Ken Voltaire Jan 7
Trees whistle solemn tunes,
Clouds roll around in bed together,
And people are scattered sparsely.
The sun has departed,
My heart wavers,
I feel loved?
Ha, hardly.
Ken Voltaire Jan 7
So cold,
Ash and dust,
Love overcome by ****.
Lost love,
Born of jealousy,
The inability to let go.
Born of darkest parts of the mind that are shown.
Ken Voltaire Jan 6
If your eyes are oceans,
Then my eyes are ships,
Sailing through turbulent seas.
My sails know where to guide me,
A light shines through even the darkest of times,
A light that you illuminated,
The moment you touched my hand.
Ken Voltaire Jan 3
Your rose petal lips kiss breezes softly by.
Along your cheeks,
Glassy rivers smoothly glide.
Two bright suns peek out from beneath moonlit sky,
Overlapped with rich darkness,
Beautiful and shy.
From a mountain of the gentlest curve,
A gust of wind comes down,
Scattering your rose petals all around.
Containing all of these wonders,
A valley.
Two crests so very distant,
Come slowly together, down.
Between these crests,
The mountain, the rivers, the roses, breeze, moonlit sky, and suns,
All lie,
And hence is where your beauty can always be found.
Ken Voltaire Dec 2018
You're not quite human you know,
Or,
Maybe,
You are the most human out of anyone,
And all other people are just shells,
Shadows of what could be.
Your body is utterly perplexing,
It folds and bends and stays still,
In ways that my poor mind cannot comprehend.
You aren't quite human,
Or maybe you are the most human of all.
You tell me what you are thinking with a glance,
And nothing more,
Yet I am overcome with understanding.
You think and feel and touch like no other.
Like some celestial being,
You fill me with wonder and hope.
You are not human,
Because you are the most human.
People do not know how to live anymore,
People do not know how to love anymore.
With your great limbs,
Sweep up the remnants of this broken world,
And open our eyes,
To the great gift that is life as a human being
Ken Voltaire Dec 2018
It is immovable.
The greatest teller of time,
The foundation of the very earth we dare to tread.
The culmination of millions of years,
Impossible pressure, heat, transformation,
This simple marvel,
Resides in my stomach.
It is the biggest stone to ever rest upon the earth,
It does not budge,
It is here to stay,
Down my throat, it slipped and it now rests,
Forevermore.
Ken Voltaire Nov 2018
A bird is perched on my left index finger.
She tweets here and there,
Nary often.
Sometimes she is pleasant,
Other times she tears my soul in two.
She has been waiting, patiently,
For 16 years she has been waiting.
I need to release my song and listen to hers.
She seldom sings because I muffle her,
So that I don't hear the sadness,
The apologies,
The begging for attention.
She stays perched on my left index finger,
Always,
She always will be.
One day,
She will be singing and I will know the tune.
This is about my mama. She died when I was 2 and to this day I have never written about her because I have not been mentally able to do so. In this piece, I am discussing the full acceptance of what happened to her and how it has shaped my life. I have no memory of her, just pictures. I have a sense of recognition when I see these pictures but that is it. I have no memory of her. I hope that soon I will be able to write something directly about her, for this poem merely flirts with the idea. I think it will help. Thank you for reading.
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