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May 2022 · 398
White Flag Whiter Paper
Him May 2022
I surrender to the sound of idleness... To the predecessor of penned paper. My fine point offers no salvation from your nothingness; the ink runneth dry, unto a full-stop - threefold - my tongue teaches no testimony of your truth and trap.

No words nor worlds wherein the wide wealth of your wonders, resides; lo language and land lend and law borders, to you, the Chaotic and Disorder. Toss then them aside!
Dec 2021 · 286
Him Dec 2021
Come. I can be the constancy to changing centuries; since and stagnant, by your side. I can be your touch, Tomorrow - thereafter - your view beneath the sky.
Dec 2021 · 1.6k
Discordant Squatter.
Him Dec 2021
I am haunted by a soulful song; lacking lyrics, lo lost, lest lament found.

I am taunted by a merciless melody, mixed - measured threefold - with melancholy and memories legend-long.

Salvation and sweet, shall be Silence's Sound.
Dec 2021 · 686
Him Dec 2021
I will wait, until Autumn allows your loneliness, to fall - leaves - amid an array of affection arising.
Oct 2021 · 1.3k
The Snail.
Him Oct 2021
The home you miss, is my burden; the longing of distance and miles is not there.

Concealed within living bone and spiral, no conquered land can I long winter, and longer yet retain.

Would you miss it - if it were always near? Those crude constructions composed of flora's corpses and Oran's nails; compose another, and... Still ye dismay:

"The house is similar, but the home is not the same."

A home requires a heart, but man has long since lost theirs; so crawling, I wonder:

"What difference is there?"
This piece presents a monologue, of a snail innately unable to appreciate Man's concept of "Home". The Snail professes an element of Man lost, a home's cause, thus no difference is to be had.
Jun 2021 · 724
Sheet's Sweet Sleep.
Him Jun 2021
My sheets dream of you, those dreams I do not dare. Polyester and cotton, impress upon themselves your figure; defined, blue and dear.

To long for a stranger, to be more than one's friend. Might you resist the urges, to cast pity upon them; for these fabrics were woven from naivete and virginal optimism.

My love is a burden, whose weight few have known, but for you... Might the Kg be measured and shown.

And may these sheets, no longer dream such dreams, as you call my bed - Your Home, with glee.
Jun 2021 · 836
Him Jun 2021
There's a lone one, in alone.
   L  O  N  E
Jun 2021 · 1.1k
Him Jun 2021
I spent the day with you, waiting for the Sun to set; that I might kiss you in the darkness it left behind.
May 2021 · 750
Him May 2021
I can't see my future, with my present sight, but mother says that I will be alright.

I have been skipping online classes as of late; assignments turned cold, piled up on my plate.

I am uncertain of what the future holds, certainly apprehensive of tomorrow.
Am I alone, in this regard?
May 2021 · 342
Paper's Poem.
Him May 2021
White, longing to be stained.
Blank, lacking character, hoping one bestows you a name.
Lined, and confined 8 11, words shall make you free to fly and soar straight into heaven.
A juxtaposition, your very being has attained
Words defined and combined, Paper's Poem shall be yours;

The Unclean, mine.
May 2021 · 101
Him May 2021
I had met you, quite sometime ago, now I reflect in awe in and earnest, at how the bonds of our friendship have grown.

We are well acquainted with each other's joys and sorrows - Our highs and lows. May we continue as co; passengers and drivers, upon life's lengthy road.

An ear always lent; advice offered without a cost. Truly, to have lived without knowing you or your talents, would have been my greatest loss.

Yet, my Lady is most humble; a flower apprehensive of praise. "Why are my meagre achievements deserving?" Must be the introspective question, which you so often raise. Then pray permit me, if this be the case, to spoil you upon your precious day; to tell you that you are deserving of all the spoken treasures, that this whole world retains.

My friends are numbered, so shortly... So few. Yet I am most delighted, to count first among them, You.

May God be generous and a Father unto you. And may the heavenly choirs sing now, "Bon anniversaire." to you
May 2021 · 855
Mon Amour.
Him May 2021
My heart professes perpetuity, and was so faithful to, yet my mortality minds no frame nor memory of you.

This epidermis sheds and skins from disuse; need my heart evidence, might my chill-cracked palms be your proof?

The contours of your constitution, all known by their names, are perhaps now amended by the passage of passing age and days.

The sirens of your voice's sound, awaken me from my dreams; the symphonies of my soul's supplications, now so strange and foreign seem.

