack's not all bad
he’s why my caps rested
soon as he hands it to me,
expressing the extent to which

i impress him
granted
my hands-off approach
that manages
to get hard jobs done
better than jills before

he’s a mild nuisance
when one of us isn’t speaking
but he promotes my irritability
with his attempts at weaving
our fingers together

it offends me
and all i long for
is knocking him out
like him and my neck's heart

or my kneecaps’ kneepads
the cap that’s my hat
can at last roll fast,
though no one should ask

i can’t say if i’m ok
jack ko’d my voice box
and i feel highjacked
but i insist, they insist
on the charm of the third

one i get him
like the lights, off,
that’s when i go on to hop off
tip toe off his tip top to get off
on the silence my mind writes off

none of it matters to me
mankind ramps up my love for luxury
the ivory warmth Mr. Browns rain
all over my cold windshield
puts me where i love to be

without them,
antidepressants
would depress and hail on
but their chocolate depressants
elevate me and i hail mary
when they hail hope on me
and i'm newly merry

when it’s all over,
i seek refuge and rush down
and on to the one and only John
where rest can be found
he’s bold as kohl and cold
as his marble floors call for

it's he who keeps my thoughts snowed in
and spares my teeth cracks no dentures can fix
suppresses my urge to purge like Snowden honing in
on how not one man cares less for one careless node in
systems nor the cancerous danger of no protests nor dents

it’s tasteless, the rice that is humanity
so i dine solitarily
in solemn grief
seeing the uselessness we
as crumbs and morsels have come to be

individuals in division
invincible in coalescence
bound to form solid solidarity
likely as the moment

satan and saint agree
to raise their satin
black and white flags,
respectively

to enwrap
two into
one
fabric. silky, smooth, seamless
as is the cocoon
          i once was foolish enough to assume
    would secure the very same wholesome skin
                         it would later go on
to help me consume.

cannibalism.

silhouette of sails breezed through the twilight hour,
the working man was long aroused from his sleep,

long strips of inked paper billowed out into the dank alley,
infused with the rotten aroma of yesterday.

the paper-thin veil draped over the construction site,
the working men had their silhouettes enslaved to the sheet,

an arrow of shadow shot through the muted screen of the cinema,
a line of laundry zigzagged the sky overhead, ******* pages of blue,

the rickshaw man was crossing stairs,
toeing winding train tracks, children nimbly dashed past danger

a fisherman was dreaming of secret deluges,
he would oar his way through the overflown streets, catching a dim sum box or two

a seagull fixed its hungry gaze on you, chewing stick
you leaned on the cart you have been pushing, facing habour

youve plucked pieces of my mind- make a collage with them and dried rose petals; blood works almost as well as glue. give it several weeks to dry and by that time youll have my sanity AND some art for the foyer. hang it above the jar with my heart inside; you may want to change the cloth underneath it, it looks like the "love" has overflown again. im sorry i keep dripping; i didnt want the vaccination, darling, i need the colours i need the life and ive been picking through my veins trying to divine relief through the blues and purples. but there is no respite from this constant ache, no lightening of this burden. youre contagious but my immune system craves this sickness; its an addiction. im left with chiffon bones that float me through a grayscale high and rob me of my senses. living in a silent film, im told what to say and when to say it; it plays on the screen after me. this ink festers under my tongue until it fills my pen with a prison cell and wonderings of an escape. my screams are unheard, unseen; they make no ghost for you to understand but instead pack themselves in my gums, strengthening the threads holding my lips together. i think half a tapestry is whats making it so hard to swallow.

Cloaked in my blankets,
I hear a fulmination of sounds.
The sounds of children weeping,
And of bombs capturing the ground.
I covered my ears and secured my eyes
Only to find that this time around,
These sounds were not inside my mind.

