Wherein is the eyeliner, upon a Queen's face?
Wherein is one's affection, to taketh this pain's place;
Wherein is mine direction, for one to leadeth me to?
Wherein shalt the old leaveth, bringing in the new?



©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry

Arms crossed
hands nestled just below the armpits
so comforting
my eyes close
shutting out the world around me
I rest safe and secure within this self hug
this escape from a world filled with unrest
at least for these few moments

From here I can watch the gentle surf
the waves send the sea up along the beach
the it recedes washing the place where the sea meets the coast

Sometimes I am privileged to the company of the birds
they sing the tales of nature
and I am actually able to understand the lyrics

They call it a babbling brook
I hear the stories of the lands they have passed through
of the people that have sat on its bank
the brook seems to tell me of their conversations
conversations of peace, brotherhood and love for their fellow men

What a wonderful time this can be
sitting back
arms folded across my chest
hands nestled just below my armpits
within this self hug
in the silence of my temporary solitude
watching and listening
to all that should be

The image that was planted
has never faded
Your beauty was too much
to behold
How could I, a mere mortal, imagine
I could tempt you

Everybody cries

Sometimes

Frustration.

I must write,
But I cannot explain.

I must write,
But words are useless.

I must write,
But all attempts are futile.

A poet's true frustration:
I must write,
But I can't.

I do not know why I whisper to the shadows
Those shaded corners have no use for me
They do not recall affection only the lack of light
It does not matter much although I thought it might
That if I found the right shadow there would be mercy
However, as it turns out all those shadows are just
Darker aspects not exactly the worst of me
But separate while still being part of me

On intimate occasions
You told me I was beautiful.
And I couldn't help but wonder,
Was I beautiful like spring, that cultivated flowers within your soul
Or was I beautiful like those girls on TV, that caught your eye?
Or perhaps,
Was I beautiful like an object, that satisfied your lustful desires?