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462 · Dec 2015
Tremble and Assemble...
Exalted by grand design,
Smooth effervescent wine,
Wash me and age my skin,
Don't torment me from within,
Don't ferment my dying sin,
Just mummify my yesterday,
So in the bask of tomorrow,
I may look upon it, with sorrow,
Bury my iniquities with the drugs,
Make the ground high,
And I upon it fly,
Looking down only to say,
"Goodbye."
To a world, since flooding,
Dry.
456 · Oct 2017
Eye of Truth...
She gazed, transfixed with dread
The path stretched on in hunger for eternity
Although it had not turned its hunger upon her
Despite its silence, its passive existence
She heard the road like war drums
Its rage was flame and steel
She broke her gaze from the path
And consulted the shaman
The shaman, upon giving her earthen herbs, sent her to wander
In the forest, where no path exists, she lost herself
She heard a voice call out to her, “Resfeber…”
The joys of life escaped her in the musty heat of dappled light
The rains tore through the canopy, washing her fears away
She began to lust for vision, for purpose
The wandering filled her with a desire to know the unknown
For all around her swelled the inescapable, the densely profound
And she happened upon the path once more
Its narrow vein was like the canal from a womb
She stepped out upon it, tasting the freedom of escaping the shell
She flew off, out into the storm
Seeking the eye of truth
Braving the harsh road
For the narrow path leads only to heaven.
Hadn't really written a long poem since the end of July.
I'd spent July doing 30/30 for Tupelo Press.
Basically, I wrote 30 poems in thirty days.
It changed my life in really important ways, many of them subtle.
The confidence I gained has waned a little, but I'm trying to hold onto the lessons.

So, here it is, today's poem.

Enjoy!

DEW
456 · May 2016
The Things She Wants...
She’s got to want it so badly
that she has to ask me, got to grab me,
and though I pull away sadly
I want it all the more.

All her angst and gentle pining
steadily, heartbeat, vastly climbing
with grace and simple timing
I pull her to shore.

‘Pon this land of silk and money,
she does laugh and chase the bunny,
but my needs have farther measure
beyond laughter, far past pleasure.

When the dancing is fixated
‘pon the harvest we’ve created,
let us chance to taste the sun;
flights of fancy have begun.

I slow down, she chases nigh.
I halt and wonder why
highfalutin nonsense dies.
Off the carousel, she cries.

All my passion’s dares and flaunts;
she won’t get the things she wants.
I haven't written something like this in a long time.
I hope you all enjoy :)

DEW
455 · Feb 2016
She Says Something...
She says I'm funny,
She says I remind her of money,
Because I smell like I could buy her diamonds,
She's hooked by the way I'm nutty like almonds,
But we have problems, like dogs have flea's,
With every romantic notion, she splits and flees.

I don't know what it is about her,
I just know I can't live without her,
So I'm the druggie and she's the crack,
I'm hoping one day she'll take me back,
To a time that's close to a brighter tomorrow,
Yet the present without her feels like sorrow.

Oh, if I could have her for just one day,
Maybe the rain and clouds would go away,
To reveal a magnificent, shining sun,
So I can be Superman again and save everyone,
But I'm not lucky, I guess I'm not,
Because all she does is make me rot.

Like someone's favorite sandwhich left out in the cold,
I'll remember every moment with her until I'm old,
Because even without her, she's still my valentine,
The feeling of being inside her gets me every time,
Just make it happen God, stop keeping us apart,
I know she's the moon, I'm the earth, but love is art.

You have to draw the line between the dots,
You have to carve a groove in all the slots,
To get to the heart of the woman in charge,
Of your soul the one that's very large,
I hate this feeling, like, what am I missing?
A boat, the open sea, us... Kissing?

That's right, that would be the perfect moment,
I hurt her once, but that wasn't what I meant,
To do, that's why I'm telling you this,
Moments of happiness may feel like bliss,
However, when you meet the perfect one,
If she says something like, we're done,

Just take off and run,
As fast as you can,
Don't worry about the tears,
It's a part of being a man.
I wrote this back in March of 2013.

I'm certainly the most unlucky guy when it comes to relationships... like breaking an arm, a leg or a rib every time you go to the gym.
Does luck change?
Here's to hoping it does, "Cheers!"

Enjoy!
454 · Aug 2016
Thoughtful Vengeance...
Spat out from the maw of carnage
slick with the battle's bile:
a coat of blood, black and foul
for war is hell and
hell the churning
chastening
chilling
gut
of a beast beyond reproach.

Yes, I was there...
I fought
for you
for your freedom
I fought so you could sin another
day
I fought so you could curse my
name
I fought so you could scorn your
savior
and wonder why it is I love,
you.
Tell me:
who is it that suffers greater?

The toil, is heavy
I lumber forward,
scars, like woodgrain, nest my body
I am born of battle
in my chest
my heart does rattle
empty
for there is no room for weakness.

I form pillars of truth and justice
I forge the righteous from
weakness, purpose
and all the
while
they grow
stronger conviction
in the unyielding dreams
that bolster all men from breaking.

Yet you lob laughter at my prophets
and greed is your only profit.
**** my champions
**** my children: men and women,
with your lust and lustre,
no matter,
for in recompense
for all your thoughtless vengeance,
I pay in kind...
Soon, you will envy,
the blind.
It's so strange when a poem becomes more than what you intended.
Take what you will from this, and a little more.

Enjoy!

DEW
448 · Aug 2016
Oblivion Swift...
'Twas not the fall
that killed
or the brawl
that spilled
the blood
that crawled from wounds.

'Twas not the silence
that spoke
of death
that broke
the soul
that cried in hollow dreams.

One thing is certain.
Words sprang to life
teeming like the bodies of a virus
throttling leviathans,
making them wet, and sad and dumbfounded.
These words were alive, a glorious fire
and then,
like a flood of apocalyptic magnitude
oblivion swept the words away.

The leviathans walked on,
no longer spurned to celebration,
they turned on one another,
throttling, breaking and spilling one another
across empty pages,
that God did pick up
and mumble divine profanity,
thereby he did close the book
and think of man and his pacifying words
no more.
I had another poem written up not ten minutes ago and it got deleted, because my tracking pad is a homicidal lunatic that deletes text on a whim.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy the runner-up poem created in the tide of overflowing frustration!

LOL,
Enjoy.

DEW
445 · Oct 2016
Bankrupt Insanity...
All the sins
washed away.
So was wrought the grace.

Wings, like lovers arms, enfold.
White as light.
Healing flames.
Passion pure.

Such was the kiss of forgiveness,
upon this newborn soul.

The dregs of insanity
don't fade.
They linger in the drain,
bubbling viciously.
I watch them choke the
innocence
from the stone.
It seems to blacken
and I wonder:
"Was that my flesh?"

It is still my flesh.
I am still a sinner.

Yet, by the power of this...
bankrupt insanity.
I float over the past
to embrace the future.

Without such tarnish
to strangle my soul
I smile...
it is a child's smile.
Had this title in my drafts.
I'm glad of what I formed with it.
I hope you can agree.

Enjoy!

DEW
435 · Dec 2016
Messages from the Womb...
Cast off your secrets
light the lamp
shake off the veils of slumber
indulge in the essence of life.

She calls
She calls to you and me
the Mother.
She speaks in the tongue of your soul
she is never a stranger
and when you listen
memories of love and bliss enchant you
though they were void not moments ago.

There is a chord still connecting us.
It is strummed when we love one another.
It is strummed when we share in selfless joy.
We are the instruments of this innocent music.
It coaxes the beast, our delusions, into its den.
We lock the gate and frolic in the fields,
safe from the weapons of our own chaotic powers.

The Mother invites us to her table.
Before us, the meal of life has been prepared.
It is whole in the giving.
She warns us to keep it whole.
If we give it back as one, there is a door she promises.
Who knows what lies beyond,
but,
I want to go there...

Do you?
I hope you enjoyed this :)

DEW
430 · Nov 2016
An Appetite for Monsters...
Poison
Poison, dripping on the tongue
soaking in the flesh
crawling through the veins
possessing the body
reaping the soul
waiting inside...
waiting to be caught red-handed.

Hate,
a poison I know too well,
gripping my heart
sacking my defenses
and throwing them into the river.

Hate ignites my passion
turns lover to monster
turns monster to lover
and all the while
I drink in the crude oil.
This raw token of evil.
Its malice is like
the claws of a lion
hidden
waiting
like poison
suddenly they thrash!
Peace is cut to pieces.

I once had an appetite for lovers.
Now, I only appetize the monsters.
Dark thoughts,
plastered upon this page
like ink,
or dark paint.
The contrast is you.
Don't give in. Just know.

Side note: by appetize here, I mean "to effect appeal."
As far as I know, appetize is not a real word.