I released my uniformity of quilt,
And stared upon an empty shelf.
I imagined a place of prestige and luxury,
And the greedy percentage of interminable wealth.
I envisioned families with crystallized patios and polished rooftops
With clothing that glistens like gold and parquet floors that exert possessive pride.
Where a vast mass of appliances lie,
And sculptures of dinnerware are overflown.
But my eyes began to water when a flag was waved with an infinity sign,
And stacks of green paper were boastfully thrown.
And way far beneath their intangible table,
I began to feel a vibration of sounds.
The sounds of the powerless praying for just a couple of crumbs,
As the families fed their colossal crowns.

I questions myself do I still really love you
Or it's just my attraction on you,
Or it's just my addiction of you,
Or it's just my aesthetically love on you.
That overflown through out my heart
Maybe it's kinda hard to ask himself
When everything's being ok
but next we'd fallen apart
I think I'm fool all around
But don't you think, I won't abound
I'm ****** up with my own life...

I heard that you're busy with someone.
I saw you in another's root
I saw you're in another arm's
Long rides on bike.
This things you did to hide the truth
crews on you, I heard of you
Twice I'd forgotten cuz I believed on you
But again you did the same.
This things makes me sense of looser,
What I say next?
cuz you don't have a time
To understand my feelings
How far i believed on you
How far I loved you...  
Love makes us on Expectations
You'll do something for me
Of what i need.
aren't you have a time
To rang my phone...
But you aren't?
I do all the things for you,
But did you ever thought for me
Yet, This **** hasn't flies to you...

To whom may I believe ?
Should I wait up for your next call ?
I can't escape my feelings it's true!
there's you right next to me...
Cuz I wanna be with you
I don't wanna remembering of you
But this **** feelings supposed me to do.
It's has been well said
In such a cruel world,
there's no one to believe on them too.
You put a smile on my anger
You're looking up for me I'll  back
I'm ashamed of being sorry everytime
I'm tired of looking myself on it.
I left you to your own way
I don't face it until it's overwhelming response
Go get your life,you're free of cage
-SORRY-
By:-pawantube
!! 20-09-2019 !!

On my side of the room
It's my size of the moon
It's my place to hide
In my guitar,
In my cage.

In my home ; I work and I play
I live but am not alive
In my side of the room.

There's the T.V.
There's the radio playing
My friend is complaining
And the innocence has burnt into the wall.

The clock clicked it's camera
And the wall did whisper,
"What are you doing ; Alone child ,
In my side of the room?"

On my side of the room
I'm the sailor of my cigarettes
I'm the king in my deck of cards
And Beetle Bailey has
Walked the seven seas
But the ocean's overflown.

When it's visiting time : Tea time
It's then when I wake up , shape up
And the wall did whisper,
"What are you doing , Alone Child ,
On my side of the moon?"

The days blur perilously close
to each other now.
The alcohol does not help;
helps other things.
Blunt force trauma has
swelled and colored
the gulf of skin beneath my eye,
hindering sight.
Disgust awaits the mirror;
a child shading in the
contusions of my face
with the wrong colors;
purples, sickly yellow.
Knowing how it should,
but doesn’t, look.

Faces of friends seem
to slip further away,
this memory failing
as cells burn and pop
atop the frying pan of chemicals
that I have become.
The drugs do not help;
help other things.
A tile floor, a dimming light.

Naked, she is a stranger,
and I am overflown
with nausea, apathy;
some thick welling of revulsion
pitted in the gut that I pray
is only toward her
This hatred does not help;
only any good for the writing,
ironic, unsure if there will
be a writer much longer,
anyway.

I sit here,
In silence.

Holding in my deepest thoughts.

This is reality.
This is me.

Overflown with anxiety from head to toe,
I feel as vulnerable as someone without a home.

I speak honest words and I behold an honest mind,
Not afraid to be exposed anymore,
Because I have nothing to hide.

All I want is a plump upper
lip and the stain
of coffee on your breath.

I can taste that paradise and exhale
in rhythm. To the drums somewhere. They could be
pounding. In those bloated silences
when I can taste our heartbeat, offset
by smooth jazz and the bubbling snare. Overflown,
suffocating champagne smiles.