My heart professed perpetuity, and is so faithful to, so should this skeleton and its dependents devoice - mon Amour; my heart remains with you.
May 2021 · 356
Him May 2021
Seconds sire seasons, life by stroll or sprint fades.

In search of higher reasons, none are ignorant of the null totality of yesteryear.

Time is neither favour nor fear; for Oak roots expand their domain, just as vast canopies usurp heaven’s terrain; a babe’s bones are made strong, even more so as toddlers play, yet still shatter, to dust decay, by the passage of Time’s decades.

Live this life, for better or worse; surmount the strife, and derive blessing from curse.
Mar 2021 · 404
Him Mar 2021
Are you cold tonight?

Do your eyes envy the rain?

If only Noah's Flood, could wash and drown these longings all away; then I would dance with you, my love, beneath the rising waves.

Tomorrow isn't ours, but tonight, I'll message you thrice as much as I could write; of how I'd hold you closely, and closer, on another Sunday night.

I imagine you cocooned within your blanket, covered from head to toe. Your glasses are on the bedside table, frosted and clouded by the cold.

There's nothing quite like your voice, and that way that your happiness seems to flow; your heart is the thing that I want most to hold... to keep and shelter, and to share with you my own.
Mar 2021 · 477
Him Mar 2021
The sky is a generous grey, beneath whose pending charity, sentinel palm trees stray. Whilst impetuous Atlantic gusts, act as a guide to the tourist of Saharan dust, from our heritage far away... yet unclaimed.

And so it shall remain, for domiciled within Barbados' Summer paradise; I would ask only for the rain; that it might wash these seared whip wounds of Sun's splendour... away.

The fruit trees are as my family's; their abundant branches intertwine and then once more, rewind to form a clan. Yet, their want of leaves says to all, of the prospect of Summer's well-fed famine... they had made no plans.

So, we would ask only for the rain; that it might wash away the browned chlorophyll of a cruel Summer's plague. Much like nightmares... to be preserved only within the introspective and reflective archives of Yesterday.

Upon bent knees, I humbly appeal to the Holder of Divinity - Nay! I pray, for but a half empty, half full cup of rain.
Mar 2021 · 215
Him Mar 2021
History is the religion of the Survivors; the blasphemy of the Defeated; the faith of the Victors.

History is the suspicions of the Non-Believers.
Feb 2021 · 734
Risky Venture
Him Feb 2021
Love is the investment, without a guaranteed return. So check the markets, and seek consultation; lest your capital gets burn.

And your love... unrequited and unheard.
Feb 2021 · 297
Him Feb 2021
What is life? To breathe, to eat, to rest; To hope, to wish, to greet Death? Is it seconds, minutes, hours or days, or perhaps greater times; months and years?

For time is as a breeze of wind, gentle yet moving, unseen yet foreseeing; then men's lives are as leaves, so easily blown away, as life's Author quickly turns a new page.

Will your story be told, rewritten in bold, or forgotten, forever unknown?
Feb 2021 · 294
Ten Thousand Years.
Him Feb 2021
After Ten Thousand Years, what will remain; after the seas and sands have reclaimed L.A.?

When the continents don't look the same; shuffled around like dominoes, as God prepares to play another game.

Will the stars our audience stay, though we prioritise these silent spectators above our planetary play?

Then there shall come a day, when no taught tongue these words can say; lest as maxims to complement aristocratic displays. When this poem's rhythm and reason, no researcher can attain.

The Gate Wall has been long erode, rendered flat and smooth; a mat laid out upon the floor. Our precious salads' descendants, both physique and favour now wholly unknown; after Ten Thousand Years Nature's nurture will be shown.

After Ten Thousand Years, humanity will remain, and with their mortal expressions; the savagery of ten eons, nay eternity, shall be tamed.
Feb 2021 · 1.1k
Him Feb 2021
Parents bark, bite, and blame.

I raise my earphones' volume so high, that I don't hear my pain.
Feb 2021 · 393
I Don't Dream.
Him Feb 2021
I don't dream, of Mahogany trees at 10:00 pm; beneath whose vast canopies of nighted green, I lay with them.

I don't dream, of sweet songs sang pursuant to savoured seconds stilled; as I acquainted your ears and neck, respectively... collectively to a poet's tongue and fangs. As we forged new fragments of much missed memories, upon our little hill.

I don't dream, of tight embrace, nor of your critus and aggrieved face; they are the choicest fruits of my regretful request: That you return home safe and nothing less.

