The alarm tolls,
On their rude device-
It's time for work
& yet still, despite
the thousand fascets
of one reality
These
middle-aged
Half-life(s),
These Newbrunswickin Chavs
Wouldn't recognize, really,
That Despite
the riddle's answer, Being  E;
& that double decade,
One might have over me,

When direct
Questions
go unanswered; The respect
I require
(now unvield)
Shapeshifts,
Off, into the past
Oh, how I  become

The Whip

Ruthlessly;
they crack
The Whip                        
& with
All that I am,

the past, In desperation, I forcefully trick
As the blackness, of my being
Forms a darkness,  spilling thick.
Engulfing light- mind's eye's Unseeing,  
Consumes oneself, like a candles wick -
Illuminating every route (for fleeing)
For me, the lights still on- homesick.

Forcefully, faithfully; to keep on believing, & even

just to keep the pathway lit-  by headlight, sunbeam, or doomscrolling trip-
Understand why might a human being
'S now become The Whip

Life is complex, she said to me
A statement unfortunately true,
Reiterating the fact, real happiness
Has become a fleeting virtue.
The single most excruciating task
Of anyone to ever, have to ask-
Is to live this life, so full of pain
As the human race, itselve's disdain
Yet, its as effortless as drawing breath
The simplicity of air
Our automatic processes
That which contagiously, we share:
Laughter, Heartache, Hatred, Hope-
the humanistic ways to cope.

Despite that complexities insue,
You know strength, to let faith renue
Bestow some courage, place belief
In all that initially brings you grief

Every morning, a new dawn's shining-
& every cloud, has it's silver lining.

The babble of the valley Brooke
A rush- the flowing, liquid memory moving
Downstream.
Water; the stillness of
a puddle
A pond, the pooling-
scintillates & permeates.
A gentel lapping
against the creekside,
A skip-stone-scape beneath the wetness
Augments the heavy water
As nature's soundtrack.

F*, I'm so bad at this lyrical translation
With Rhyming words a  fabrication
Spews fourth from my mouth to screen
No mind or hand- or medium between.
Just thoughts unadulterated raw
Unconsciously weild with grammatical awe

Every time, you try-
counting time in quarter tones,
scribing rhymes on android phones

the great design-
monochrome
As light's define
then they postpone,
another chance
To be alone
to change one's mind
To go back home.

would you always maybe sometimes make it easy take your time

in the foreground
and then back;
we reflect
as we react
&
wallow, in
the nighttime's black;
cinder's splinters trace us back.

I speak the name of My god over you
inspite of sorrow,
doubted belief...

I'll nurture your virtue.
I speak these words of power-  to renue;
In desperation, I may plead

The divine to restore you.

I speak these words, to petition the unknown;
omniscient or indifferent
I plead they lead you home.

I speak a poem that doesn't rhyme aloud
Reciting prayers,
still holding on
and on
     and on.

Sad boy, oh,
How you had contrived,
But wont you ever understand?
Kristoff: some things we make are more alive; When we're both gone, our memories to fade- What might remain is all we've made.

Poetic rhymes, key signature times,
A meter and an inch~
Fountain pens, splashing ink
How, Word's arrangements force us to think.
Maybe still, you're a piece of art-
I know you're more than just an image...
Or a sound, always formed by arms, frantic written movements:

Which Record
And Remain
Recapitulate
Retain.
Reminding me, & then you too
Inside all we might create,
Lives our spirit too.

Summon up the courage
keeping up the cover
A Minefield of memory,
I see you uncover
Irrationality implosion -
Energetically, explosion.

Do you really think,
in our realities
that a happiness
love,  might continue?

When emotions are temporary
& feelings too fleeting  
Listen
when I announce my selfishness.
Listen,
as I manipulate.

Twenty six years, a companionship spans
The length of an entire lifetime.
What can be said of future plans?
Inherent, flawless design.

Now with my art three stanzas stretch
Scribbles in the cyberspace
A fleeting truth, for you to fetch
Deceptive pasts to face.

This last writing of the year
To Stephen I now dedicate
May life's kindness reappear
N like a melody, placate.

Is it true?

That my words are now spilt- broth pushed against the brim,
Liquid to big for its container-gracelessly,
it mimics the wild
of unbound tides.
Wherein a fleeting salvation; is oh so frantically exempt-
Its within my linguistic inability
lies my failure's false contempt.

The mundane English word was once my spell to cast
An arsenal of adjectives & repertoire of verbs.
Yet in English its still heard,
communication's magic,
Wielding the awe of expression-  Cured-
I try to print back into begin

again.

Sad boy- have you grown into a now sad man?
or maybe,  perhaps, as  young adult you now stand.
the point I'm making  is that we still can
with both flattery and deviation, unsynchronized corotation,
evolve:

Through this site I've gained a lot, mind a reading's worlds now written thoughts;
I know it's too easy,
when our own lives we ruin,
Just don't give up- on yourself,
Can you deduce what I'm doing?