Your teeth are crooked,
but I don't mind.
They all fall
someday.

        What's the matter?
With a toothy grin
reflected off molten
puddles in the sun
of a clouded morning,
flashed
through the dreamscape
of a lover's quarrel and echoed off
the lips of a lie.  

I could be sipping
tea and watching the clouds
fall into the haven of your words.
But I might pour
myself a glass
of wine.

Down the dim and darkening tunnels
through the mazes of my life
While my soul deals with the trials
and my flesh deals with the strife
I still can see the burning
of salvations shining light.

While my heart has mourned with losses
and my tears have overflown
And my world has tossed and tumbled
from everything I once had known
Though circumstances said defeat,
through strength, my faith has grown.

I've learned to look past what is there
to what it might become
I've learned though strikes may be against me
that is not the total sum.
I must do my best to measure
up on the day my Lord will come.

As I lay upon a bed of death
it's claws gripped to my soul
I must confess a part of me
just wanted to let go
But a quieter voice said,
"there is more to do you know."

Who stands upon deaths' doorstep
and doesn't stop to wander back
To look upon the deeds they've done
or upon the things they lack.

I wanted to write about how the curve of your smile made me tense inside, the way his harsh words echoed inside my memory. But the only thing I could seem to muster up the courage to write were things that were vague and dishonest.
I shelf my feelings for the sake of becoming someone else. For the sake that some day I will be worth something, to someone- anyone at all. You spoke your words to me and I listened to them like a poet, unsymmetrical and all relating. I felt dead again.
My heart had trouble calming that night as I danced your words around the edges of my mind, back and forth and over again hoping to hear from you. Hoping to understand this language in your mind that I don't seem to comprehend too well. You're often not too english. More so metaphors and undertones of sarcasm. Of off handed remarks and cynicism. I can never read you.
I want to blame it all on you. That the hurt that lies within my heart is all because of you, but the blame is on me. Though I am not the only innocent one. Your words a thousand scars upon me. Your words a skipped disk stuck in the CD slot, constantly reiterating in my mind. I don't know how to read you anymore.
You were once the person that held all my secrets like they were gold and you let me understand things in ways no one else did. You just listened- but now I realized you were just awaiting the moment at the bridge of my words to jump off. Onto something more fruitful that was to your liking. I've never felt good enough.
So I take the long distance road maps to destinations I haven't seen and I look at every option before I decide to travel again. You were the road less traveled. You were the cornerstone of every decision I had made. The land-mine for my insecurities. I let you trip me up. I didn't even try to catch myself. I let you trip me up- somehow I'm still falling.
Still awaiting at the foot of your words and the edge of your thoughts for something, anything to guide me home again. I feel lost inside your love. The distant river has overflown and I've forgotten how to swim again.

It's funny how I find myself
Only to realize I got lost many years ago
A star I saw
Within were a million stars
In them was one star furthest of all.
I closed my eyes,
And so the earth was changed
Dark and unending glories
Light and unending agonies
I saw big people
And amongst them a leader.
He was not good,
He was loved by all
Somewhat they loved something in him
Overgrown stomachs
Overflown accounts,
And bright faces....
I saw myself seated at a corner
In rags and begging...
I was tempted to ask a question
And sure I did,
"Are we on a fair world?"
It was amusing maybe,
They all laughed in tears
And in unity they answered me
"This world belong to a few,
And the rest are ment to serve them!"
My heart leapt in pain.
"I was," the rest"they talked about
Peanut salary,meagre income ...
Work incomparable
Worshiping the lords
Speaking their words
Dancing their song
Playing their rhythm!

I felt tired,
I wanted to open my eyes
But still I was held up

"Boy,keep hope,
One day,you will make it
Brag not,cry no more  ,
Keep faith and work your best,
You are going to make it."
The furthest star spoke!

I finally opened my eyes,
I found myself
I realized I was lost.