There are things about me
that nobody knows.
Which can't be said
through a poem or a prose.

The wars I have fought
and the ones I still fight
behind these walls
never see the light.

I have lost my life
many a time
and have been brought back
through reason and rhyme.

It is cold and harsh
in the battlefield.
Words are my weapons
and my shield.

Everyday is a battle
behind these walls.
Silence is the response
to my cries and calls.

I am lonely
and I am scared.
I remind myself that
nobody cared.

The trick is not
to let anyone know.
To hide your emotions.
Don't let them show.

It hurts so much.
But I am brave
and I remind myself
love is all I crave.

Yet, it never ends,
the war behind these walls.
Not unless, of course,
one of us falls.

The wounds and scars,
they never heal.
Misery is all
I ever feel.

It tears me down,
part by part
until there's nothing left
of my weary heart.

It shatters my spirit
but no one shall know.
The war behind these walls
shall never show.

Here's to those
who seldom sleep.
To those in the shadows
who silently weep.

Here's to those
who feel all alone.
To those whose company
are the thoughts they own.

Here's to those
who sing of silence.
To those who are
sick of violence.

Here's to those
whose world is a stage.
To those who hide
their sorrow and rage.

Here's to those
who toss and turn.
To those who watch
their dreams crash and burn.

Here's to those
who starve for affection.
To those who face
merciless rejection.

Here's to those
who hide their past.
To those who think
love never lasts.

Here's to those
who wait for a letter
to tell them that in time
it all gets better.

I forfeit for this;
mobility  
my mind
served up to
its drunkness off you
bodies full on my lack of finding

sound your disregard &
relieve your knife of
what it had done to me as

I gaze at your sleep in the direction of mine & drowned in fog until I lose
until I turn blue with love
it is there I see her heart
I want to swallow your key
I
blame the weight of the hand
& I frame the finger
I blame the math and pattern

under your mattress I left my gist
thumbs and throat

you just keep switching the sheets

I bring the ocean to hold my thighs down
for every time
that every time
I say it
it is me speaking and not the situation
I forfeit for weather reports and hurt feelings
resuscitate by mouthing off
to suffocate this feeling

Lonelyness is a rash that itch for affection,
distance is arms greatest foe,
to hug the one you miss is the greatest gift but to get rejected is the scratches and scars that surround that rash that Still itch...and aches...
people move fast, to settle but the ones who are too busy to settle are titled not good enough.
I Tried to be there for anyone but no1 seems to care,
that ill cutt my arms off from time just to be held one lasting enough time.
I'm not the best looking I'm not the best at all close to the image people seek.
But I know I can give more than image can, I can make you feel more than your mirrored man.
I ponder offten while the river Creeks I sleep in a bed that empty so only my head and pillow is the only feelin of caressed,
lookin up I only feel no blessin even if I sneezed.
Why am I cursed to have feeling but none to give then too.
Why is time the only hand that waves by, even when I don't acknowledged it.
slowly but surely I fade into a sleep of weeps to begin another week that makes me more weak into questioning why hold on to the idea of havin one..or her or you...too keep,
if me...
if personally i am not wanted..not for a text or ring..
I'm haunted, behind me, people speak and judge me often taunted..it hurts my self esteem and fill my dreams amd conscience with ideas of doin unspeakable things,
I'm done I hunged the gauntlet, my cape is up
the sword is dull and the shield is rusted.
I'm done, ive lusted and loved it, ive drunk my heart into a bottle empty as the chest it sits in,
Im just alone and waiting for this to pass.

By -Deep Thought
Aka Linguist Musician
AKA Emmanuel Jv Hernandez

Introduction
I stroll through green fields and realise I am home.
I bump against soft sandalwood: a fence –
And hang my head and weep

For Ginsberg, Whitman, and all the other cats clawing for tender acceptance
Strolling through ashen fields in rainbow night
Tugging on tender trestles of old mother crop of hair south
Casting to sky thine eye as black and white lights
Of rainbow night do fizzle and pop and – Oops!
Great incomparable fusion atom generator on the fritz
Once more the Centre of Cosmos choking and clouded with splutter.
As thine eye doth dissolve and revolve and resolve and see, from vantage point on high:
O Hell! O Eternal abyss of Chiaro-night, I am surrounded!
Thy Holy field lies cut and sliced by old tree corpses – lined up in terrible order by tender hand imbued
Thou might turn and run and screech impaled or *whisp inhaled by gasping trees, by dying trees, by dead trees who breathe.
And spat upon the lawn whence thou were born,
No matter the crop nor scenery.

Oh, cumbersome language-*
When one might reach, grasping and willing,
Toward a certain and knowable feeling
It is you who blocks the way.

No sooner is the feeling felt and clutched to breast
Than it attempts to mould to thunken word,
Where, with treacherous glee,
It flails and fails to fit.

So soon we stand with naught but putty in our hands,
As it cools and crusts to nonsense.