Anyway, enjoy :)

DEW
ankle deep
I strode
through the memory
through the horror, of waking

up, from the depths of my knowing,
into the realms of my understanding,
conjuring tempests of fear
my heart
wailed in terror
ankles snagging every root
I was snared,
sneering
snapping at the world
hoping I'd find the sense of peace
where your innocence was lost
where your heart bled alone,
in the wildernesses, of time

the crossroad
was empty
but surrounding
were the totems
wolf head, vulture head
rat head, fox head
python head, jaguar head
hanging from their maws
the souls of the dead
and there,
your soul
betwixt the union
our destiny
our annulled embrace
I bore my soul for yours
risked my eternity to be the raft of your own
to be your driftwood
your belly of the whale,
your captain of survival
your eagle o'er head, watching for danger

and yet,
truly you were my savior
how your kiss was never on my lips
but in my heart
in my thoughts you loved me like no other
strode me as a victor
winning my honor with your passions
tempting me with dreams of moons
where honey flows thick as melon dew
cream of the gourd,
pouring into your womb, your sacred desires
your arid climes of keeping
burrowing into your hollow trunk
into your belly, nourishing your will to hold me
to tame my fears of abandon
and trust my every touch,
running down your cheek with a feather's grace
my finger tracing the goosebumps you can't hide
the embarrassment of pleasures simple
yet overwhelming
gentle... yet deep

I touch you in my heart as a promise
a lover's wish that you live eternally
that we may meet in paradise
for, in this life, I never knew you
never held you

I will never
make love to you,
but,
I've filled your immotal womb with my doweries
storing every day we'd spend together
in a perfect life,
where, if we'd only saved each other,
from the monsoon
that swelled in the cascade,
the tearfall,
of the knowing
that we never said,

"I do."
I wrote this with a woman in mind.

Someone who has been one of the few women I've admired in my life whose personal glow, seductive charm, ****** allure, artistic spirit, and celebratory persona has captivated me repetitively, although I only know her as a model and acquaintance, not a close friend.

With my health as it's been for so long, and my sociability being at an all-time love, I've been single for the past 14 years and celibate for the past 5 years.

Being a fan of women only, who provide their services as purveyors of digital, ****** indulgences, has been my only means of keeping to myself and not suffering the ache of venturing to sail the seas of dating that have, truly in my time, convinced me never end well and never shall as I'm decidedly, and experientially, undatable.

I've come to a point of acceptance on the matter, and to no longer feel shame that I'm definitively incompatible with most if not all partners past, present, and future.

The most pressing reasons are firstly my financial and vocational spirits, talents, opportunities, and experiences, that are virtually impossible to pursue nor entertain any longer in my life as I have had it with persisting either as an artist or as a 9-to-5 employee of any business or institution; secondly, I am, sad to say, wholly committed to being euthanized, but cannot afford it, and it is regardless illegal in most territories in the United States, except under the strictest conditions of physical ailments that are terminal, which is ethical, and a surefire safeguard against medical malpractices, but not realistic for people like me whom, I believe, have legitimate concerns of wellbeing, quality of life, and ultimately, are sufferers of having no will to live to sustain ourselves and consciously bear the passage of life.

Like Frodo Baggins, in the Lord of the Rings, I feel that call and that pull to be away from life. To travel away. But there is not "traveling away" from life.
There is bearing its passage until death. And so, I see not other means of existing but bearing out however I may survive until my mortal coil expires.

So, in my deepest of heavens, where I sustain my wills to romance in my mind, heart, and soul, the woman to whom I dedicate this poem is someone of a true inspiration to me, and one of two whom I've written poems for, of this like, which can be found on this site.

I have no sense in me of ever truly wishing to be with this woman.
Her life is complicated, and far from my relativistic reality of experiences.
I doubt we could ever see eye-to-eye or get along long-term.
I wish that were not the case. Regardless, I hold her in high regard as somewhat of a light to me. Someone who lit a fire in my soul that never quenches, and never fails to illuminate my mind with the breath of love, romance, inspiration, courage, and peace.

Yet, this same woman is also someone through whom I've seen, felt, and feared the deepest terrors, visions, and heartaches of unrequited, forbidden, doomed, self-destructive, and tragic love made manifest in our unity.

I know not if that is true, or if it is truly, rather, my sense of living a nightmare, separate from her and my pining, that tinges my experience of her with dread because I am an inferior man, truly, in the face of any kind of meeting with her, and I'm terrified, not only being lesser than her in stature, experience, maturity, and having established a survivability in this world, but I also fear how free, and dangerous, she is, and that danger, that freedom, is something I would never afford myself the love of.

I could never love someone that free and dangerous because love doesn't survive in those stressful climates borne in her promiscuous lifestyles of heart, body, and mind. I could never imagine marrying her, having children with her, living together with fidelity and honor, and truly making every effort to value each other with the eternal heart of God as our footing in our time together.

And so, truly, I see myself wounded in finding my heart so willing to be open to her, but to closed to the experience of what I imagine is certain, undeniable, and fatal pain that would end our union as powerfully as it could ever have begun were it to have become a union made real.

Despite all the omens in my purview, eclipsed by all the potential holy revelations of love beyond imagining with her, I see her as an elixir of beauty, forging ever anew in my heart every day I wake and think of her - someone I don't know and haven't spoken to in over a year, but still treasure in my heart in a way she could never understand or know.

Several months ago, she moved to a city nearby, and in the passage of her arrival, an earthquake happened on the eastern seaboard spanning from her city across to mine.

She truly is someone who rocked my world, but I don't know whether she bodes well for me, or is the source of harsh, perishing, and punishing lessons for me to wake up and learn that love is not a dream for common men, it is a war for the hearts of lovers that cannot be waged without the sums, strengths, tethers, measures, and weights of power, wisdom, and truth worthy of defending that love, be that love holy, and Of God.

Regardless, I pray she remains well. And she is always in my heart, but going forward, perhaps more in my prayers. She is an angel to me, but in the sense of being an evoker of passions, not of faith and fidelity, which is where I find my boundaries and safeguard planted, fortifying me for when she is someone of a heart, mind, and soul alike to mine.

As always, enjoy...

DEW
420 · Mar 2016
Adam & Eve...
A wondrous identity we have,
a careless fruition of passion,
a seamless suit of seduction:
we wear it when we go out.
Of all our enemies,
hate loves us the most,
Because everyone's jealous...
Their eyes tear us apart.
But,
our love fuses us,
like elements.
People have dreams
of perfection...
they're dreaming of us:
of her hair over my head,
like a curtain,
hiding sunbursting kisses,
that would blind them
if seen.
Her back arching,
cascading,
beads of sweat like,
a waterfall of pearls,
off a diamond cliff.
Yes, they dream of us,
and now,
so do you.
Yowza!

Got your chest swelling with desire, eh?

Enjoy! :)
404 · May 2016
As Breath does Breathe...
The scholars do stumble,
the sinners do mumble,
the God-folk humbled,
all in sight of God.

He walks with language,
he talks with umbrage,
for those who can't gauge,
the cure of his truth.

I tell you here,
faith is easy.
It is a decision to leave
man behind
in the dust from which
he came.
To walk forward
with God
into the light from which
he came.

Faith is easy;
as easy as sight does see;
as easy as touch does feel;
as easy as thought does think;
as easy as smell does smell;
as easy as taste does tell;
as easy as breath does breathe;
faith is as one does believe.

When one acts by faith,
You are as Christ does live.
401 · Dec 2016
She Was No Illusion...
As peacefully dying as the setting sun,
was our time together.

We did not long
to be apart or together,
but we drifted
and
kissed a farewell across
the ocean between.

It is on this day
that I
find ocean: guilty
It is not on looking back
but on looking forward that I say
dear lover that I never knew
I regret now loving you.

What does it say of the empty album
What does it say of seeds never planted
What does it whisper of happiness untold?
Nothing,
for fantasy cannot break the sorrow
of this moment.

It is the heavy pining that I gnaw at
like some lonely ******.
It's no **** that I build,
but a raft,
for I refuse to be an island.
Better to drift with the school,
learn common sense,
and remember not to throw away
new shoes.
But I remember...
running barefoot led me to
you.

In the quiet night,
borne on evening wind,
her dress flutters, speaking beauty.
In the stillness of my curiosity,
I pace over to her,
I whisper,
"She was no illusion. Liberty."

"What was she?" she breathes

With outstretched palm,
"Take my hand and we'll find her..."

She smiles,
she shakes her head,
"That's not how it works..."

My brow furrows,
doubt weighs on my hanging lip.

She dashes off, running wild and
free.

I give chase, laughing with glee,
for liberty does not run without me.
I came up with that line toward the beginning, "Dear lover I never knew, I regret now loving you," while washing dishes (not the first time that happened, LOL!) and, as usual, I had to write a little story around it.

I think this time though, I leave it up to you as to what the meaning is. It's too fresh for me to speak about what it means to me, because, I think, this poem came from a place I haven't paid much attention to recently.

Anyway, enjoy!

DEW
401 · Dec 2015
Poetry In Scene...
You had set a date and you’re 10 minutes late.
You feel guilty, because you don’t have a reason for it.

You’d rushed in, head down, embarrassed and hot with frustration, only to realize your date isn’t there and she had no idea you were the one so close to being a fool.

You check your phone and realize she'd sent you a message about how she’d been busy, and would arrive about 17 minutes later than expected.
She apologizes, but really you thank her for the inconvenience.

The food had been set ahead of time. A three course meal at a restaurant you’re not familiar with. However, new soup comes steaming out. A meal for two.
You start on your own.
17 minutes late turns into 23 minutes after you’ve arrived, a total of 33 minutes; you feel alone, her soup is sitting there excavating cold with each passing moment. The soup is delicious: you think, and it warms you to know that at least something is right with the world.

Your hesitation in texting her mirrors your shame.
Of course she's not coming, women from photos like hers don't walk into lives like yours...

It isn’t too long after you’re done with the soup that your date comes in.

She’s beautiful beyond expectation.

Everything fantastic about life can describe her, and to you, again, nothing in existence can explain how perfect she is in this moment.
Like a drowning man in an endless ocean, you can’t help but reach out to her with every inch of your soul.

Biting her lip, she looks into your eyes, lost, until the tip of her soul touches yours.

You witness her red-lipped smile like a red rose bloomed.

You smile with grandeur, because it’s the only reflex that reflects your hopes fulfilled.

You stand up and ready her chair for her.

