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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.
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
Him Jun 2021
There's a lone one, in alone.
   L  O  N  E
Him Jan 2021
Another glass of wine, to silence the silence speaking within my mind.

Another laugh... Another whine, these ten thousand thoughts, and their sweet sorrows; I claim as mine.

Another glass of wine, for these wounds shall be slow to close with time. Numb me, by the virtue of the Vine; liberate my heart of the bitterness of Lime; baptise me, as yet another glass of wine; I claim as mine.
Another glass of wine, drank simply to pass the time.
Him Dec 2020
I met with him, again beneath that Willow tree, whose roots ensnared all the land that could be seen.

Though the most striking of imagery, to me, was the fact that December's snow-white sovereignty, was usurped by a vibrant, vital green; the legacy left behind, by the Willow's fallen leaves.

He sat around the table, his back against the lake; his face was as always, nonchalant and noble, as if though unmoved by our date.

I rushed towards him, worried that I was late; fully prepared to apologise and explain, as I would have, could he only wait.

But he, he confirmed my worries with a smile and said. "You would have been ten minutes late, hadn't ten seconds remained. Luckily I told you to meet, ten minutes ahead, so there's still an hour for our date... Friend."

"Friend?" I returned an innocent smile to him, saying. "So, is that the lie that we're telling... to ourselves and them?"

He sighed for bit, absent-mindedly giving the chess pieces a toss and flip.
"Father said... if one tells a lie long enough; it becomes the truth. So I have lied to myself for three months; that a friend is all that I am to you; and you to I."

Clicking my tongue I replied. "Mon amour, that's a difficult lie; and one that I tell myself as well... my own little sample of hell."

"A friend... your friend I will be; and tell myself this lie for an eternity. So long as I can see your smile, beneath this willow tree." I said within my heart, silently.
A friend... your friend I will be; and tell myself this lie for an eternity. So long as I can see your smile, beneath this willow tree.
Him Jan 2021
Betrayal... is that piece of metal, placed beneath the tongue. And though you rinse and wash, its taste remains; it is too strong.

Betrayal... is that castle on high; no matter how far one goes, it still shows in the sky.

Betrayal... is the lord who demands with each new day, of your heart, a greater tithe. Advising you to march onward and love; even though foes charge at you from the sides and above.
Betrayal... is the reason that I can't sleep at night.
Him Jan 2021
I will love you, until we are black and blue; bruised by these pains and pleasures, that I offer you.
I assure you this, I am not a sadist. 😂
Him Jan 2021
It has never been this hard to breathe, but it has been breathless... suffocating, since you decided to leave.

It feels as though you took a piece of me, and left the rest behind to grieve; as the Sun of our Future dims and sets, shadowed memories of our Past are cast; offering me no relief... no release.

Can you hear my silent screams? You have made nightmares of our pleasant dreams. The tears I shed are often unseen, just like the wounds from which I bleed.

My silent screams, they fill the air, they are at their loudest when no one is near. They plead for a need yet unmet; for a want though beyond my gain. Yet even they weep and wail, at the mere mention your name.

Within these walls reflect, rising remorse and roused regret; symphonies of sorrow seasoned and spiced by despair: Broken promises have brought and forsaken us here.
Where should we go from here, amidst the blooming flowers of our despair? Take me there... and keep me near.
Him Jan 2021
Mon amour, in this room I am haunted by my cologne, that you stole and made your own; it lingers, like these feelings of you alone.

My hands ruffle the sheets; nails and fingers birth wrinkles where they meet. Though the memories of your locks between my fingers... to these I retreat; to these feelings, I fall asleep.

Pray return to my embrace, and end this eternal vigil with grace. Pray return to my arms, sound and safe; for each breath breathed without you here, is a waste.
Love is sacrifice; a truth embodied by Christ, in His death and life. Everytime that you are absent, mon amour, it is as though a lance pierces my side; our love is too painful to be a lie.
Him Dec 2020
Sweet... so sweet at first; as if intending to overbear, and then in a moment's breath, the intensity having mellowed fades.

Next one's tongue does greet, a nuttiness that begs it to retreat; reviving dead memories of when you two first did meet.

Having now fallen from heights, be they ***** or steep; the taste of your tongue becomes bittersweet. Ending this final kiss, silently pledging to lose neither hope nor sleep; heartbreak leaves the taste of caramel upon your teeth.
How should one best wash this taste from their teeth? How should one erase the perpetual reminder... of love's defeat; that clings to the tongue and teeth, with the taste of caramel bittersweet?
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.
Him Dec 2020
I gazed through my window, to the field of Summer's green below, releasing a sigh, more akin to a moan; for having been born to this tropical paradise, I have never seen fields of snow and ice.