I don't dream, of them; my every conscious thought and deed are but my surplus offering. O! How I long to give my two copper pieces to them. Perhaps four hours of supplication, might make me more than a friend.
Feb 2021 · 4.4k
I Don't Burn Bridges.
Him Feb 2021
I don't burn bridges, I preserve those wonders of old. I let the waters rise, whilst I remain underneath its ridges and contours.

I don't burn bridges, not because that I am mature.

I don't burn bridges, because I am alone; and a bridge is a well travelled road.
Feb 2021 · 481
The Dark.
Him Feb 2021
I am not afraid of the dark; nor of the many creatures that hide beneath its veil.

I dread the light, both failing flicker and spirited spark; whose existence threatens with the realisation that you are not there...

That you are but a pleasant phantom, whose sight I entertain - Beneath the warm affections of Midnight's rain.

I am not afraid of the dark, though I dread the truth; a gospel that proclaims a life without you. And light just happens to be its evidence, so within Dark's nest, I hide you.
Feb 2021 · 528
Him Feb 2021
There's writing on the wall, and it all seems so clear. I'm living to give you my all, and you're dying to get away.

Your last text was long, though there was so much that you had left unsaid. You had asked me to be strong, and accept that you were my yesterday. Tell me! What is forgiveness' debt that I see it paid?

My body is keeping up this lie; my eyes don't want to cry. A part of me is missing from the inside, and that part had told me... "Goodbye."
Feb 2021 · 482
Him Feb 2021
Your every pore, my tongue wishes to explore... to know.

Whilst my hands long to touch the nucleus of your soul.

Let my ears hear the harmonies of your unbroken moans.

I shall inhale the sap and nectar of Love's tree, greedily, as your falling flowers' pollen bury me; within a living tomb of ecstasy.

We will see, all of the animals and beasts, we lovers can be; when "Human" nature runs free.
I am thinking of them, ever now.
Feb 2021 · 587
Him Feb 2021
I'm laying in my bed, staring at the ceiling. You're staying in my head, and I can't shake these feelings.

My every word and deed, confesses that you are my need; love has sown her seed, and from it roots my heart bleeds.

I'm laying in my bed, while you're laying in my head, and so this tragedy begins. Might someone please rid Shakespeare of his pen, and let this story come to its end?

The tempest winds are blowing strong, I am slowing falling down; I feel that I am suffocating underneath water, but I can't seem to drown.

My heart can't get any sleep, causes it speeds up its beat, when I tell you that I love you... but you don't repeat.

I am staring at the ceiling, imagining that you are staring back, and for now... I am content with that.
Feb 2021 · 827
The Affair.
Him Feb 2021
I may be falling in love, or going crazy, though perhaps they're both the same.

I fell in love with the silence, a married man entertaining this affair; cause my heart does not belong to the silence, when you call my name.
For discordant sounds and songs, I do not care, though your voice is a soothing melody flowing into my ears.
Feb 2021 · 1.9k
Him Feb 2021
Roses are red.

Violets are blue.

Both are now withered black, and dead.

Much like my love for you.
Feb 2021 · 422
Him Feb 2021
The sun set, with scarlet potential, unrealised and unmet.

As I awaited your ephemeral silhouette; the promise to be kept.
Feb 2021 · 421
Him Feb 2021
The black flower blooms;
Crimson's king, the moon turns red,
Seconds sum seasons.
Pray let me hear your thoughts.
Feb 2021 · 603
Him Feb 2021
O my heart, broken and betrayed; beaten, battered, bruised beyond Beauty's bear.

Though my eyes haven't yet spilled a single tear, O my heart, with aches foretell of heavy rain; of regret and remorse religiously retained.

At first my breath had ceased... had paused. Then my heart and mind; love and logic had waged a war; leaving my severed spirit... to bear its dear cross - Both Forsaken And Lost.
This is my most broken piece; the one whom I hesitated to share. However, my heart encouraged its release, saying others might feel the same.
Feb 2021 · 179
Him Feb 2021
Heartbreak decided, that he had to bring his childhood friend. And I know that he means well, but he could be quite annoying.

Cause who needs memories, when you're trying to forget; memories of how she wiped away your tears, immediately after you had wept.
Feb 2021 · 991
These Orchids Are Yours.
Him Feb 2021
These orchids are yours, and with them, all colours known to earthly sight.

They shall prove rigid, ever blocking Time's course, professing eternity their right.

Roses express my affections well; blooming amidst the warmth of Summer, fed to satisfaction by the dew of your lips . . . yet they shall wither.