SCENE
I'm having a lot of fun uncovering my old writings (editing permitted, of course).
I had a powerful vision, and I still do, but my yearning for romance used to be stronger... I'll have to prime that passion once again over the coming years.

I hope that you like, nay, that you "love" this scene and what it speaks of love at first sight.
Our senses are heightened by disappointment and fear and then suddenly, our desires are sated by a person who fulfills the most taxing of our greatest needs.

Without food you die, but without love, you still die.
You die in a way that makes death seem insignificant.

I hope that you find love.

I hope that it is the kind of love where 1+1=3 (or more)

Without that you will never know peace.
400 · Jul 2016
Letting Go...
Sometimes, when I let go of you, I fall.
I fall into a wood chipper and cry sawdust.
I fall into ******* and bleed lust.
I fall into gold chocolate and I eat rust.
Nothing's more painful than letting go of the truth.

Sometimes, when I leave you behind, I forget things.
I think the touch of your skin is like slug slime.
I think of your voice like a broken nursery rhyme.
I think these wounds will all heal in time, in time.
Nothing's more regretful than being human; losing youth.

Sometimes, when I drown with you, I'm good at math.
Factor in all the times you made me lose the path.
Divided by the times I boldly faced your wrath.
Multiplied by that time I quit you cold turkey.
Nothing equals: why do I even love you after all?

Sometimes, when I dream of you, the other stars fade.
The secret to loving you explains how the universe was made.
The sun and the moon make love, eclipsed nightmares evade.
Venus and Mars make pillow-talk a banquet of bliss.
Our signs aren't compatible, but why trust the zodiac?

Sometimes, when we fight, there's a silver lining.
I mine for it and melt it down, polish it and wear it.
I'd never sell it, but I would brag about it.
I'd never forge one, but I caught you faking it.
Conduct a survey of my affections and find it unanimous.

Sometimes, when it's over, it's just beginning.
I see you on the horizon of dawn escaping the wake of sunset.
I hear you playing the harp of loneliness in a crowded cacophonous room.
I taste you weeping as your new love docks in from an ocean voyage.
Nothing's more dissolving than the nature of your serpentine carousel.

In short, never have I ever never gone a day without thinking of you,
Without wandering the wastelands wondering when I'll next see you,
Without my heart aching under the heartbreaking realization that you,
The edifice of my pining, are exactly who I thought you weren't, you,
Are healing poison, and I'll only drink when I wish to die whilst feeling alive again.
I wrote this last year on July 1st.
It's almost an anniversary of all the craziness I went through with my ex. Strange how I miss her all the more.
Currently, she won't respond to my messages, so... oh, well.

I wrote this in healing from a world of pain, not entirely concerning her, but that healing gave me a moment of clarity, which, given my poetic nature, allowed me to write this poem of which I am very proud.

Enjoy!

DEW
387 · Jan 2016
Conquistador...
Beauty is in the hand of the suitor?

Groom to the wondrous world.

Coupled with harm and guilt,

This man, sheds no tear when blood is spilt,

But what can eyes do, without tears?

What path must he choose in the twilight.



If there be no ground for him to tread,

How should he conquer his foe?

Or rather, how was it done on such notice,

As he is at the cusp of his opportunity,

He has no bounds to break free,

For he sought no greater challenge to overcome.



Drumming his fingers on the scalp of The Impossible;

Scribbling the name on the skull of his last nemesis,

He bows to no sun and he howls to no moon,

Soon he will realize that he is to bow to no man.

He is neither beast nor god, neither is he spirit.



He can never realize what he is, for he loves a woman.

She keeps him tethered to this world.

She cries for all the blood that he has spilt.

She nurses his conquered, and she holds his soul.

It is the pain that he never feels, that she bears,

Which spurns her to love him and him to love her.



He has found mercy in his realm of bloodshed,

Under the loving embrace of mercy,

He realizes he is a man, for he has hope.

He could not find mercy if he were not a man,

For it is the nature of man to find mercy.

That is to say, he that does not find mercy;

Is no man.



In that moment, weakness is perceived.

Enemies conspire and in their unrest,

Tirelessly proceed to assume control of his might.

They steal her away and spill her blood in lust.

Disemboweling all in the world that he loves.

For power twists the mind; inflames the soul.



However they know not what they have done.

When they killed the woman they killed mercy,

Attempting to injure the man,

But he was no man, and when they killed mercy,

The monster no longer felt concern for the innocent.

No more were mercy's tears present to quell his rage.



The palace crumbles in a shower of glittering red.

Blood, jewels and fire careening forth across the land.

His wrath unopposable, and his defiance of life absolute.

Nothing of worth remained in the wake of his destruction.

He wouldn't stop at nothing until nothing remained.



Concurrently upon the last day,

Under the last sunrise,

Before the last rays of light,

In the last seconds leading up to the last moment,

One question remained giving him enough pause,

To cause the inevitability of existence persistence,

For no man is greater than the inevitable

And no man hath the power enough to end the world,

By any measure of his importance or abandon.

He faced the only question he could never answer.

"What am I?"
Another ruby from my vault of treasures.

I need to build up the momentum that I had gained before I wrote this.
In other words, something stopped me along the way to now. I won't explain, what, but pray it never happens to you.

Regardless, being in a much better place, I feel capable of writing poems like this once again. It will take some time, maybe years, but I'll reach that point where the "effortless" grasp on my skill will be as if one wields a sword with one's tongue and a shield with one's breath.

Time will only tell if I can surpass my old bounds, but I believe it's more than possible.

I probably won't even notice when it happens, because I'll be too busy writing until my fingers disintegrate on my keyboard like a worn out eraser with my fingers flashing like spider legs (lovely imagery there, haha!).

I hope you enjoyed this as much as I did when rediscovering it.

Take care :)
383 · Aug 2016
Derision's Collisions...
Solemn hands, led by somber mind, raise the instrument of silence, putting it to sober lips, and softly the silence reigns, but soon abates.

Poor hands lower the instrument as gentry waits.

Rich feet tread upon buoyant ground, an island out in a storm, awaiting judgment.

Forces fail to ****** the veil from feeble foes between the toes of giants tall and giants small that fall from forty-five hundred miles above, fists rattling, jaws chattering, buried in the collision.

Perhaps nails are this way when they affix me.

However, I quickly pry myself away from the cruel, cruel day. Singing lost languages, listening languidly, plying myself candidly through clear and cloudy skies, alike.

Journeys over just lands, burning in my dust-hands are strands and strands of whiskers, plucked from lions’ maws to build an antenna.
My hands shape a needle weaving itself into the sky.

Yet, the collision of derision upon my mind will affix me to my madness, and there is no escape from a box that I have been told to call humanity.
I'm not sure when I started writing this. Possibly late last year or early this year. Regardless, I finished it today once I found it in my Facebook notes.

It's a weird one, but it's meant to be.

Enjoy!

DEW
381 · Sep 2024
Adoration Unfettered...
...gentle breezes
tickled
the goosepimples
of breathy lovers,
caressing
their love-slick bodies

oil
of romance
dripped,
sizzling
'pon the ground
of their windswept haven

their sighs
matched the melodies
the hollow sighs
of our earth's lungs

for they
the lovers budding life
were the energy
sustaining
love...
Something to rouse the auspiciousness, the hopeful serenity, the gay serendipity of love found, and love whose losses are never feared, but embraced, and given breath to become the clearing for love planted anew, watered fresh, and grown again with purpose, praise, and peace...

As always, enjoy!

DEW
summer to summer
year to year
moment upon moment, I remember you
unveiling the open secrets of your heart
like leaves upon a tree
cascading upon me
in the fall
I read you
your tongue wrote my sorrows
my pains you kissed with pleasures untold
within your realms of beauty
I basked
and I forgot myself
forgot the aches of time and temper
how hot the summers had become
how dry they became with no lover to bear
but you
you were more than lover to me

pure... inspiration

a forbidden flower, nested
'pon yonder peak, in meadow's midst
treacherous though the journey
in my mind, the ease was paltry
for we met on bridges between us
in visions of grandeur
visions beyond vision
where your flesh was as my flesh
for when I caressed myself, I felt you
your hand was my hand
and your words were my night song
and your grace was my quilt
in the terror of being alone
you covered my nakedness
my fear of a life lived alone, dying alone
you wed me with wonders of

what if

and I paced at the doorstep of desire
bouquet of dreams in hand
before me, as though a fencer
but no walls between myself and thine
and though my thorns may *****
and my beauty be that of a man
a woman's touch I'd unsheath in greeting you
to profess knowing you as you
so deliciously
know yourself
to touch you as if you wert my teacher
and tame you as a man tempers his heart,
should he dare
trust a woman with his soul
and yet

these are naught but fancies,
my dear

naught but frightful desires
unkempt
off the shelf of the gorge between us

still

were I more than I am
I would guard these artful mementos
of heartfelt wanting
as a promise to you
despite your
forlorn embrace

and in the moment of meeting
we would speak these words together
because you'd always have known my thoughts
how could you not,
since you are
the woman
of my dreams...
I always a step behind putting anything into action, in this time of my life.
I'm always feeling, or rather, knowing that I am inadequate.

And the only comfort I have of late is to have no quarrel with that fact.
To not fight being less than capable.

As I've experienced, in wanting love, I always and welcomed, but have never been kept. I've always been ill-equipped.

We men can complain about not having enough money, the right haircut and fashion sense, the right "rizz" (it's a dictionary word now, good God, we are poor in spirit!), the right height, the perfect car, the perfect home to host our counterparts, the right cologne, the right timing, the right smile, the right sensitive, but meaning, touch...

