Mirror, Mirror, Where is Delphi
i preferred it when you had your hair in a bun,
walking down Tweedy with ripped jeans and taylor gang chucks,
with your hair blazed bloodier and brighter than desolate Mars,
when you were just another girl i grew in war with,
i never dreamed, though i saw that one day you would leave,
and desert the dirt covered laces and kiss me goodbye,
tethered up in knots as you threw us in the sky,
i look down at you tangled on the line,
a saddened women posing in her in undergarments before the digital eye,
you are the baddest *****
i can see it on my screen as i scroll past in thirst,
you are the baddest *****
i acknowledge this to be true,
infantry ****** open fire, shooting explosive emojis that detonate your feed,
i know you wear bullet proof armored sweaters
but i also see the bruises on that solitary face,
leeches feeding lust into your neck,
you step into battle with black eyes on your chest,
swinging your “i don’t give a **** sword, beheading lascivious foes,
i preferred when we sat on the terrace during the decline of the sun,
softly voicing how we’d get out of this cage,
walking north of south gate with worn out tokens,
i left you unguarded
pardon me, lustful,crimson Helen of Troy
Mar 9, 2015
Mar 9, 2015 at 11:29 PM UTC
the sun wakes too late
and the moon sleeps too early
everything sets before caught on frame
it is convenient to believe in destiny
far too easy to fall into fate
purpose means tranquility in our disillusioned state
sunshine is never eternal for the spotless mind
darkness forever faces brief endings in wary spaces
war is constant in everything of matter
first there was Adam
second was eve
then there was Kane
and after was life
thus we became able
causing breath to become fable
Mar 2, 2015
Mar 2, 2015 at 8:21 PM UTC
They stand still, dangling their heads in mid air, as
if bent over by curiosity, catching the eyes of
bystanders as they plant their roots and intertwine
their bodies under a dim lit sun
Their arms lightly touch along the spines of one
another, grabbing second glances as they kiss gently
from tip to tips—shifting earth's gravitational grip—
slipping sensual aromas into the timid crowds,
stealing attention
They caress with their fingers anyone who draws
nearer and nearer, collecting corroded
notions—creating, blending, coalescing and
infusing carnal spirits—for those who fail to ignore
what lurks before them; they splitting minutes
of the mind divided
and
across
from
them
is
a
shy melancholy rose. softhearted,
cordial, dancing alone.
Mar 2, 2015
Mar 2, 2015 at 3:59 PM UTC
the problem with poetry
is that not everyone understands
the crap that you are trying to convey,
the message is always encrypted in cryptic code,
you have to get past the firewall before you can see the
01011100110011110010101000111100101's
many of us
don't have the time to pursue the purpose
of a poems meaning
because we are busy deciphering
what the **** our own heart is trying to say
while simultaneously trying make sense of it,
so that we can post on hello poetry,
hoping that maybe a handful of depressed poets
might take the time to view it,
let alone like it,
or possibly even comment
or **** maybe even share it, assuming we said anything of merit.
it's in our nature to ignore
and call others ignorant
and believe that we are intrinsicly more important.
offbeat>poet
Feb 28, 2015
Feb 28, 2015 at 1:08 AM UTC
Can you hear that?
It's the sound of the desolate,
the ruined, the barren, the dying.
They groan and moan and cry
If you listen closely, you might hear it,
it's the same sound you make
when no one is listening.
offbeat<poet
Feb 27, 2015
Feb 27, 2015 at 3:11 PM UTC
i am a walking contradiction,
venturing into the voids of my keyboard,
causing deadly,
venomous,
friction.
offbeat.poet
Feb 23, 2015
Feb 23, 2015 at 8:42 PM UTC