Then dry dust shall be my affections' well; blooming Lycoris Radiata legions advancing amidst the warmth of Death's banner . . . Towards our love's ellipse . . .


These orchids are yours, and with them, the multi-folded papers from which their fibres and petals are equally composed. These are humble gifts, but were they to boast: "We orchids offer to thine love, an eternity; an assurance of perpetuity, by toast."
Feb 2021 · 413
The Bank.
Him Feb 2021
I took our love to the bank, deposited it into a safe. The economy of our love is stagnant and blank, much like the look on your face.

The maintenance fees are high, they come with stress and quarrel; no goodbyes after a call. I am love's employee, both sore and sigh, I might go bald, and gladly; if our love might survive.

I took our love to the bank, and left it there. My father was frank but no doubt sincere, when he warned me: "Do prepare for the rainy days."
Feb 2021 · 397
Him Feb 2021
I watched them from afar, as they laughed and played. Two pieces of innocence, that were soon to fade.

Cause each day they're getting older, now their smiles don't seem the same. They write their feelings in a folder, cuddling they pillows tightly, as they whisper the other's name.

The boy says: "I wish that I could hold you, just like when we used to play. I feel that I love you, but fear that you might not feel the same. So I'll hug my pillow tight, and these tears... will get me through the night. Tomorrow, I will get to see you smile, and I'll be alright."

The girl peeps through her bedroom window, though she can't see the boy. 'Maybe he's asleep, it was a long day after all.' Now she hugs a handmade doll, and whispers words she hopes it can't repeat:

"He looks so cute, when he takes a nap; though I can't remember, the last day his head rested in my lap. Doesn't he love me? Am I really just a friend? These feelings that I have, how can I ever tell him them? I miss the way he held me, all back then; like I was more than a friend. All of these kisses that I give you, are really meant for him."

She sighs and looks up at sky. "Why must boys become men? And why do I want that man, to be more than just my friend?... To be my lover in the end."
Feb 2021 · 977
Dear... Who?
Him Feb 2021
Dear Diary, perhaps you might tell me: "What Do You See?"

Cause the mirrors offer a reflection, that just cannot be: An eighteen year old boy, who's both happy and healthy.

Dear Diary, Dear... Who? Perhaps you might credit the broken creature that penned you. The one that inflicted these tears and tears; these crude reflections... recreations of its own scars and pains.

Dear Diary, Dear... Who? This question is one, that you wonder too. Perhaps ironic, as the answer is known only by you; just call me, Dear Who.
Who am I?
Feb 2021 · 575
Sunshine Retained.
Him Feb 2021
I managed to find the beauty, buried beneath your pain; your little bit of sunshine, life had buried; though its possession you retained.
It was a good find, now we can both search for mine.
Feb 2021 · 618
All That I Can Do...
Him Feb 2021
Are you thinking of me, cause I sure am of you? Tomorrow the lockdown will be beginning, and heaven knows it's cruel.

I have already waited for a month, so what's two more weeks to go? However, there's one truth that every, lonely lover knows:

These clocks tick a little slower, and the nights are twice as cold; when you're waiting for the warmth of a lover, whom you wish that you could hold.

O, the nights are twice as cold, and the winds they sure do bite; when I am staring up at the Moon, oh but can't see your light.

All on my own - Now that's quite the fright. I am staring at my phone, waiting for a hello or a goodnight.
All on my own - Now that's quite the fright.

O, the nights are twice as cold, and the Gin loses its kick. I am staring at the ******* from across the room, now I'm falling to the floor; the gloom begins to set in, as I lay on boards; I can't hear the clock's taunting tocks nor ticks... anymore.


Are you thinking of me, cause I sure am of you? Here's another poem that I have written, yet another that I won't show you.

Cause the lockdown may be cruel, but at least I could survive.

IF I ever make you cry. IF I ever be a fool. Then Bae, there will be no surviving for me, knowing that I murdered you.