And yet, in my estimation, more than not being Mr. Right, I've experienced not being who 'I' want to, and need to, be. I've searched within myself, in the times when I was lucky enough to meet a woman who would share more than conversation with me, that without my own heart being truly open to letting go of all my doubts, my struggles, my stubbornness, and my ever-present temptations for 'more', I believe I would have more than settled by now.

And, of course, I've seen that same heart not only fail in love, but in the grand scheme of life. I've seen myself crushed by the weight of mere existential questions, let alone true, nightmarish challenges in human affairs.

So, this poem was, in essence, a demonstration of how simple desire can be, but how complex the mission to close that gap between desire and true love is.

I've often been ireful with the phrase:
"All is fair in love and war."

Yet, if there's one matter that I can assert is integral to love, as it is to war, it is that one cannot love unprepared. One must be READY to love. Just the same that if one must war, one cannot war unprepared.

I can imagine that the greatest trick an enemy could pull upon a person is to introduce one to one's soul mate either too early, or at the word time in one's life, despite the prepared circumstances and dispositions.

Given the way life can lead us around and away from that which is meant for us, one could spend another decade looking for love before coming across one's soul mate again in, hopefully, fairer climes.

With all that said, I pray you all have what it takes to work for love beyond what I've been capable of.

I see myself as not being all that interested because, despite my wishes, I am behind far too much work in life to afford being interested in by degrees of genuine effort that can even begin to match my interests.

As always,
enjoy!



DEW
373 · Mar 2019
Dreams Made Flesh...
No more a whisper
Such were the demands
Demands levied upon fields of dreams
Fantasies sowed into the field season o'er season
Crops rising bone dry and thirsty for verity
Babes who would never know milk
Carrion who would never know decay
Work that would never know pay
Such were these dreams!
Slave to the whims of whimsy
Tossed o'er a deranged sea, churned
Nay
Spurned by the ****** that cackle in the depths,
Twirling their hands as would a maestro
and the dreams dance by these strings
Reigns upon the centaur
Thought himself more man than beast
but his master proves him wrong
throttles his dreams like so many tragic ****** and still...
And still!
He dreams.
But the dreams begin to seep a saucy essence
The stuff of childbirths and ****** victories upon the battlefield
Both an emerging of brilliance and an escape of nightmare
Both a wailing cry and a roaring scream
And the scaffolding clinks and clanks around the wispy form of the dream
And it clinks and clunks its way up, providing the mold for new dawn.
The prophet, who is both midwife and sycophant, utters a chorus of impassioned voices singing to the ends of the universe,
while the dream bulges and creaks against the form of the mold.
The scaffolding breaks in an uproar of so many eggshell fragments, blasting forth like shrapnel
And the veil of ignorance is pierced by this awakening.
And a hush falls upon the world in a tremor of silence
And the ache is felt in the effort of producing a single thought
For all is absent in the wake of this dream made flesh...
"She is here,"
The paragons of ages announce,
"And she will command your pleasures until your pains are destitute... and you shall live no more, for what is life without pain."
Inspiration is such a funny thing.
Sometimes muses come thundering down and zap the mind with wonders beyond comprehension.
Thank God for such muses :)

Enjoy!

DEW
371 · Jan 2016
Staring into Hope...
Keep staring my love.
Stare until you bore a hole into me.
Stare until you can see my insides and question my diet.
Stare until you watch me being born and dying.
When the echoes of our arguments fade.
Stare a little longer.
Stare until bittersweet becomes only bitter,
And when my walk towards you,
Pushes you away...
When you stare into madness,
Will you also see hope?

...

Maybe then you'll come back to me.
Because the hope you saw was my love,
Drying your tears.
Life is very strange...

So strange that insanity actually only makes life less strange (you know that to be true).
So strange that being a simple person (not a genius) leaves one feeling more satisfied.
So strange that the more satisfied with little you are, the happier you'll be with having more, yet we live in a world where those with more have such "power" over those who have less that if you are ever to feel satisfied, it means you have broken free of the charade (which means it was an illusion of "power" in the first place).

Power = a human hierarchy of the worship of greed.

These things tell you that life is about momentum, sacrifice and simplicity.
Yet, when you have mastered life, what you really learn is that life is about control.
Not the overbearing "I am the President" sort of the control, but the "I can play any song ever created for this guitar" kind of control.

"Mastery"
Master our emotions, our talents, our money, our bodies.

Education is the gateway to life.
It's time that we took a more futuristic approach to it.

#love #hope #relationships #lessons #madness #tears #education #life
369 · May 2017
Unless You Shine for Me...
And were it not for the sun
would there be dream?
Would cloud cry upon the day?
I would find, you and I, slavishly cuddled ‘round dragon breath
and every sight would be for sore eyes, lest they be blind.
Every man would be a beggar.
Children cackle in the dark.
Women, free of childbirth, are instead consumed by the world.
Without the sun there is no age.
We are what we haven’t chosen to be.
This is what I see when you’re not with me.
Emptiness separating reality from understanding.
And I call to you.
And I call to you.
And I scream for you!
And I boil alive in the broth, my own anger...
Whatever I can cook up to feed the hunger that you inspire.
But
a peace shatters the storm.
A shaft of light jousts the gloom like heavenly charioteer.
What else could it be?
It is you, so long as you shine for me.
I should be writing more often, but this will do for now.

Enjoy :)

DEW
369 · Oct 2016
Bliss has a Face...
If I could ever see,
a woman that personifies,
the symphony of this bliss,
I would cry,
and feel no shame from it.

If she spoke,
with the restraint-ed passion and grace
in the tune of my emotion;
I dare say I would be lulled into a dream,
the romance of which,
I could never hope to realistically pursue...
This is actually from a facebook post that I wrote 6 or so years ago about the humanity and beauty of femininity in relation to a piece of music I heard called "Arabesque #1" by Claude Debussy.
I'm a sucker for passionate, yet gentle, piano music and that song fits the bill eternally, with scarce a rival.
I edited the post (some of the subject matter) to fit a more poetic and personal theme.

Here's a Youtube link to the song with an amazing visual cue.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A6s49OKp6aE
Share in the bliss :)

Enjoy!

DEW
364 · Apr 2016
On A Day Of Mourning...
Temptation fled
will to dance gone
flat on a bed
from dusk to dawn.

Death can be cruel...
What do we know?
They just disappear
no idea where they go.

Yet, uncle has this effect on me...
He's not here, but this sting must be he!

Mother said, be quiet! don't tap your feet!
She can't hear this melody sounding sweet...
No dancing today, I'll be a statue.
I won't move, like I ran out of glue.

Procession was long, I couldn't see past
Heads of the elders, relics of the past.
It's not raining, but their faces are wet.
Him, her, her, I know, the rest I forget.

Now at the grave, we all say our farewell.
Look at my feet, they're beginning to yell!
Uncle wouldn't want me glued to still,
he would want me tapping, flexing my will.
I'll show them, and I'll never let them stop,
my mourning dance, or my weak heart will pop!

Jump into the rhythm, steadily go,
my movements with him, I want him to know
that he was special, and I'll tap away
today, tomorrow, tomorrow, today.

You get down from there now! My mother does shriek.
Is this how you treasure moments so meek?
I couldn't hear her, and I couldn't know
how over-the-line innocence can go.
I danced for the heavens, uncle will see,
he's playing a song for me and my feet.

Someone took me down, mother boxed my ears.
The day that followed answered all my fears.

Now I don't dance on a day of mourning.
Being old, I understand the warning
but my daughters sing when we lose a kin
an idea can break you, or let you win.
I hope you all enjoy this one! :)

DEW
that you were
the light
the dark of the truth
the hidden of the known
the fire in the blades
of dew
glimmering
in dawn's alighting
that hope would herald you
as rings in my oaken smile
as rings in my oaken tongue
that I speak you from wisdom
that I drink you from death
for death knew not
your purchase
and I knew not
your loss
for your light was my mote
of surrender to peace
for within, I have been burgeoning
the passions I cultivate due your return
where you wallow in the pools
of my tear full palm's embrace
seeking forgiveness's I cannot part to you
though I love you, your sin is true
but I favor you as my greatest lover
for my sin would be to abandon you
what prices have never been paid to conquer love
that I would submit myself to forfeit by folly
I would surrender myself to pandemonium
before forbidding myself the task
and into the frays of madness
into the braying maw of sin itself, I've gone
to conquer your heart with gladness
that surely,
through God's grace,
our Love is Won...
Hallelujah, for I believe I've finally found my first soul mate again
where she was once surrendered to darkness and sin
I have been a fisher of men many times
that I have
perhaps
become a fisher of love hence,
such that many women are my soulwives
and I have been enumerated in faith
to become the God of Love in truth
such that I pray I never surender
to the ignorance, scorn, and pity
of any nebulous doubter
who has never been tested by the devil, Lucifer himself,
to remain faithful to love,
despite the torments of a truly wicked woman
though she be Love herself also,
so I bless God Almighty, Yahweh, my Father,
and Asherah Herself, my Mother,
and thank them profusely
that I was raised in love so truthfully
that my first love,
and my lovers thereafter
shall never been without love
so long as they exist
I will be their greatest prize
and the price of their eternal bliss
in the comfort of heaven itself...
357 · Jun 2016
The Great Exchange...
Two phoenix feathers.
They lounge about a bar:
the man a ravenous flirt;
the woman arranging skirt.

She looks up to barely notice
The man's poultice of charm.

Alarmed she couldn't be
A strang-ed warmth in the knee
Her straw mind lit with glee
for the stallion to consume.