The Capital bustles, with crowds I'm sure, those legions advancing towards all stores; thoughtless exhausting the coin that they had for all year stored.

So this Christmas now, a feast and a fair; a chance for children to have a hundred toys, ninety-nine of which will never be played with again.

I suppose that's fine, go on then and dine, dye you glasses red with the decadence of wine. Feast! Feast till you are merry and fat; eat all on your plate, and I won't begrudge you that.

All I want for this Christmas are my kin, my friends. To have them near, anything I would gladly trade.
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.
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.
Him Dec 2020
Gaze not at your Christmas tree, nor the many wrapped gifts laid there beneath. For what ever they may be, the greatest gift of Christmas, was long ago bequeathed.

On that cold night in Bethlehem, was born him without sin, Emmanuel, the Promised One, did the people call him. O do you hear the angels herald and sing: "Glory to the King of Kings."

O, what priceless gifts have ye. Of which, how many may set your spirit free? Silver, Gold, precious gems and jewellery, though all are good within none salvation be.

So on this one night promise me, that you'll forget your hams and turkeys, sweet wines, rums and brandies. For Christmas should be more than a feast, festival, or fair, it should be a time of reflection of yesteryear; accepting one's losses, and appreciating one's gains. And most of all remembering Christ for whom, the day is named.

And I'll promise you, after all this pain, a Christmas that you will believe: Could never be the same!
So, will you give me the chance to fulfil my promise?
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?
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.
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.
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.
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."
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.
Him Jan 2021
How fleeting is my lady's beauty? How fleeting is the pride of younger days? When we had laugh and cried with candied serenity all the same. How fleeting are those youthful days, now my lady and I are old and grey.
Him Jan 2021
I am tired... so very exhausted of it all; inside of this frail body, heart and mind wage a war. I am human, and only human after all.
I am human; awake wishing to sleep... yet I will offer the forces of life no surrender nor retreat.
Him Jan 2021
I am the boy who sits at the back of the class; I am the myth and legend, that you have never heard laugh.

I am the eloquent, who so seldom speaks "Good day." and "Goodbye."
I am the b r o k e n, though you will never see me; p a r t i a l or cry.

I am the Lie.

I am the Lie, well housed in the illusion of an ever-present smile.

I am the wary traveller, exhausted yet still encouraging others to walk the extra mile.

I am the dying and ill, who screams to others. "Keep surviving and living, hold fast to your will; life once truly lived, has both bad and good."

I am a human... for better or worse. I am a duality to all others; either a blessing or a curse.

I am a song sang, though others remember only a verse... I am a play, that has been exhaustively rehearsed.
I am tired... so very exhausted of it all; inside of this frail body, heart and mind wage a war. I am human, and only human after all.
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.
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.
Him Oct 2020
I miss you, your perfume haunts me in this empty room; though perhaps it's a cruel reminder, that I will see you soon.

Ah, were I to have just one wish, I fear that I might waste it on a kiss; and though lacking wealth, enjoy eternal bliss.

I miss you, truly it is so. So hurry up my love; and come home.
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.
Him Feb 2021
The sun set, with scarlet potential, unrealised and unmet.

As I awaited your ephemeral silhouette; the promise to be kept.
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?
Him Feb 2021
Parents bark, bite, and blame.

I raise my earphones' volume so high, that I don't hear my pain.
Him Jan 2021
Love is gentle.
Love is true.
Love is temptation.
Can you refuse?
Yield to this temptation; and add love to your sins.
Him Jan 2021
Love is at first a whisper... pressed against your ears, by the wind. Then it becomes a flicker, that burns from within; emotions expressed... exposed and eternalised; though you would wish them only to end.

So, in a futile attempt to repent, you remind yourself of a reality well known; though you would wish it, not your own: "We are friends, just friends... and nothing more."

So you brace yourself, content to never show, those emotions that you have buried in an unmarked grave; so that they will never know.

Lo, you embrace your hell, content to type the words that you cannot tell; love is the blurred line, between heaven and hell.

Love is the lullaby, that you sing to yourself; an elixir of poison mercury, that you drink for your health.
Perhaps you have tasted of this cup, both bitter and cruel; perhaps you have seen the infinite line, that divides the two of you. Now, having both tasted and seen Love, what will you do?
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.
Him Jan 2021
Love is as a peom, written without its end.