Now, I will just stay up tonight, and keep thinking of you. Now, I know that's it's weak, but it's all that I can do.
Can tears be a note? Or would they be a little, silly joke
Feb 2021 · 327
Seconds And Years.
Him Feb 2021
Seconds, minutes, hours, days.
All of these times come, and then go away.
For some men live but a second, few a hundred years; but rest assured all return to the dust, then fade. So spends your time wisely, if just a hasty second or patience year.
Feb 2021 · 1.3k
Too Few.
Him Feb 2021
I compose these sentences anew, sometimes in timely thought, sometimes in utter urges; yet always they be too few; to express but a mere three words: "I love you."
There is no other feeling that's quite as dear, as to hear one follow up on these three words with your name. In spite of our poetic aims, those three words the human heart claims.
Feb 2021 · 99
Him Feb 2021
Tell me all of the words that we forgot. Baby, love and kiss me like you can't stop
Feb 2021 · 272
Cause And Cure.
Him Feb 2021
You don't even love me, o you don't even care. When we are together, I can't tell if you're even there; I reach out for your hand, but you pull away.

You don't even love me, o you don't even care. My eyes begin to water then I hear you say. "Ty, be a man and put away those tears. Or are you still a boy, even after all of these years?"

No amount of wisdom could have made me prepared... to wake up in the morning and realise that you weren't here. You said that we'll be together forever, so did forever end yesterday? Does the end of forever, begin an eternity of pain?

You don't even love me, o you don't even care. Yet I'm still wishing that you were here; you're the cause and cure of my heartache.
Maybe if you were here, I'd be able to smile all the same.
Jan 2021 · 344
One Wish, From Above.
Him Jan 2021
I had one wish; one word. Now only in nightmarish dreams, might it be heard.


That was all; my one entreat of mortal men and God. Though in my wanting of you... I had opposed them all.

Your questioning of my loyalty and our love, were to my heart, colder than the most cruel of December rain, from above.
Perhaps a coat might stop the cold, but it pierces my heart, like an arrow freed from the bow.
Jan 2021 · 750
Say? Nay.
Him Jan 2021
I could write a novel, with all these words I didn't say. And, I could hold a concert, with all these screaming voices in my brain.
I could do so much...
Jan 2021 · 1.2k
A Husband's Wish.
Him Jan 2021
A gentle kiss for one longed missed. A white dove from above for dearest beloved. My lady has it been a thousand moons; by God's will, I'll see you soon.

Eyes of that of blue moon, what greater sight than bride to groom? In sickness and in health so shall this be. In poorness and in wealth stay by me.

From the moment this knot is tied, until the day this man has died; I'll be there to wipe your tears; I'll be there to fight your fears; I'll be there to keep you safe; I'll be there to hold you near.

Whether it be day light or eternal night, you should forever be the apple of my sight.
Jan 2021 · 746
Him Jan 2021
There is no need for noble graces, with you, I have none. Just one entreat, request and command: "Come."

'You' see me for what I truly am, behind this regalia of dignity and honour; hides a ****** man. Now come, and heed my command.
You know me, for what I am; and yet still, you accept this broken man.
Jan 2021 · 1.3k
Him Jan 2021
I am thinking of all the words that I never got to say; all of the letters and apologies, only published within my brain.
Jan 2021 · 623
Love's Antidote.
Him Jan 2021
If love had ever had an antidote, then it would be all the words that we never spoke; buried by the linguistic silence of our throats.

Few are the poems that I have wrote, yet the pens might as well be Chinese, that I have broke. Our love was once an eagle's wings, custom made to sing hymns whilst we sinned; like mere children, so impassioned by any and everything - Now love is the yoke, both burdensome and binding.
I am thinking of all the words that I never got to say; all of the letters and apologies, only published within my brain.
Jan 2021 · 441
Him Jan 2021
I pressed the knife's end against my veins, to see if it might sting the same; as when you call my name.

The blood hasn't spilled yet, yet I'm already drowning in the pain.

Words last forever once said; the past is beyond our reclaim.
Jan 2021 · 1.2k
Our World; The One Unheard.
Him Jan 2021
The world is not perfect, nor is it kind; with each progressive step forward, we leave more behind.

The rich give a copper piece, while they take ten gold. Has your charity forgotten the old man and boy, who harvest your coal? What merit is there in giving, if one takes more?

It's interesting, that humans have made "humanity" a show; kindness, compassion, fun, how many do you know?

For a world that's global warming, the hottest summer days feel so... cold.

Perhaps it is a global warning, to let the others knows, that most of us have a house... but too few, a home.

This house is a prison, its cells are polished purple heart, behind which I am truly alone; I am the person who admires this "purple" heart, though I loathe my own.

I am a whisper, reaching far and wide, through this phone. To most my words are beautiful poems; to few they are more; something that their hearts can hold, and have some warmth amidst the cold.
What need be there for notes, when all the words that I sought to speak, I have spoke? Some of you might experience contemplation and inspiration, and those hurting, some hope.
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