What of the body dear swan?
The man looks away to yawn.
Her desire becomes an agony:
fire building like dragon's breath.

Indeed, she pants for more...
Phoenix feathers burning galore!
Another look and she melts,
such bewitching spans veldts.

He looks away again, he's mixed.
She wonders if she's been tricked.
Indeed, from shadows another slinks.
Let us depart "adult" hi-jinx.
A cynical view of ****** desire.
To be honest, half the world's problems are persistent, because there are people who incorrectly orient their behaviors, motives and desires, plus: there's a hierarchy of social worth which we can't seem to avoid. Seem to.

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this!

DEW
352 · Jul 2016
Blinded to the Life...
Betrayal, is like the mole in the pasture.
You thought you knew all about it,
when it popped its head up,
but god knows what it does underground...

Sooner or later, you find out, the mole was blind all along.
Didn't even really know you were there.

So how do you trust a friend who has no eyes to see.
How do you trust the uncertain problem solver, the maverick.
How do you trust the truth of Lady Justice, herself,
Sheathed in ragged, blood-stained cloth of the innocent.

Maybe the real question is, how do we trust ourselves?
Aren't we blind, when we live half our lives in darkness.
Still further, we live most of life in sleep,
Where our dreams are luxurious secrets, even to ourselves.

No one speaks of their lofty dreams, they stay perched in limbo.
To speak endlessly, until not spoken to, if only life were so simple...
This is a poem I wrote today, just 6 years ago (2010).
I'd often be inspired by reading about people.
Social activity got my mind going. There was always more to write as long as I was alive. I hope I still am ;)

Enjoy!

DEW
350 · Feb 2016
The Dreams We Share...
We are of the sea, she and I.
Like the oyster and the pearl,
She is the mother of our passion.
Goddess of the tumultuous ocean.
I can taste the salt on her skin.
Remnants from the pearls of sweat,
That bubbled from her vista.

I imagine she is a mermaid;
Her tail threshing,
Her hair, tentacles in the current.
Her body, glistening reflections of the sky.
Smooth skin, under my furling tongue,
The delicate scales on her skin,
Balancing the fervent desires I withhold.

Only a moment too late,
The fire dies, but again,
We’re swept away in a wave of emotion
That sends us careening towards,
Another plateau of ecstasy.
Once again, a tide of change,
Carries us, to a world anew.

We are of another world she and I.
We speak of the masks we play in life.
Like the lunar seasons, crescent and full.
How malleable our voices are, from day to day.
Yet we speak the same language.
No alien words do we trade,
When our tongues meet on battleground.

All is fair here, where love and war take flight.
Where sounds ne'er carry into the night,
Orbiting the earth at the whim of lust.
Our hands trade a different sort of trust,
When gestures are the only words we know.
We see the canvas of the earth.
The colors that personify life in full bloom.

We can paint the world in our image.
Clouds will spiral into tender lips,
And kiss the winds across the heavens.
The fields of the earth, shall burst forth,
Bouquets of flowers,
As peace shall be wed with humanity.
These are the dreams we share; she and I.
I wrote this back in September of 2010.

This came hot off the heels of my college romance that ended on civil terms, but lit a corrosive fire in my heart that took years to diminish.

I really loved her. Every thought was beholden to her in the wake of the relationship, even into the next year.
It's a shame. That's all.
349 · Aug 2016
Denial...
I don't want you.

I don't want your love born sweat to conquer my onyx tower,
It crumbles still, because I shake from a withdrawal,
Caused not by intimacy, but by the mere fantasy of you.

I don't want you.

I don't want your sickly sweet hive juice, oh Queen of sweet nothings,
But a pestiferous hunger felt by I and every other before me,
Allows us to follow you just by scent, twenty eight days after hearing you.
And we shuffle still to the tune of your voice, collecting the pollen,
We find ourselves selling our bodies to you without hindrance,
And we commune in the afterlife singing your praises,
For only heaven compares, but we still linger in your presence.

I don't want you.

I don't want these tears I shed to convince you that I'm weak,
But my heart is already broken and in the healing that you administer,
It breaks again, because your touch is so gentle,
The ecstasy hits like a hammer, and I writhe in silent ******,
Only knowing that this will end, but holding onto the feeling still,
As if it is the only thing keeping me afloat in the monsoon of life.

I might want you.

I've written eight thousand sonnets and every one is about you,
But every one is different, because I appreciate how complex you are,
And I'm driven mad by the love you claim to be capable of,
The shadow of it tames me and I lose my will to fight you.

I don't want you.

Fear grips my heart in the dissonance of your desire and my worry,
And the drumming of ancient rituals berates my consternation,
A ritual I see as forbidden is nonetheless more alluring,
And I claw at my cage, wondering when I can let,
This hunger be sated, let the rabbit run free.

I don't want you.

So close to breaking the hermetically sealed barrier,
So close to losing all recognition of moral oversight,
So close to breaking down the walls that coddle,
So close, so close, so close, to ultimate sin.

I want you.

Suddenly a weight shifts and the fall is too fast to feel.

I want you.

Like light banishing darkness my pearl is let loose,
And the line that was drawn cannot be real.

I want you.

And I'm proud of that, even though God will strike me down,
But someone told me that rules are meant to be broken,
I understand now that you are the candy,
That my mother told me would cause cavities,
But if I don't eat the candy,
If I don't have the cavities,
Someone after me will never hear my story.
They will do the same.
If I don't break this rule,
Someone else will pay the price.

I am your cautionary tale.
This night of passion will make that certain.
This is a poem that I wrote on August 27th, 2015.
I decided to share it ahead of the date, since I like it so much and it received a lot of great comments on Facebook.

I hope you enjoy!

DEW
Lo,
they hailed him
sweet in the fervor
trumpets murmur
triumph's pleasure
at
last
he said
the day is done
and judgment falls
upon the crown
that bore the sin
that bore their sin
that bore our sin
and cast it within
into the depths
of the hungry well
to drown in hell
to drown in hell
the sins they went
ne'er to return
and shut the well
amen,
the well

Lo,
they bid him molten praise
cast iron for his head
a new crown to wed
a new crown instead
for sin was cast away
into the well
into its hell
for sin is the devil
who tried and was not true
whose face was blue with envy
whose pride was green with shame,
and sin did waltz inside
like a prideful man to the gallows
for he takes his death with gladness
for his toils shall be put to rest
for his evils shall ne'er live again,
into the well, as well...
into its hell, do tell.

I saw the sins of man
become a squawking heron,
that claimed the bounds of heaven
and swallowed its own hubris instead
for heaven's beauty was a gift
so humbling
such bliss
the heron blazed with hellfire
and the hellfire was no more,
for there
a sun had shone
as if it never left
but the well did not know the sun,
and hell did not as well,
the sins and gallows hence
married their supper of crows
for carrion were they to themselves
manifold in its selfsame misery,
for misery sates misery,
and wrath sates wrath,
and pride sates pride,
and envy sates envy,
and lust sates lust,
and gluttony sates gluttony,
and greed sates greed,
but nothing sates the sun,
nothing sates the sun,
for the sun is sated of Himself,
for He eats of his own being,
to create for all creation,
infinitely into infinity,
the infinity of the sun,
for the sun is pure, and potent,
the sun is light, and grace,
the sun is mercy, and love,
the sun is forgiveness, and truth,
and these are the gifts of the sun to all.

These are the gifts of God by the sun.
And may it shine forever.
May the sun bless us all.
Nuff said...
Amen

Stay tuned for the sequel that "mayhaps" comes,
"Laundry Day." ;)
342 · May 2016
Sunrise...
On the shore,
the fire cracks and fizzles;
my yawn pauses the world
after which,
I realize my significance...
because before me rising
higher, the crack of dawn,
like an egg splitting open,
gives birth to a new life
within me.
In that moment, there isn't
a single rebuttal that I have
against standing up and
walking without hindrance
down the shore, with no
destination, except to know
the world in its full glory.
Because once I knew myself
and all my capabilities,
I had to know what made
all that I am, possible.
No rhyme, plays on words, lyricism, hidden meanings and persistent symbolism as is typical of my poetry, but this one is just about all the possibilities one transcending moment can bring, and, when you know moments like that, you realize there is no way to communicate it other than to say, "I had awoken."
341 · Oct 2016
Action has Consequence...
13th October, 2016
To all this will concern:

I sit alone.
I just sit.

When I breathe, I try not to stir the air
and make sails out of cobwebs.
When I breathe, I urge my chest
not to furrow my shirt.
When I breathe, I almost die
so that I'm barely breathing.
For who should want my breath
to be more than a whimper?

If I breathe,
butterflies can take the day off,
for my breaths will churn hurricanes.
They'll cause wars in the far reaches of the universe.
They'll make God sneeze.
"Oh, I'm sorry... bad breath."

If I breathe,
I'll be presumed alive.
I'll have to work.
I'll work for big tobacco,
or BP
or the mafia: whichever one.
My ecological footprint will be the bodies
of your loved ones.
I'll do this because, if I work at the grocery store,
who knows when I'll sell food to the local
serial killer.
I'll be aiding and abetting the 9 to 5 of Freddy down Elm street!
Who wants that?

No, no. Yes, I'm right, it's better this way.
And if you push me.
If you so much as touch me.
Millions, perhaps billions, of infinitesimally small parasites will swarm your body. You'll sneeze.
"I'm sorry. I haven't showered for thirty days because: the oceans, you know?"

Action has consequence and, after so many years of trying not to be a burden and, somehow, still being a bigger burden, I'm convinced its time to go.