As its weary poet inks his barren pen.

An art all men wish to read, though very few can see; yes love is above all things, this world's greatest mystery.
A mystery that borders upon a myth. An embrace that promises its captive, a kiss. What else does the whole word have, that's quite like this?
Him Oct 2020
This is the melancholy of Innocence, so do sit and have a glass. Drink slowly, and savour the taste friends; for innocence shortly lasts. She is as a flower, most beautiful at bloom, but, we must not forget now; that flowers must wither too.

So what is the sadness... the melancholy of Innocence, if all things must pass away? Perhaps it is the longing then, that one's innocence did remain. Yes, the melancholy of Innocence; is that deepest longing, day after day. The longing for something, you know well that you can't regain.
Greetings, this is my first piece, so I hope that you may enjoy. The melancholy of Innocence, ironically, may bring you happiness and joy.
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.
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.
Him Dec 2020
O how sweet the taste of cavalry, where Christ the Lamp was slain for me. His hands were nailed, His brow was bruised, His feet were bind, His blood was spew. Oh how great is my due, O Lord to You, that Your precious blood was spew, my all, my all I render to you.
The greatest gift for Christmas was long ago bequeathed; given by Jesus Christ, our Lord, that all might receive. So please, accept His charity; and from sin be free... and be on this Christmas day, truly merry.
Him Jan 2021
My heart is fragile and frail, and few are the words that she so sparingly; so seldom says.

"I love you."

My heart, she says.
She speaks... now you need only listen; for she rarely repeats.
Him Oct 2020
From where should I start to speak, this story's mountain path or its peak? What does it matter, where it be? I pray that these words may be what I wish that I could be: Free.

O Mother dear, O Mother fair, you must know this is not my way; and yet to differ you would say. Your words still ring in my ears: "What are my intentions?" They are clear, my heart cries out but no one ever listens to hear; so I offer up my silent prayer. As a soldier, I will march on; with bleeding scars beneath my spotless battle gear.

And O Father dear, you have no pride, yes, but what of shame? At the thought I could be gay, you suddenly have a son, whom you wish to call and care. I pay no heed with whom you lay, so may this kindness not be repaid? For kindness and compassion you cast blame, those two- those two are humans first, so call them by their names. I will choose my friends, whom I dare, they are not yours to take away.

Now I understand, people talk and talk they may dare. But life is just so much better when you don't care, of people, or what they say. I know what I am at the end of the day.

People smile, while they ask: "Are you okay?" And I smile in kind, then pleasantly reply. "I can't complain or whine." And that is my daily lie; an illusion of happiness for the pain to hide.

I scream out but no one hears, so to You, Father God I offer my silent prayer.  Give me strength for each new day; lest the real me fades away. And please, could you stop these tears, it's kind of hard to type a prayer in the rain.
Him Jan 2021
I close my eyes and hope to dream, I have slept myself wary of the darkness' company; now the monsters they come for me. Afraid, I CAN'T even scream! I am trapped in this nightmare, where none can hear me.

They emerge from beneath my bed, seemingly thoughtlessly; as they have no heads. Yet still I hear them crackling, "Please be our friend... sleep, and stay till the end."

I see them annoying the shadows, I hear them hissing sins. Yet again they entreat me, "Please be our friend."

Now, I ask screaming, "When will this end? Tell me what sins, have I committed?"

Then they replied, "Aren't you still breathing? That is your sin. You're still living, and we the dead... want us a friend. One will sleep, and stay to the end."
Will you our friend? Will you sleep and stay till the end?
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.
Him Jan 2021
O, my silent singing bird, how I worry for you this day; for without hymns or choruses, you have allowed the Sun to fade.

Lo, though I have your ear, your heart is anything... anywhere but near, but here; for you, my silent singing bird sings a song of silence; souless symphonies of sorrow your aid.

Were only your chirps of greeting and discourse of our hopeful meeting, I could hear; then I would think it a concert, and listen well to the performance that you have prepared.
To a friend in his time of weeping, to a love both gentle and fair; your tearfall leaves me wishing, that I could wipe them all away.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Him Jan 2021
I am trapped within this reverie of revived memories; of when you were by my side.

The warmth of dawn feels as though a cruel, albeit gentle lie. My Sun...set, tis that day, when you left me with why.


Why... couldn't I make you stay? Why does everything I grasp tightly... still slip away?
These thoughts of you from a cage, that keep all logic and reason, within gaze; though beyond embrace.
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