I've decided to be a sack of compost... Grade A compost.
I'll mail myself to a respectable farm (non-GMO mind you).
I'll pray to all the gods and living, semi-living & unconscious entities beforehand to straighten things out that I'm signing up with Jesus: nothing personal, I just don't think the rest of you have good benefits (you have to be cordial. After all, I'm going to be something important one day. Grade A compost isn't cheap.)

The last step was to write this letter. Digital, of course. Don't want to waste paper mailing this to everyone. Yes, I'm not stupid. I paid all the different energy companies in the world the exact dollar amount per second it would cost someone to read this each time the page is accessed until... well, the end of this website. Have to be practical.

This is a strange suicide letter, I know, but bare with me.

My method of choice.

Well, I don't want to leave a mess, so I'll just wait until I'm dead.

How did you think this was going to end?
I hope you laughed a little.
I didn't intend for this to be funny, but a little ways into it I couldn't help but make myself laugh. My other poem today was too sad so, I guess this had to be the reverse, LOL.

Enjoy!

DEW
340 · Jul 2016
A Spectrum of Jaded Dreams
A soft, northern wind brushes the bristles of my skin, runs the surfaces of my faces, and steadily chills the bones that lie within.

It flows around the contours of thought that bubble and break the surface of motion, of time.

In this dream state, patches of warmth and wet, sunlight and oceans green rise and fall with the breath of my aging body.

Empty and desolate, the eyes of a lover can be... cruel and merciless as death it, weighs upon the arms like a politician's troubling words to his constituency.

Truth is hard to bear when it is birthed twin, with contempt and sin.

The dead lie and the living hide. But each does what the other is purposed to achieve.

So if they each do what the other must, what are they really?

Something else entirely, yet one and the same.
Only the waves of song, crashing against the drums of my psyche, beating me to a calm submission can alleviate the pain of loss.

The pain of want is something that, when destroyed, grows anew, strong, and more violent.

Until satisfied with fire and soapstone, washed away without a moment's notice, the breaking heart will continue to beat for no one can stop passion.

For a moment, love is all that gleans in the rays of life. All these, and all around, slow down to a halt.

The end is when you decide, none of it provides happiness.
The end is when you decide, nothing in life, is worth the blood that was spilt to keep it.

So I wander in a world that makes no sense to the lover unknown, grasping for the essence of something real in the distance. Something I cannot see.
I actually created this by splicing two old facebook notes together, one after the other.

I found them in a document with a drawing of mine that I completed in AP Art; I wish I could have posted that drawing here, hahah.

I really like these words here. They really make me smile at the level of art I aspired to at the time I wrote this.

I hope you're having a great day... enjoy!

DEW
337 · Nov 2016
Like the Roots...
I know that it's twisted,
But, what love isn't
It steadily grows in your mind,
Vines intertwined, each branch is a vessel
To the heart of the blind,
because that's what love is.
Simple, how it complicates
When it breaks,
There's no remedy for how it aches
The mistakes, that you so awkwardly pursue,
Are the branches that lead to the, I love you
Now tell me and listen,
Let the quick sand, quicken
As you drown in the dust
Of what you cooked in the kitchen
You thought it was religion,
When you said your vows,
Like an animal you're stricken
When they, she, takes you down,
Simple, how it aggravates,
When you take,
Your last step.
Hard to believe it when you feel
A back-stab wound,
You're all consumed,
You want to crawl inside,
With the rage that love has blinded,
The truth is harder to take,
Than any magic pill you make,
Any time a simple memory,
Sneaks up to say, 'Hello!'
You're breaking every mirror
To not see your face bellow.
There you go, it's twisted,
But, what hate isn't,
With nowhere to go,
You feel like the convicted.
So you're trapped in a life,
That you don't want to be in.
You'd love to start over,
Just where to begin?
Tears are like, rain on the window of your cell
It's fine when you're here,
No one can hear you yell.
Anything, so long as you forget that smell,
The one that's so good, it's like poison in the well.
You want to drink.
God you know how much it hurts when you do.
Hey, take another sip...
It's not like the memories are through with you.
They're like the torturers
And you're a rat in their cage.
An experiment sometimes; Life.
It can go both ways.
You just never believe in bad fortune,
So why bow to the danger?
In the depth you're so hollow,
Because inside is a stranger.
There they are again,
The tears,
The fears,
The anger,
The stranger,
The hate,
The scientists.
Back again with prodding sticks.
They're in your mind,
And there, they're rooted.
You once grew love like a tree,
But, your world's upside down.
So all you have are the roots.
No... wait, they're thorns.
Like the roots...
This poem (almost a rap) was written on this day, November 4th, all the way back in 2010.
2010 was a big year for me with poetry. I experimented quite a lot. I wrote a few amazing ones. It was also a turbulent year for many reasons, which I won't go into.

However, I had some romantic relationships that year that have defined my life: memories that cling to my consciousness; memories that are awake even when I'm asleep. Such is love.

I hope you enjoy this one :)

DEW
333 · Oct 2016
Abandon the Plea...
Leave pity behind
don't ask for the help
for if you do
there'll be a yelp
and a brand new, gleaming
branded welt

But I did ask
for something new
then came the belt
numbers one and two
Now I've got what I asked for:
my welts and bruises
A slave must ask
A free man chooses

No child may bear
the weight of decision,
but their keeper may strike
if the child is useless
So devil may care
May care for the children
If the parent does not
he'll boil 'em in cauldron.

In youth there was a dream
to find the key
but age has worn it down
so abandon the plea.
Quite a dark one, hahah.
Anyway, I suppose the message is clear.

Enjoy!

DEW
330 · Aug 2016
Your Heart...
I woke bitterly
I'm bruised, evidently
poison stings elegantly
when I think of your face

Nothing can replace
the feeling of the chase
the constriction of desire
the elation of loosening lace
a life of loneliness burning on
the pyre
but when I wake now
all this is as the murky floor
the bed of dreams and irks, a distant
past crammed and burried in the fogotten
Footfalls stir the watery gloom of the
swamp whose surface breaks
only when I sleep and
thrash.

In the distance
a glow, an inviting
innocent thumping so
warm and benign,
I know It's you.

I grasp your heart
a thing whose fist
I thought I knew.
Words as sharp
as fissures of guilt.
A voice as hard
as jails of stone.
I thought I knew
your steadfast
heart, but now
in feeling its
warmth and
sound, I doubt
my anger.

Of course,
I can't be talked down
I won't be convinced of forgiveness
my pride still hangs in rags
my heart still beats like abuse
my throat is still taut from every word I hung on
and, yes, I hung on, while you shook
and shook and shook
until I let go!

I stab your heart
the skies erupt with lightning
my face caught in a mixture
of pain
and delight
and fear
and remorse
a confusion I cannot identify
but will haunt me in every silence

In my twisted glee,
I expect your heart to bleed
to wither
to perish,
but the waters of life flow forth
and I feel
you weeping

My body slackens
I feel disgust wrack my nerves
"How could I?"
but you lay there,
hoping to embrace me
your love still drawing me close
is all I had ever wanted
I kneel, I fold, crying my own nonsense away
you wrap your arms around me.

How is it that only humans,
will love each other more
after going to war?

"It was just a fight..." you whisper in my ear,
"Only I can **** my love for you."
I'm not sure of what inspired me to write this, but I hope it's good.

Enjoy!

DEW
329 · Apr 2017
Edge of the Knife...
I stand on the edge
Why should I care
I'll tip this way or that
and glide in the air
It's all a game of how I can stay
when my feet no longer bleed
cut down to decay
My wounds are the grooves from which
music plays
The knife is the needle;
that's how I behave.

I stand on the edge of a blade
My journey splits me in two.
I forget who I am
each eye's a one-legged man
I want two things at once
Each thing, two things more
I feed the hydra,
carry me, carry me
The thousand-headed-beast
feeds the world.

I dance on the edge of a blade
because there's freedom in my abandon
There's hope in my tragedy
There's life in my dying
but the dying never ends.

My only silver lining
is the blade
of this guillotine... and
my only hope
is this dream within
a nightmare.
I hope you've enjoyed this one and,
are able to reflect on the things I've dug up.

Enjoy!

DEW
328 · Apr 2020
Soft Was The Light...
I wait in tantalizing agony,
skin prickling with lustful heat.
Silent is the night,
absent even of humming wind,
and croaking crickets.
She whispers,
saying the things I've always dreamed.
"Let us lay here
till the end of time
in each other's arms
dining on love
steadfast in wonder
only parting
when Earth is no more
and yet we remain
souls entwined."
The heavens open.
Worlds, once locked away, bear their cosmic fruit.
I transcend the confines of my mortal form,
tasting love like breath to the drowned.
Sunlight cracks the shell of night, peeking over the horizon,
my eyes part as I wake from sleep.
If but a dream of love could stir my soul in slumber,
what can love true do to a man's endless hunger?
I love it when poems like this come to me.
It's been a while since I felt so impassioned as to write something like this.
My poetry writing times come in seasons.
Could this be a portent of a season soon to flood its way into my life?
We shall see.

Enjoy!

-DEW
327 · Jul 2020
Portrait of the Devil...
It is not paint that his lifeless creature wears.
It is the make-up smears that animate its features.
It scares me not consciously, but with a deep sticky dread
hiding in the shadows of my mind.
Its face parades in color and shade, in light and dark,
but I know its face to be hollow.
I know its fingers to be as the roots of a tree
that feed on you at the slightest touch
and you dare not let it ***** you
love you
or all you will know is hate.
It withers down the soul of a man
so that he will never love a woman;
she will appear to be a siren
and he will run in shame from his flaccid courage.
It disembowels the soul of a woman
until she thinks her entrails more impressive
than any pecker;
she stumbles around like a blunt fork
never holding on to what she needs.
It enrages the soul of a lover
until he cannot bear to witness love endure without a scream.
All the while, its hollow face feeds
upon what glimmers in the sun and glows in the night,
a vacuum never sated,
never feeling peace's respite.
I've kissed this face and I'll never kiss again,
not until God and I can uproot the devil's sin.
I wrote this back in January of 2017 and discovered it while my girlfriend and I were reading old poetry notes to one another.
We've both been hurt in love and both had dark poems to share.
In reading this, I felt the weight of all the shame and fear I believe dwelled within me when I wrote this.
It was refreshing to share this with her, as, indeed, I had not chosen to never kiss again. Whatever the devil's sin was, I now view my relationship with it differently.
I've learned to forgive myself for whatever plagued me in the past.
I know myself to have deep veins of emotion, with high ups and low lows, so all the better to keep the peace.
Anyway, I hope you found something in this poem for yourself.

Enjoy!

DEW
326 · Dec 2015
Red Skies...
Did you hear? The skies are red, because the blood was not shed.

The book was not read, when the priest did not hear what she said.

So the glass was not spun, and the windowless frame did cease to be finish-ed.

Her heart was not won, so the book stayed, weighed down with the dread.

She climbed the stairs of a windowless house, open to the scorn.

Would you believe that one day she was birthed, but not born?

From every love she was neglected, every lust she was torn.

Each day was an agony, forever doomed to be forlorn.

From the bell tower she fell, so time stopped after the last chime.

Her mirthless tear, would grace the ground for the last time.

There she lay, so peaceful, so utterly supine (one could say she slept).

Where she fell, there grew a flower, one could only describe as sublime.

All who rounded, those who crowded, could not help, so they wept.

From this grave, there came no salve, so salvation was lost to her.

From the red skies she watched, slowly, the world would deter (from preservation).

The skies are red, because her words were like the mouth of every meager nation (neglected).
The skies are red, because she lost the way.
The skies are red, because she lost her way.
The skies are red, because there is no way.

No way in hell that there will be a brighter day.
So stay and finish what hath begun.
Spin the record the way it was supposed to be spun.
Bury the smoking gun and plant a tree for the sun.

Breathe life into a peaceful world that has not yet begun.
A kiss of course, a kiss that was, a token of affection;
At least, in mind, this he assumed, by eager predilection…
But the kiss, made him, a loaded gun,
With darkening dreams and maddening fun.
Too close to sun; he flew and fell;
Too deep was it, the frigid well.
He ended up, in chains and vices;
Telling of tragedies, demises,
And in the ear, of reason lost,
By she, he was told, of kiss’ cost:
He sits to this day, rotting away… crying aloud... thrashing,
Because he kissed, the succubus, and lost his soul in passing.
The title is acrostic: string the first letter of each word in the title
together.

Do me a favor and check out my poems: "The Queen's Love" & "Love Beyond the Wars" they will not disappoint, I promise!
You, they tell me, you shine like a diamond in the sun.
I polish myself to ward off the dust,
I have no fear, for they say I don't rust.
Why should I work; they say I've already won...

You, they tell me, banish dark with a blink.
I walk into destruction, intentionally.
I defeat demons arrogantly.
A powerful child isn't as weak as you think.

A day soaked in turmoil bathes me.
A towel of misfortune rapes me.
Clothing of shame drapes me.
Cruel fate awaits me.

I realize, if I am that diamond, not the sun,
It was truly the sun shining,
Not I, and too long spent there,
Would leave me high and dry.

I realize, we all blink away,
Darkness.
Just try closing your eyes,
You'll see the banality.

Propped up like a scarecrow,
Were their compliments,
And I was the field,
Now my crops don't yield.

I look into the world's eyes,
Contempt, like marching soldiers,
Flood forth from their gazes,
Into my heart, and ****** it.

My senses barren,
I walk back to the sun,
So I can be burned,
Into oblivion.

Saying to myself,
"It wouldn't,
Have been so bad,
If they loved me still."
So, my best three poems had been rejected from this competition and I didn't even make any of the five or so semifinalist spots.

I'd been so excited to enter, because I'd heard so many good things about my poems; one person going so far as to say, "Your middle name should be, 'a beautiful mind.' "

Of course, I had no clue as to realize I was swimming in a "little pond" and that the big pond would be so... belittling, haha.
Anyway, I hope that this one is enjoyed.

Dark, it is, yet caging, it is not.

I find that ironic, how some poisons make you feel free.
Starts to make you wonder, if these things we call curses are really curses at all. Well, curses have prices.

Those things which are good don't; they have "conditions."

It takes a lot of experience to know that.
However, the good path is a hard path.
In a sense, it's more dangerous than the troubled path, because you have to be so much more careful. Those who don't like the good path are spiritually, mentally and physically lazy.

The thing is, although they say it takes a "community" to raise a child, I believe that it takes a "world" to sustain a man.
Yet, what do I mean by sustenance?
I don't mean ***, Lamborghinies , and drugs:
enough of those things and you'll find yourself emptier than a tube of toothpaste, while the devil uses your extracted minty-happiness to wax his chest.

Seems too typical if I say, "You need God," but it works for so many people.
Why does it work?
The devices of this world are like drugs, and you know it:
the internet, McDonald's, ****; breaking dependence on these things makes your mind clear, it gives you purpose, and ultimately, you become a better person.

However, there are people out there who call themselves Christians, and they're like bad books: the cover looks appealing, even the blurb on the back is enticing, but you delve in and you're disgusted.

It's hard to be a Christian, because everyone is saying that you shouldn't be.
It's like buying a medicine that is saving your life, and then turning on your television that features an advertisement saying, "If you're using clozorilXR, discontinue use immediately. Condemn that product!"
Imagine that advertisement fifty times a day.
That's how tough it is to be a Christian.

It means, being a Christian is hard (as I said about the good path before), and the harder something is, the more people you'll find failing at it.
Yet the good virtue is that they're still trying.
(I can't believe this guy is trying to sell us Christianity)
I'm not selling you anything.
Christians call this "sharing the good news."
In other words, I'm just telling you how happy I am and what I've learned.

You can break free of the drugs that pollute your mind.
Christianity it not an instant cure.
It's a journey.
A mission in actively fighting societal, social, physical, and mental pollution.

Chemicals are released in your brain when you have ***.
Most people can't resist that chemical.
Many people are addicted to it, some casually, others terribly.
No one is calling them drug addicts: that's a crime in and of itself.
I could go on preaching, but I'm wary of how people will feel about this.

"I didn't come here to be preached to."

Well, then tell me, what are you living this life for?

Many people will have answers.
I tell you the truth, 100% of those answers are fleeting.
So we cop out and say, "I'm here to enjoy life."
Well, you're not enjoying it; are you?
That's why you're "here."
319 · Sep 2016
Rippling Steps...
Even as we danced,
there was no echo
of lovers lost...

The lake
was as a sheet of
glass that I thought would
crack
if we lost
a step.

The music
was the rhythm
of our hearts,
slow, but fierce
calm, but alive.

I taste the tearsdrops of
the heavens
bathe me in serenity.

I've known beauty,
but never perfection
not before this moment
melted my heart
and spread it like butter
over her love.

Yet, in the quiet
rapture,
there was a darkness.
Heartache troubled the
solace of the dance.
I drew back the blackened veil
and to my surprise
I found myself...
my identity...
buried for too long
in the misery of
flames of ire.

It was then
I knew
she
I would cherish
with abandon.

I stared
into her gentle eyes
I held
her trembling hand
I kissed
her doughy lips
and I loved
like sorrow
eclipsed.
I suppose it was about time to write something like this.
Not feeling very good these days, but a poem like this always lifts the spirits.

Enjoy :)

DEW
318 · Oct 2016
Mirror our Dreams...
I sit alone.
I taste the bitterness
of my tongue
and somehow
life is more bitter
than this stale breath;
more empty than my cold bed
less comfortable, than my bleeding heart
more drowning, than nonsense
and less appetizing
than my own
rotten
mind.

Now I sit in two.
I whisper to my friend,
or,
what he desires to be called...
I tell him:
I wonder if there is
a primitive man
somewhere
in another world
absent
of the
vainglory
of future man.
Primitive man sits, nursing a wound
He stares into the night sky
and dreams of my life
he hopes his wound would be
as superficial as mine.
He imagines the weight of my wounds
as mere foundations for greatness.

All the while...
I dream of him

My friend chuckles.

I say:
Imagine how I see him.
Imagine his mind absent of media,
as if the universe
cured him of some life-threatening wound.
I tell my friend:
He was made perfect, you know.
I tell my friend:
That man could cure the world if you gave him a chance.
He would be a god.

My friend gives me a sideways glance.

What?

He offers a gesture of non-confrontation.
I relax. I sigh. I simmer in my somberness.

Imagine him! I declare.
The things he could accomplish in my life and me in his!

My eyes glaze over.
Instead of a deer, I'm an insect.
Instead of a car, it's a train.
Instead of headlights, it's the sun.
I'm not frozen, I'm petrified.
Because:
maybe, at the end of the day, he and I are the same.

That primitive man.
He would bumble around society. He would be consumed by the media before having the answers. It would devour his perfection. In the wake of its *******, the carcass of his potential mastery would be a mere ornament in the media's MTV mansion.

And I, society's specimen of advancement and culture?
I would be devoured by that primitive man's natural world. I would be reduced to moaning and wailing, crawling like a stuck pig, hoping to find a highway, all in vain. Why don't I just lay there and die?
And that nature? It wouldn't leave a carcass. It's too efficient. It's too...
Monstrous.

The primitive man. He's the god of his world.
While I. I can dream of being a god, if that helps.

But will the void mumble.
Will it turn in its sleep?
Will the god, in some slumber, whether dream or nightmare, ever
ever
dream
of being me?

Well.
Then it's in for
a rude awakening...
so to speak.
I hope this does not trouble your morning
or afternoon
or night.

I hope this invites you to learn from an example of one of the many follies of man. Worse than making a mistake, is never learning your lesson.

Maybe that's who we are.
We are those who revel in success.
Or those who are mired in failure.

Only humanity will stand the test of time.
The individual only lives to stand the test of a lifetime.
So live well :)

Enjoy!

DEW
317 · Sep 2016
Adrift in the Ocean...
Solutions are like dishes.
They have ingredients
and once one is found
you can make it again.
Yet, my lonesome irksome
won't pass with time
and since there's no reason
I guess I'll just rhyme.

I've been to the ocean
its embrace like the grave.
When you're caught in its arms
you're too lost to save.

In somber dreams blue
I do think of you
and drift on a draft
of winds that I knew
Without you I'm there
in oceans not fair
my weeping's a flare
an SOS' glare...

Isolated I am
a man in a maze
No matter where I turn
I am forlorn
solutions are infinite
but momentary
and worn.
These are days of isolation.
Days of mystery.
Days of questioning.
And in these days, will answers be enough?

Enjoy.

DEW
315 · Jun 2016
Comforting Blues...
You say I'm getting too close for comfort
Baby, I'm just getting close for my comfort
but comforts not an island
where we can getaway.

She says get away from me!
I'm not as happy as can be,
because that would require a sojourn
free
of time.

It's sublime when you say,
"Stay with me, please stay,"
because I've got a plan in which,
staying
is the secret recipe.

Can't we stop deliberating our feelings?
Can't we stop stalling and start stealing;
stealing moments from The Man
when rebellion is sweet? (and necessary...)

I've got pennies in my pocket,
One for luck and one in my sock, it's
to sock it to any buster who looks you
up and down. (and hope he faints...)

I know this is all talk
you'll stop listening
and away you walk,
but remember how
I tried and how you
laughed.

We're winding down from fun and games
suddenly there's no one to blame
when we forget to love
end up singing
blues.
Aww, man... My hearts either in mourning, stuck yearning, or both.
Either way, there's a lot of sadness, pining, and seeking forgiveness and love in my poems.

If you feel the same, feel free to write a few lines of your own in the comments. Let's see how many of us we can jam-pack on this page, singing the same song, haha.

Enjoy.

DEW
314 · Jul 2016
The Winds Of War...
In dangerous times,
in luscious climes,
the seed of war does grow.
It's hard to see
by you or me,
but God, creator, knows.

Hate, the devil, lurks
in bruises, wounds and irks,
hidden by our lies
that's how his poison works.

The breeze of change will blow
some of the good will go
and in their stead will rise
the ones that we despise.

They come on ships of doom
moving like a broom
they sweep away the peace
countries losing lease.

The winds of war now jail!
A teeming, waylaying gale!
The cries of anguish hush...
The innocent turned to mush.

In the wake of strife
The land has seldom life
Right at love's dear core
There is an open door;

Out from it come the healers
so too the double-dealers.
They fix what has been broken
***** a world unspoken.

The peaceful times now reign,
rain to wash the pain.
In peace, what do we gain?
Naught but war refrain...
It's probably been a week since the last poem I wrote.
Had this title saved as a draft and I knew it was golden; it just needed a good body of text to go with it. I hope it measures up! haha

Enjoy!

DEW
312 · Dec 2016
From the Heart...
Tiny necklace locket
resting on a rock
it
gleams in the sun
next to necks that met a gun.

I wonder why they left
they
left my soul bereft
of the dreams I wish to hold
oh, the story's growing cold.

They were dreams!
My dreams!
Whose do you think they were?
I was the one with all the youth.
You put your hopes on my shoulders,
didn't you?
So why did you leave me?!
It's not my fault I forgot the
dreams...

The colors run from my face
and twist and turn
down
down
the drain
leaving stains that
I wish
were the mark that I'd be
satisfied with leaving on the world,
but
no one appreciates a colorful drain.

Even when the end of your life
is a paradise
does that justify the hell you've been through!
Don't you wake up
in the heat of summer
sweating
and wish the nightmares would just pour out, too!
Why is it that the biggest fish,
in the nets of our minds
are the angler fish and the puffer fish?
Terrifying and poisonous.
Rancid and unappetizing, because we leave them
out in the sun
afraid to touch our own dysfunction!

What justice is this?
My father wasn't father enough!
Why did he sleep all day?
When he died, didn't I already know he was dead?
Did I experience a déjà vu no more feeling than it was a jagged knife?
Am I dead too?
Is that why I think this is hell?
Is that why I wondered if there are souls? The confusion borne by still being flesh and blood, yet being so ghostly that I couldn't scratch the itch of my bleeding soul.

Justice? If you cry inside, does anyone hear you scream?
Can you?
Only when it's too late.
The last drop of the blood of your soul spent.
Mortgages! Taxes! Insurance! Loans! Employment!
Yes, please, they're all a merciless enjoyment!
A ceaseless tickling of agonizing fun.

What choice do we have?
The choice to tell those who tell you, to tell those to tell that person,  and on and on that it's enough!
We're tired of being told money is life-blood.
Why should my ability to live be based on how much dead tree you've been siphoning from the life of the planet I am worth? Am I a resource?
I'm sure that's in your audit, isn't it?

Citizen #11899382280 is complaining again, send him back for conditioning. Advertise some more bacon and send him to the hospital again so he's distracted, this will distract his whole family. We'll advertise a specific hospital he should go to to them so they feel compelled. When he's at that specific hospital, we'll shorten his life as our insurance. His family will think he's graying because of the stress of the heart attack, but it's really the drugs, which always look the same, yet are increasingly more destructive. We'll send Lawyer #448322783 in to talk about his retirement and will. The family has requested him, but Lawyer #448322783 works for us. Lawyer #448322783 will edit the will to suit our intentions. Once the will is arranged, we will increase the life-shortening medication, which will, in and of itself cause complications. We will introduce a catalyst to forego the critical time we have to avoid his otherwise impending and damaging insubordination. When Citizen #11899382280 is dead, we will retrieve the damaging and insubordinate files from his HelloPoetry.com account and erase his existence. Were he alive, he would find this poem ironic that his emotions, being a matter of the heart, led to a death that was a matter of the heart.

From the heart,
Your loving government & your ****** life
Pain and suffering.
The face of our existence.

I hope you've enjoyed this.

DEW
310 · Dec 2015
Conquer Me...
When moonlight aches,
When sunlight wakes,
I'll need a hit,
Of your fervent wit.
But if I'm naughty,
Incessantly haughty,
Conquer me.
Humble me,
Please.
309 · Jul 2016
The Queen's Love...
I see her passing by like a shooting star.
How rare these moments truly are.
What purpose that drives my heart to devotion.
Devotion, driven, like swimming across the entire ocean.
Fate prepares before birth's first light.
Was it love at first sight?

I stole a rose from her garden.
At first opportunity, I gave it back to her.
"Oh, the most beautiful rose I have ever seen!" she admires.
It was once her's, dare I say she is in love with herself?
I was wrong, I see it this day, she is in love with me,
Finding excuse to attribute wondrous things to me.

I can't be foolish, I must be strong.
At second opportunity, I cannot be wrong.
"Just as the lake reveals to me the truth of my face,
Dear queen, you reveal to me the truth of my heart."
She delights in my words, but there is doubt in her heart.
A thorn I see there, but gifted with the proper acumen I am not.

At third opportunity, I come prepared.
To seek out the thorn, to vanquish it, but she is scared.
She has grown used to the pain of the thorn,
Now removing it is the true thing of scorn.
The operation begins and I am lost forever,
"Familiar it is to you, and you thought you were clever..."

"Whatever do you mean, fair queen?"
The thorn, it is poison, a dagger unseen.
"You put the thorn there! It was you that maimed me!
Your poison that's trifling, the ailment that claims me!"
I stare without word, I'm pale to the touch,
How cold I appear to be, confusion as such.

"If ever I did, and I do not say that you are wrong,
Truly it was another man, and not I that broke your song!"
She quivers with anger, the spittle is rain as she speaks,
I am drenched in accusation, unable to evade the shrieks.
"You broke my heart! Your rose was evidence of that!
Had you not stolen my innocence, you would still be a rat!"

They have fallen upon willing ears, her words.
No more opportunities, flown south with the birds.
"What will you have done, my queen,
I am undeserving of your mercy..."
Our eyes met and diverged from meeting.
Our hands, once acquainted, are strangers once more.

She says the words pronounced like kung-fu film fists to the face.
"To, the, guillotine, so, it, is, quick, and, clean, post haste!"
Her judgment is clear, I await the deed.
Taken to the pit where it is to be done, dragged by her steed.
I look to her and her eyes no longer reflect love, but doom.
She is the last thing I see, and death my last moment to bloom,
Like a red, red rose.
What is love?
Is it desire? Passion? A lust for power? A dream of peace?
Isn't it strange how it doesn't necessarily start out as love?
It starts as a search, a quest.
We move forward, blind as justice. Moments feel "right". We go forward trying to escape all that is wrong. We seek perfection.
Love is too many things at once. It is the shade under which all good things prosper. It is the light within which all good things are magnified, but so too can the bad be promulgated as a consequence of love corrupted.
Love is like water...

Enjoy!

DEW
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